Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Further TOG pondering

I wasn’t going to write my previous post last night for fear it would rev me up too much to sleep afterward but it was pretty clear I was already too revved up for that. Beyond just the normal excess RPMs spinning around after getting Belle off just before bed, the conversation about the other guy (now officially TOG) kept bouncing around in my head and I had to get it out. Reading it now, it seems a little rushed and messy, but it does a good job capturing my state of mind at the time. Actually, it’s still kind of my state of mind, though I have had some time to reflect. 

“Compersion” is a word that, essentially, means the opposite of jealousy. Instead of finding discomfort or anger or sadness when one’s partner has sex or finds love with someone else, you experience happiness and feel good for them. I am compersioned as fuck. During the night, I kept reaching over to her and holding her or just letting part of me touch her. This morning, I couldn’t just give her a quick morning peck. I need to kiss her full on the lips, open and wet. Hold her. Put my face in her neck and purr. I am completely and totally smitten by her.

The challenge I’ve had is remembering what this is about and who it’s about. If she ends up meeting TOG and getting fucked by him, that’s all her. Her choice, her pleasure. Not really about me at all. But excitement at the prospect of it almost forces my mind to race away and spin fantasy scenarios. I imagine how the prospect and reality of their sex would change how she treats me. What she needs and expects from me. I imagine someday meeting him and the things he’d say and ask. In relationships where denial or chastity are involved (any kind of femdom, really) it’s important for the man to give his partner as much room as possible to make for herself what the dynamic needs to be for her. In doing do, he’ll enjoy an authentic dynamic they both get something from even if it’s not the fantasy life he created in his head. That same approach needs to be taken here by me. Yes, I have vivid ideas about the hottest way possible for this next chapter to unfold, but those ideas aren’t as good as the real thing because it will be real so the real thing needs to develop. Too bad August is so far away. 

Also, I don’t want to create a situation where she needs to live up to my fantasy. I certainly don’t want her thinking about how I’ll react to whatever transpires. To be factoring in my expectations. There’s enough pressure involved in meeting a new person and finding a way to pleasurably interact without thinking about the hopes and dreams of the locked up sub back home. 

I wonder if the ability to feel compersion is something that’s hard wired in some people or if it’s something that’s made possible because of other factors. I know about myself that I am suited to an open relationship and even polyamory. I just am not that jealous. At least, in me whatever jealousy I feel channels into productive kinds of things. But I’m also pretty confident in myself. Confident in my place in Belle’s life. Even if Belle and TOG fuck and even if Belle finds herself having deeper feelings for him, I don’t for a second think that would lead to problems between us. I would be happy for her and figure out a way to make room for whatever followed. Whatever my need is to feel what it’s like for her to be with another man, it’s not driven by an inferiority complex. I want to hear and know he’s got a nice cock and knows how to use it and even that she likes it better than me, but I know that’s a single aspect of our relationship and I have another attributes. In fact, I’d say the perceived competition drives me to accentuate those areas. In any event, my theory is jealously is driven by insecurity and I’m simply not insecure about too many things.

It’s all very complicated and I’m still figuring it out. How can I say I don’t have an inferiority complex but want her to be with a guy whose got a bigger cock? How can I get so excited by the idea TOG has said he wants to give her better sex than she can have with me? I’m not insecure but totally get off on being made sexually inferior. I don’t know the answers. More of those knotty BDSM paradoxes, I guess. 

The sleeping was quite difficult last night. Too many thoughts and visions. Too many explicit visualizations literally forcing themselves into my attempt so find peace. I don’t know that the penis was less than half chubbed out all night and it was forcefully pressing against its containment on several occasions. I’d hear my heart pounding in my ears as the enormity of the reality of Belle taking a lover presented itself again and again. Eventually I popped a melatonin, but even then I only got two or three hours sleep. 

Today, the Homeland Threat Level chart of my horniness never really dropped below orange. I had a hard time following along in meetings and, in between, I’d pop over to Tumblr and look at the bodies. The images of men fucking women were especially transfixing. I had the feeling all day of wanting to share news with friends at work before remembering they likely wouldn’t appreciate it. It felt not too dissimilar from what I remember on that day following the first time Belle didn’t let me come during sex. Energized. Horny. Alive. 

I have so many things I want to ask Belle. So many more details I crave. I loved hearing her be so frank about the apparent differences between TOG and me. Her expectations and hopes. How she didn’t hide her anticipation. Hopefully I won’t bug her too much. Hopefully I won’t combust every time the topic comes up. Hopefully I’ll get more than a few hours sleep each night between now and her trip to meet him.

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The other guy

A couple of months ago on a Saturday or Sunday morning, Belle laughed and told me she had received a random friend request from some guy in England. They had no mutual friends and she had no idea who he was but, on a lark, she accepted the request. Shortly thereafter, they struck up a conversation along the lines of, “Who’s this?” and “I dunno, who’s this?” He said he didn’t remember requesting to be her friend and maybe meant to friend someone else with the same last name (her maiden name) and he had been at the pub and, well, you know how things happen. 

Their exchange continued beyond that day. He told her he thought she was hot. Things got more flirty from there. At some point, he sent her a picture of himself naked but with his hand covering his junk. I really don’t know the sequence of events since I was in my funk and not really picking up the little hints she was dropping, but I totally picked up the hints tonight. And then I carted them off with a wheelbarrow.

We were in bed and I asked her what was up with this guy. She said he was going to be in the United States this summer and she was planning on meeting him in NYC in August and maybe again in September. This made me squirm into her. I have been unbelievably, surreally horny all day and all I could think about even before having this conversation was her pussy and making it come. I reached my hand into her pajamas and slipped a finger into her ready wetness.

She told me he’s twenty-seven. She told him she’s in an open relationship. He told her he’s got thick 7.5″ cock. What she called a “proper cock.” She told me he likes to talk dirty. That he’s confident. That he intends to fuck her with that cock in New York. He described the ways and the positions in which he intends to fuck her silly. He says he will give her the fuck of her life. The kind of fuck she’s never had from me. The kind she can’t get from me. He says it’s his goal for her to prefer him to me in bed. All he knows about me, besides that I’m married to her, is that he’s much bigger than me. That’s it. But he’s naturally assumed a position over me even before meeting her. He may not know the word or understand the dynamic, but he’s already made me a cuckold.

All the time she was saying these things to me, my finger slipped in and out and over her slick clit. The penis was pushing against the Looker 02 as strongly as I’ve ever felt it. Choking on the device’s insert. It was painful. She got wetter and wetter telling me how he was equipped to give her a real fuck and that he’d undoubtedly last much longer than me and fill her in ways I couldn’t and that yes indeed she expected he could deliver on his promise all I could do was whine and finger her pussy and think how it would feel after he was done with her. How it would feel to her as it stretched her open like I can’t and touched her in places I’ll never reach. How he’d be able to go again and again and never get caught up in his own head and just fuck. And how badly — how honestly achingly badly — I want that for her. 

Equal parts of me are hopeful and afraid that he will do what he says and deliver on his promises. That she will be fucked like never before and that she’ll prefer him to me that way. It is both terrifying and exhilarating to comprehend. But more than anything, I want it for her. I want her to come home from her visit with him fucked so hard she couldn’t have sex with me even if she wanted to. For when the time comes that she’d let me touch her pussy again, or even enter it, I’d want to know that not only am I not the only one to enjoy it but that she enjoyed him more. Was craving to feel him there again, not me.

I cannot explain this. How it goes against everything we’re taught and conditioned to believe and expect in a relationship but how it absolutely fills me with ecstatic excitement, for her and me.

I can’t say I ever really believed something like this would happen. That she’d never really do anything with anyone else. And a lot can happen between now and summer. Who knows. Regardless, what I know now is that I’m not only not hurt or bothered by the prospect, I’m enthusiastically hopeful for her success. The only thing that makes me wary is I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be treated poorly. That’s my only concern. 

I also used I think that if something like this did eventually happen that I’d want to be part of it. But that doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I am part of it since she’s my wife and I’m her sub, but I won’t be physically part of it. Chances are I’ll never set eyes on this guy. If she sees him and fucks him it’ll be a thousand miles away, out of sight and entirely out of my control. And, it turns out, I’m really OK with that. What I want is for her to have a great time. I want her to feel free to do whatever she wants with him and enjoy the space she has to maximize her pleasure. To dote and spoil him and leave him wanting more. I realize that in that way, I’m not part of it. And I don’t need to be. 

As I sucked her tits and rubbed her snatch and felt her hips grind and heard the moans deep in her throat, I realized she probably wasn’t thinking about me. That she was already in some New York hotel room with the fat cock and her orgasm was already his. I wanted to fuck her so badly then. More than I have in I don’t know how long. But of course, no. No way. So my stifled erection was pinched and squeezed and choked and the device leaked useless natural lube while my heart pounded in my head. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

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On the bounce

It’s kind of surprising to me how quickly and ferociously my sex drive has come back. Like I said yesterday, it started to peek its little head out of the box I was keeping it in (all blinky and tentative like a baby bear leaving the den for the first time in the Spring) on about Saturday and then seemed to exponentially grow until Sunday when I was sporadically super horny on the flight back (what percentage of guys going into those little bathrooms on planes do you think are jacking off?). Monday it was on point to the extent that I could just find the will power to get a device on. Last night was a bit of a challenge falling asleep since laying on my stomach pushed the Looker 02 into me in a delicious and distracting way and laying on my back inevitably led to my fingers poking through the bars of the device’s cage and feeling the hard shaft of the insert buried inside me. Today, I’m walking around with a ball of vibrating horniness in my chest and sneaking time with Tumblr whenever possible to stare slack-mouthed and in kind of a daze. But the thing is, nothing else has changed. It’s like all I had to do was give myself permission to feel sexual again. 

During the time I was in my funk (which, based on the dates of my posting here was more like a month and a half at least), Belle did let me come several times. Maybe three or four times. But I was all kinds of messed up. The one morning we had sex on the trip, after I got her off, I was desperately hoping she’d not let me come. I fucked her for about a minute or so (usually about as long as I can last anymore) before slowing down to keep it from happening and then she told me I could. I started back up again but quickly lost my erection. It’s been like that lately. Like the penis and the brain aren’t working in tandem in any way. She let me masturbate to completion, but even then I felt weird about it. Almost guilty. Or maybe not guilty. More like disappointed. But how would she know? It’s not like there’s instructions printed on the side of my box and I am the rules say I’m not to tell her what I want with regard to orgasm. It’s supposed to be entirely up to her. 

It’s a telling indication of my rapid change of heart that a week ago my relationship with my own orgasm left me feeling blue but today writing those last few sentences strains the cage I’m wearing. Playing with the things we do in our dynamic — the way we force the higher brain to disconnect, override, and otherwise fiddle with urges and processes that are instinctual and natural — is not to be done lightly. But now that we have, I will never be the same again. Our dynamic isn’t an overlay on top of my sexuality anymore. It’s replaced my sexuality. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just a thing and not one whose significance I think I really understood until recently. 

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B.Y.O.D.

D/s is weird. Weird in that from the outside and to the uninitiated, it looks like the D side of the slash is in control but from the inside it’s clear that’s not true. It’s the lower-case consonant that sets the parameters of the dynamic (limits, boundaries, etc.) and, therefore, the rules the D has to follow. So no, the D’s power is not limitless. They call the shots and the sub wants them to, but the shots they call are enumerated by the sub. But it’s not always the case that the sub’s Dominant is all that interested in calling shots regardless of which are available to them.  

Some of us came to understanding our submissive nature later in life after pairing up with an unsuspecting partner. That can be catastrophic if the partner is not in any way cool with their other half’s inclinations to submission and unable to indulge them. Of course, that’s not me. I have a great spouse who’s willing to make all kinds of accommodations, but she’s not sexually dominant. She’s not naturally motivated by or wired for it. Seems to me guys in my boat (S.S. Subby McSubface) have two options. They can hope and wish and push for their wives to be active dominents or they can accept their wives’ more passive dominance. I think of it as the Mistress vs. the Goddess

Before I go any further, the usual caveats about this being from my point of view and not in all ways encompassing of the infinite diversity of human sexuality apply, etc blah blah.

The basic difference between the Mistress and Goddess, in my mind, it that Mistresses demand submission and Goddesses accept (and perhaps even expect) it. Some women (and men, but that’s not what I’m talking about) get off on playing within those boundaries established by the sub and pushing buttons and seeing how far they can go. Call them sadists or whatever, but they’re wired to find pleasure in how the sub responds to them. But my thinking is most women aren’t wired like that and while they may come to appreciate the benefits of having a submissive husband, they just aren’t going to ever be the kind of parter who will be forceful in asserting their dominent position. In those cases (more or less the case I’m in), the sub needs to find a way to project their submission onto their partner in kind of the same way religious devotees worship a theoretical deity. They need to construct in their minds a suitable target for their submission taking advantage of the topography of their surroundings. I know I’ve done this with Belle. At least she’s a tangible person who can interact with me and not some invisible sky friend throwing lightning bolts down from the sky or killing my crops with drought. 

I say all this because recently our D/s dynamic kind of sputtered out. Sometime around the beginning of March I started to feel it slip away to such an extent that I found no pleasure in wearing a device (though I did for a little while only because it was expected). Then, she let me out just before leaving for a trip and forgot to tell me to go back in and I didn’t remind her or put it back on by myself. When she got back, I said I didn’t want to wear it and she didn’t push it. This kind of thing has happened before for short periods, but the big difference is, other than when she initiated, I also pretty much lost all interest in sex, too. I tried to look at porn but I just couldn’t. Like, it wasn’t just uninteresting to me, it kind of annoyed and even disgusted me. I never touched the penis and never even thought about it. Not sure I even had an erection outside of the nocturnal kind and/or when Belle wanted me to. 

So, what the fuck, right? In unpacking this with the therapist Obi Wan, I came to understand that I was kind of like a religious person whose faith had been shaken. Not because of anything overt that Belle had done, but because of life. She’s been very busy at work and traveling and, I’d say, in a grumpier mood than usual. Any one of these things or even the combination of them over a short period I could deal with, but this was sustained for weeks and longer. Long hours at work followed by more work when she got home followed being absent and then perhaps flavored with my own issues led to a general collapse of the dynamic’s infrastructure. Even in the best of times, I need it to be bigger and more elaborate than she needs it to be so I’m by necessity “holding up” more than one half of it. When the footings on her side got a little crumbly, I couldn’t do it anymore and it fell down. 

But my submission and our rules are too ingrained to disappear completely. Instead of unilaterally disengaging and doing my own thing sexually, which is what happened years ago and led to all kinds of issues in our marriage, I simply shut down. If I can’t get a hard on looking at porn I can’t jack off and come without permission and that means I never have to deal with the reality of what that would have meant. My sex isn’t just mine anymore and acting like it was would have been too much to deal with so I just packed it all up in a box and put it on a shelf. But my sexuality is a big part of who I am so this left me dispondant. 

I never really said only of this to Belle. I didn’t want to be perceived as being unsupportive of her and what she needed to do with her job. So I just let it all happen. In general, Obi Wan thinks I don’t do enough to ensure my needs are being taken care of in the relationship. He thinks I tend to avoid conflict with Belle. He’s probably right. Of course, “ensure my needs are being taken care of” is an interesting concept for a sub, but it makes sense when the D/s dynamic as seen as an overlay to the foundational relationship. My needs are, to a certain extent, for my needs not to be taken care of, but only in the dynamic. Down in the foundational relationship, I was feeling neglected and maybe a bit taken for granted.

Again, Belle didn’t do this on purpose. She wasn’t being a terrible spouse. But I didn’t say what I was thinking because I was afraid it would cause her to think I was not being supportive to her needs and I didn’t want to get into a fight about it. 

Last week, we were away on a family vacation. Except for one night, it was close quarters for ten days. I hoped and expected that the trip would be when I turned a corner on all this. Not sure if it’s because of my expectations, but by the end of the trip I found myself a lot more interested in the penis that I had been for nearly a month. To the enxtent that yesterday I put the Looker 02 on. Porn was all of a sudden super hot and had I not locked it up I would have been pulling on it. This is not to say I or we are out of the woods or there won’t be some backsliding. Belle’s still busy. No reason to think that will change. Maybe this is just a little bit of sunlight breaking though some clouds or maybe a high pressure system is settling in. No idea. 

Obi Wan thinks Belle and I should see a therapist together. He even gave me some names of kink-aware people he knows (he doesn’t really do couples). I don’t know if we’ll take it that far or if we’ll figure it out but ourselves. Time will tell. 

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Riding the thermals

I like porn as much as the next guy. I probably look at it more than the next guy my age since I’m unable to get myself to the place where it loses its appeal temporarily. Orgasmically speaking, I’m like a bird catching thermals. Spiral spiral spiral UP…spiral spiral spiral UP…always on the move, never resting.

I pay a lot of attention to the stuff that gets me off turns me on. Different things at different times. Sure, there’s the gender thing. Some days women are more appealing than men. But also scenarios. Women dominating men. Women being serviced. Men dominantating men/being serviced. Some days it’s just boobs that really get me going. Some days it’s just penises. Or men fucking women. I mean, this is all pretty basic, but what I’m saying is since I never “complete” a session with porn and only stop looking at it when I run out of time, I can pick up on how the texture of what I react to changes. It’s interesting. Well, to me anyway.

Some days, like yesterday, it’s men having orgasms that gets me. Specifically, close ups of men jacking off and then spewing their loads, thick and ropy, right into the camera and/or all over themselves. And when I say “gets me” I mean “leaves me staring slack-jawed.” The way a reformed smoker probably watches someone in a bar light up. Mesmerizing.

And I could feel it. The way it was to come whenever I wanted. Whenever I had the barest inclination to do so. How a guy can almost pull one out anywhere there’s a bit of privacy. At work. At the gym. In an airplane. That sensation of gripping a hard cock and how it felt in my hand and how as I got closer to coming I’d get up on my toes (if I was standing), eyes half closed, and then that breathless, weightless moment right after the point of no return and before the ejaculate slams past the prosate. Gasping. Moaning. Warmth.

Usually, I don’t miss it. Or I enjoy missing it. But sometimes, rarely, I miss it. I want it. I need it. It leaves a hole in me.

But it’s been so long since I can do it whenever I want that I find what I think it feels like and what it actually does doesn’t match. I imagine the penis feeling more substantial in my hand (to match the porn, I guess). Thicker. Longer strokes. And I can’t jack it or come without a sincere wave of guilt. And even if I could, it doesn’t last. I can’t savor it. Like the cigarette, once lit, is totally consumed in the first drag.

So I watch the men with their nice dicks do their thing and shoot their loads like a former fat kid pressing his face against the donut case glass. Wanting. Salivating. Jealous. But that’s all. Nothing more. Because there’s nothing more for me to do. If I ever had that kind of access to my own body again — to my own pleasure — it would mean I’d have lost so much that it would probably leave me sad.

But, you know. I’d still do it.

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Evolution

Once upon a time, Belle would leave me locked in the Steelheart until Friday night. Then she’d let me out before she went to sleep so the penis would be right there for her the next morning. I’d stay out until Sunday night (or even Monday if I didn’t mention anything and she forgot). We’d have sex a few times over the weekend and I’d get to fuck her each time and she might even let me play with myself Friday night. Then she started leaving me in until Saturday morning, letting me out right before she wanted the penis. We’d still have sex and I’d get my pussy time, but no more jacking off. More recently, she’s been leaving me locked up until Sunday morning and wanting me back in that day. She doesn’t forget anymore. I get out Sunday morning (Saturday’s are just about her now), I’m back in by Sunday midday. I’d only get inside her once. 

Except today. Today, I didn’t get out at all. This is the start of my fourth week being locked up. 

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An interesting conversation

“Describe to me what sub space is to you. What does it feel like?”

That’s what Obi Wan, my therapist/counsellor/whatever, said to me yesterday during our session. As I’ve said in the past, I like Obi Wan because he’s sex-positive and comes pre-loaded with a broad understanding of BDSM. We were having a related conversation about subbing and being in a Dom-sub dynamic and then this question came out. It was unexpected and I was at a loss for words.

“Oh come on, you’re a blogger,” he chided. How can I not have words?

Remember that scene from Sex, Lies and Videotape where Andie McDowell’s character is asked something and she just smiles coquettishly and blushes? Funny, I can’t remember what made her do that, but I felt my face warm up trying to find the words to answer his question and that’s the first thing I thought of.

Obi Wan has never said so, but I’m pretty sure he’s dominant. Our relationship is odd in that he knows everything about my sex life and predilections and relationships but all I know about him is he’s married to a woman. But in talking about it, he just comes off as dominant. Maybe he’s switch, but that’s not the vibe I pick up predominantly. There was something about being asked that particular question by a presumed dominant who’s also a sort of authority figure that made me squirm and lose my ability to create a coherent sentence. Then, as I struggled, he just sat there. Waiting through the silence.

To be clear, I didn’t feel threatened. I didn’t feel as though I were being taken advantage of. It wasn’t anything like that. This wasn’t a bad thing.

Once I found my ability to talk again, I felt myself in that doped up warm n’ fuzzy subby hazy zone. Having to describe it to him in that way triggered a mild sub space incursion. It was odd. Last time something similar happened was when I was visiting the Boston area and had lunch with Geek Domme. She didn’t put me on the spot as directly, but there were a couple of times during the meal when I had a hard time looking her in the eye. Same thing with Obi Wan. I spent a lot of time looking at the various bric-à-brac strewn around his office as I tried to form some coherent sentence structure.

Paraphrasing what I said, sub space or being submissive feels…warm. Comforting. As my sense of control slips under theirs, it’s like all the sharp edges of our interaction get knocked off. A glow appears in my chest and my limbs feel light. Somehow. Or something. If there’s some physical act involved, like putting on a chastity device or a collar or being told to strip, it happens that much faster. It’s a feeling of being somewhere I belong. Need to be. It’s hot, yes, but there’s something tangibly different between that and the basic urge to fuck. It’s much more nuanced. There’s much more texture and topography. I want to demonstrate my willingness to submit. To feel their satisfaction at it. For them to use me for their pleasure. However that happens. To feel them taking their pleasure from me.

He was paying close attention.

Then I said more about being restrained. How sometimes a non-restraint restraint – one which isn’t totally secure and involves some cooperation from me (“hold your hands above your head and keep them there” or “don’t let go of this”) – is hotter than something I can’t resist because it by itself is a form of demonstrating submission. I don’t move because they told me not to and while I might want to if I’m uncomfortable or whatever, I don’t and they know why. I talked about pain and how when it’s really humming it stops being pain and becomes something else altogether. Same circuits, different energy. And about how that can feel like floating in a bottomless pool of intense sensation. One I can’t necessarily get out of by myself.

Then he kind of sat up a bit and pulled on his pants and repositioned himself. Unmistakably the sign of a guy needing to make room in his pants. I was feeling it, too, but the steel made repositioning impossible and unnecessary.

So that was…interesting. The conversation quickly moved away from that place. I felt the mild sub buzz wear off after a few moments. The mood shifted and it was like the lights came back up.

In fact, we ended the session early. We were out of things to talk about ten minutes before the appointed time. He suggested I didn’t need to come to him anymore and he’s probably right, but I’m going to keep my appointment for two weeks from now on the books and think I’ll probably make a few more at that interval. I feel good. The reasons I went to him in the first place seem to have resolved themselves, but there’s something about ending I don’t feel comfortable with just yet.

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Work those glutes

Belle’s been gone for about ten days now on her trip and doesn’t get back until day after tomorrow. Usually, when she’s gone, I get kinda rabidly horny and, perhaps not coincidentally, sleep gets harder to find. But, except for just one night about a week ago, I’ve been sleeping well on this trip. And, until the past few days, I haven’t been all that horny.

But WOW all of a sudden. I guess it may have started on Friday. I had a massage scheduled and, as usual, I was locked up. I busted out my emergency key and got all the way undressed for the rubbing and laid face-down on the warm table. The masseuse I see is incredible. About the best I’ve ever had. Chief among his attributes, besides his strong hands, is how he happily works my glutes. Once the shoulders and back are done, he lifts the heavy sheet up exposing one whole leg to the waist and tucks it under. Then he goes to town. Oh, mama, does he.

And, honestly, I’m helpless. There’s just no way I’m going to be able to lay there impassively as he rubs my ass and runs his stong hand along the crease of my ass cheek and down my inner thigh (and I may have gotten him to do that a bit more by complaining of a sore hamstring). He must get within a half inch of my balls when he does that. Whimper, for fuck’s sake. So he does each leg in turn then asks me to flip over. Then asks me to flip over. I let myself enjoy the first side and my mind wanders and things do what they’re supposed to do but when he switches to the other side I have to start thinking about taxes or something. I mean, I know that errant boners are a professional inevitability for someone in his field and I’m not going to lose any sleep showing a bit of chub through the sheet as he’s sitting up by my head to work my shoulders and neck, but I don’t want to be pitching a fucking tent. Friday, I was somewhere in between. The hard-on wouldn’t have been elevated above my stomach had it been exposed, but it was definitely…there. And then he does this thing right at the end where he pushes down on my hips and rubs the top of my thighs through the sheet and he get’s really close to the package. If I were a normal boy, I’d probably wank one out in the bathroom before heading over there but I’m not so I don’t.

But I was good. I put the Steelheart back on as I dressed, but the shadowy nature of the room and the slight rush I was under trying to beat the erection that was rapidly developing had me put it on wrong in a way I don’t think I’ve ever done before. Usually, the PA fixing goes through the PA ring but I missed that somehow so the PA wasn’t secure. I had no idea until Sunday night when I realized the discomfort I was feeling in there was due to the PA fixing pushing the PA ring in ways it’s not supposed to. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to take the Steelheart off since Belle wanted me locked but it was heading in a direction where things were going to be hurt if I didn’t address it. In fact, there were already sore spots developing that I know from experience need to be allowed to breath more than they get to in the solid tube. The solution was pretty obvious.

Since I still had the key (no numbered tag being provided before Belle left and me being unable to find one), I simply switched to the Looker 02. So that’s where I am today. A day or so should be enough to be able to get back into the Steelheart and, since that’s Belle’s favorite and the one she left me in, I’ll swap back into that tomorrow morning.

So I felt the horniness growing over the weekend. Sunday I woke up and groped and clawed at the Steelheart in that way. This morning I was able to have some quality alone time with just me and a few carefully chosen inanimate objects and was left sweaty and panting and significantly distracted. Cruising the Nifty Archives and finding a story that hits all kinds of my buttons hard didn’t help. Or maybe it did. Depends on your perspective, I guess.

Being the exceptionally well-trained and obedient rabbit that I am, I never entertained any ideas of using the key and letting myself out. Even though I could warp my almost-injury into a valid excuse. Because if I had, I know I’d eventually have my hand wrapped around the hard penis and then I’d feel worse than rabidly horny. I’d feel guilt. Guilt isn’t sexy. Not in the slightest.

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Power behind the chair

Been watching old West Wing episodes. From S05E11, the First Lady and Leo are in the Oval Office chatting when the President walks in dressed in tails and holding several ties out in his hands.

President Bartlett: I can’t dress for this thing without you. Which one screams, “Dominance!”

First Lady: Do I get to wear it afterwards?

Bartlett: No comment.

Nice.