Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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I come when she wants me to

Belle doesn’t like it when I think about how long it’s been since I last came. She doesn’t care for record keeping or counting days or recognizing feats of endurance or anything like that. I come when she wants me to, period. When did I last come? When she wanted me to.

But I have it bad today. Real bad. She let me fuck her this morning after she came and it felt incredible and I really enjoyed it and once again totally psyched myself into thinking she was going to let me go all the way. I got close and slowed down and thought, sure, she’s just dragging it out. Enjoying it. So I let the orgasm retreat and I shifted position and kept my breathing steady before picking up the pace again. Oh my GOD it was wonderful and I was very grateful she was making me wait because it was so much better and I felt myself closing in on it again but she wasn’t saying anything so I again did what I had to do to let it fall back. When I resumed, it was at a pace that would culminate with orgasm. This time she’d let me and it would be amazing and my head would explode and I’d shoot a ton so she’d overflow with it and FUCK it was going to be the best thing ever and wow it wasn’t taking long before I felt like I was getting close again.

I looked at her as I fucked her. She looked back.

“What?” she asked.

Oh, FUCKING HELL.

“OK, time to stop, Thumpie.”

A palpable sense of loss flooded up. I wasn’t going to come and it pained me to know it. I was seriously on the verge of tears. I wanted it so badly. It was right there. So close, but still behind her iron gate. Not going to happen. If she had said I could, it would only take two and half thrusts to get there. But she wasn’t going to say it and all I could do was collapse into her neck and feel the lizard coil up hard inside me, bitter with disappointment that flowered after being planted in a fertile expectation to which it had no right.

I made a small, defeated noise. She thought it was funny. She sniggered. I whimpered.

And now I’m sitting here typing and still wishing I could come. I still feel the need and it’s distracting and consuming and driving me crazy. I read back on the blog and found the last real orgasm I had even though she doesn’t like me to think about it. July 7th. So we’re just over two months. Record is nine. She wouldn’t think two is that much. That I could do more. Also, stop counting. Stop thinking about it. You come when I want you to. That last time you came was when I wanted you to and the next time will be when I want you to. When will that be? Stop thinking about it.

If I was locked up right now, I don’t think I’d be worrying about it as much. The physical presence of the steel restrains me physically as well as psychically. If I were locked up, it’d free me to think about other things. Oh, I’d still think about wanting to come, but it’d allow room for other things to sneak in. But being free means I’m consumed by my desire. It pushes everything else out.

I need to be locked up. Right now. But Belle’s not here and I’m not feeling like I have the willpower to do it myself. God, I want to come so bad. I crave it like nothing else. But I don’t need to come. It’s probably best if I don’t. And I clearly don’t deserve it.

Not that it matters. I come when she wants me to.

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After Frodo

I was right that Belle was good with the whole Frodo thing.

She hadn’t thought it would happen but didn’t mind that it did at all and…

She didn’t even consider that I wasn’t secured until I mentioned it.

We were at a tequila bar near Faneuil Hall when we talked about it. We had several hours before we needed to be at the airport so we had some drinks there and then wandered over to the North End to seek out some Italian food. Found a really nice little hole in the wall place on a narrow little street where everything, from the bottle of wine to the Ceasar dressing to the amazing entrees, was far above average. Then…

And…

Thing is, Belle just doesn’t get off on being actively dominant. Tying me up and inflicting pain, etc., doesn’t do much for her, but she knows it does a lot for me. Way back at the start of all this openness, her original suggestion was I find a Domme to give me those things, so this isn’t really a new position for her. More of a completion of a circle.

For a while, I wasn’t sure I could be with another woman like that but I think now that the experience I’ve had with Drew has allowed me to better understand how one would approach it. The way expectations and limits need to be clearly established beforehand and how best to compartmentalize the different relationships. A year ago, I might have been too tentative to approach something like that with a woman. Today, I would.

However, I find it difficult enough as it is juggling work, home, hobbies, and just the one extracurricular player. Now there’s the potential of a second (hopefully, more than potential) and the prospect of opening up to a whole other gender. How in the world will I find the time for all this hot sex? Maybe if Belle got a promotion and I could be a stay at home housesub who whiles away the day going to the gym, getting tied up, whipped and fucked, then coming home to fold laundry and make dinner. But that’s not the life I have. Not unlike when we first opened our relationship, I suspect this new expansion will be more a potential than a reality for the foreseeable future.

Towards the end of our meal as the waiter was pushing their cannoli and tiramisu (we declined), another party came in and sat opposite us. One of them was a guy who may have been a football player at one point in his life. He had to be six and a half feet tall and had big arms. Belle noted this to me and posited that he may have other attributes, as well. She mouthed to me her suspicions over her glass of wine.

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Frodo’s day

Belle’s got business in Boston so we’re here for a few days. She’s working and I’m goofing off. Boston also happens to be the place where Frodo lives (for the newbies) so the four of us, Belle and I and Frodo and Merry Pippin, had dinner on Tuesday and then Frodo and I bummed around together on Wednesday.

Frodo said something interesting during dinner that stuck with me. He was relating how he told one of his kids that he was having dinner with someone he’s known since he was 14 years old and isn’t that something, etc., and I was thinking, Shit, I’ve known him for more than 30 years. I have some friends I have superficial contact with who I’ve also known that long (mostly thanks to Facebook), but none I’d go out of my way to see and spend time with like Frodo. Frodo is unique in that way. He’s the kind of friend you have where you don’t talk for nine months and then, when you do, you pick up like it’s only been a few days. The kind of friend you feel totally comfortable with and to whom you can say anything. That kind of friend.

So he’s unique among my friends for that but he’s also unique in that we’ve also had a sexual relationship. I don’t know if the two are related. If I’d feel about him the same way had we never fucked around in our youth. I don’t have contact or what I’d call friendship with any other of my old flames (male or female). Just Frodo.

So, for those who recall, Frodo was the first person I reached out to when Belle said I could have sex with men again. I wrote about it but can’t find that post at the movement, but I wasn’t too impressed with how I handled it at the time and he ultimately shot me down. Frodo is pretty vanilla (not said in a judgmental way, just saying) and the idea of fucking a guy with no functional penis and a complicated sexual pedigree turned out to be too much for him to grok (remember, Belle’s rule is I can have sex with men as long as I am locked up). But, it turns out, he really didn’t want to shoot me down. Turns out he really wanted me. So, yesterday afternoon, he got me.

This was a totally unexpected and unplanned event. I assumed he wasn’t interested because he said he wasn’t so when we went out for the day I didn’t put the Steelheart on as I would before seeing Drew. Of course, I wouldn’t need to be locked up because nothing was going to happen. But then it did.

After a day in Salem looking at a super-cool ancient Chinese house, we ended up back at his huge Victorian. He took me on a tour (even though I’ve been there before and seen the whole thing) and we ended up in his bedroom laying innocently across his bed. I know. We chatted about our history and how he’d turned down my offer from before and disclosed he actually wished he hadn’t and had wanted to be with me for a long, long time. Like, pretty much forever. He knows who I am and where my limits are and, of course, he’s married and with family and all that and isn’t looking for more than I’m able to give him. For maybe the first time in our lives, our goals are in alignment and our heads are in the right place to take advantage of that. Plus, we’re both allowed to do so by our spouses.

So then he said something about wanting to give me a kiss. For not the first time in my life, I said to myself, Well, just a kiss then. Of course, it turned into more and I became increasingly aware I wasn’t locked. Eventually, I had to say something to him. Had to tell him my rules. He offered to stop, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep going. My solution to this was to follow the spirit of Belle’s rule if not the letter. In short, I kept my pants on the whole time. I did not want to do that, but it was the line so we stayed on the right side of it.

Interestingly, I’ve found I’m really self-conscious about letting anyone see the penis (other than, you know, the thousands of people who see it when I post pictures of it, but that’s different, OK?) When Drew and I were visiting Steelwerks and I was trying on Chris’ personal device (Did I mention I’m the only person he’s allowed do that? Yes? OK.) I turned away from Drew when I took the Steelheart off and was putting the other on. I didn’t plan on doing it, it just seemed right. Even with Belle now, in the same way being naked and locked in front of her made me feel self-conscious in the beginning, being unlocked in front of her makes me feel weird. It’s hard to explain. Like I’m being unnecessarily flagrant or something. Then, with Frodo, the possibility that he even could see the penis, regardless of my reluctance to break Belle’s rule, freaked me out. I feel like I’m cheating just walking around unlocked. Being almost naked that way was almost too much to handle.

Being with Frodo for even that short time was nice. Very comfortable. Even though it’s been, god, like twenty years or something since we last fooled around (probably more), it was like old times. Maybe better because I was much more relaxed and comfortable with myself and confident in our understanding of one another. It was never like that before.

So now I don’t know. Unlike Drew, Frodo has no reason to travel frequently and neither do I. If we want to meet again (in a more planful way), it would be a bigger production. I know I’d like to. Pretty sure he does, too. We’ll see.

For those wondering, as I write this, Belle is unaware this happened. I didn’t get back to the hotel until after she was asleep and she left early this morning. No obvious moment presented itself as she got ready for her day. I don’t know if she suspects something would happen or not. Probably, if pressed. She was in favor of Frodo being my play partner early on so I don’t know why she’d have an issue with it now (other than the unlocked thing). I’m nervous to tell her but I also tend to make a bigger deal out of this stuff than she does (take note, defenders of her honor — Belle is cooler with this shit than I am most of the time). So, we’ll see.

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Saturdayish

Belle and I got to go out to breakfast by ourselves this morning. The kids were both still sleeping like the dead/teenage years so off we went with the New York Times to a little French place in Uptown.

Prior to that, we had been laying in bed wrapped around one another and being groggy and wonderfully Saturdayish. I was pretty hard up and she just started her period so my prospects weren’t very good, but did I mention how hard up I was? Normally, the Steelheart would have been biting hard, but I’ve been wearing it with its original 45mm ring which is too big to bite (though, on the downside, when also worn with my 4ga PA ring, it’s not unlike a cowbell hung around my balls). My pathetic whimpering caused her to asked what I wanted.

Ooo, what I wanted. I wanted to jack off. I really did. I wanted to get the Steelheart off and jack off in front of her until I almost came, then stop letting the ejaculate splurt weakly out of the hard penis in a ruined orgasm. That’s what I wanted. But I felt bad saying it.

“I want to jack off.”

Ugh. OK, I guess I can live with feeling bad.

“There’s no chance that’s going to happen.”

“OK. Sorry.”

More snuggling, more attempted hard-on, more smelling her hair.

“I could jack you off,” I said helpfully. Sure, she was on her period, but I knew my way around that snatch and could get plenty done regardless.

“You’ll have go close the door.” So, you know what happened next. God, I love feeling her come. I love her hard nipples in my mouth and my finger on her clit and my face in her neck when it’s all over and she’s basking. And, as usual, as soon as it was over, I felt the penis start to lose its pressurization. Stupid fucking penis. Then she left me to stew.

So yeah, anyway, off to breakfast. When the food came, she asked me about my impending trip with Drew to visit Steelwerks in Montreal. She was asking about the hotel and looked it up on her phone to see where it was. We talked about what would happen there and then segued into chitchat about another dominant male who reached out to me via Facebook and what I thought of that. You know, what every other married couple talks about over breakfast. If I started to clam up, she prodded me to say more making sure I was aware she was perfectly comfortable talking about such things (yes, that’s for you, reader who assumes I’m still dragging Belle by her hair into my depravity).

The travel security has been figured out. I’ll go to the airport unlocked and take the Steelheart through the TSA checkpoint and put it on as soon as I’m on the other side. It’ll stay on until we’re either on our way to the airport again or we’re there and heading toward security. While visiting Steelwerks, I’m going to get measured for a device though we have no immediate plans to get one. Figure I might as well not waste the opportunity. The trip there is really for Drew and Axel and their needs, not me and Belle.

Even though it’ll be fascinating seeing the Steelwerks production facility and getting a behind the scenes view of where easily the most beautifully handcrafted chastity devices are made, I’m still struggling with my issues of separation anxiety. I know the trip will be fun and interesting, but I get anxious thinking about it and feel the need to cleave to her all the harder. I was feeling it last time I left her for a week, but she let me come the morning I was leaving and, like magic, 84% of the anxiety fell away. It’s clearly hormonal. I can rationalize it all I want but I can’t stop feeling it. Can’t stop the fluttery insecurity that builds in my chest when I think of being away from her. I think a big part of my sleeping issues lately have been because of this (not just the trip with Drew, but another week-long venture later in the month).

I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to come. Not really at all. Yes, of course, I have a huge urge to orgasm, but that’s not the same thing. Belle thinks I should see someone. Not sure what I’d say. “Yeah, my wife controls my orgasm and hardly ever lets me have them so I’m unnaturally attached to her…that’s OK, right?”

Pfft. It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it.

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Advice to the reader

Some people don’t like that I’m bisexual. Some don’t like that Belle and I are in an open relationship and I’m allowed to get fucked by guys and have one that does so pretty regularly. They might not like that I enjoy playing with my ass or occasionally wearing lacy (men’s) underwear or am politically left-leaning or whatever.

Thing is, some people want me and my relationship with my wife to fit into their neat little fantasies. They forget that I’m not writing a choose-your-own-adventure novel here. This is a (relatively constrained) view into our real life. And rather than let it roll over them in a way where they can simply absorb an account of yet another in the infinite number of human sexual variations, the extra bits they don’t relate to annoy them. They want to cut them off. They want to put themselves in Belle’s place and lash out in her honor rather than accept I do nothing that she isn’t 100% A-OK with.

I do get it. I understand. Who hasn’t been reading a novel (or, more likely for this crowd, some porn) and been unhappy with the author’s choice of action? I know I have. And then I either walk away or find a way to edit on the fly around the offending item. Or I just accept it for what it is. Of course, this isn’t a novel and it’s not porn (though it can be pretty steamy, I admit). This blog and my words shouldn’t be confused with those things and no amount of “constructive criticism” can change that. You get me as I am and you read what I tell you. If you don’t like that, then you should dynamically edit, skip, or leave.

Nothing in particular made me write this today. It’s just something that popped into my head. Something I wanted to say. This is real life, people. Not a performance.

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Sleepytown trolly

“I’m going to help you sleep tonight.”

I’ve been struggling with sleep for the past few days. A bought of denial-induced insomnia.

“How?”

“By letting you give me an orgasm.”

Unf. “I don’t think that’ll help me sleep.”

“What would?”

“You letting me come.”

Snort. “That’s not going to happen.”

Whimper.

“You don’t want to come anyway.”

Whine.

“Say it. ‘Belle Fille, I don’t want you to let me come.'”

Whimper again. Squirm.

“SAY IT.”

Quietly, “I don’t want to you to let me come, Belle Fille.” It was truth, but being forced to say it was like a high heel grinding my inner sub into a tight, hard corner. The kind of space where it’s most content.

“Of course you don’t. You want to get me off and then, because my orgasm is your orgasm, you’ll get sleepy after and fall asleep.”

I had my doubts. Especially when she started talking about her “boyfriend” and how he’d never say anything like that to her. That he and his big cock always came. All I could do was whimper into her nipple as she said these things and I fingered her clit and thought about this mythical alpha male who’d likely laugh at the locked penis and the way she kept me.

“I’m going to make you work for this one, Thumpie. I’m going to enjoy myself.”

URRRRRGH.

It did take a while. She got wetter and I kept sucking and fingering but I never felt her start to get close. Eventually, she took over her own tits and was tweaking and twisting her nipples while I watched and kept my finger on her snatch, rubbing and flicking and penetrating in all the ways I know, through hours and hours of practice like a musician knows his instrument, she liked best. Even that wasn’t enough for her and she got her vibrator and gave it to me but quickly took it back leaving me nothing more than a spectator to her self-pleasuring.

She came, slowly and deeply, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her pussy clench against my fingers or her back arch or any of the waves of ecstasy that go with her orgasm. I didn’t share it. I heard it and saw it, but I didn’t know it like I usually do. It didn’t go through me. I was just the fluffler that got her into position.

Of course, I don’t begrudge her anything. We have sex so she can come, always, and however she wants. We never have sex so I can come. Whatever we do, if it’s what she wanted, is what we should have done and I don’t have a right to take issue with any of it. She’s right that even though I may crave my own orgasm I never want her to give it to me. I don’t need any orgasms. I only get them when she wants to feel me come in her. Even that can feel more about her than me.

She was left drained by her effort and its successful culmination and I was left pretty much as I was before. Tired but not sleepy and now that much more wired and trying to push images of her and another man out of my mind. She fell asleep quickly and I tried but couldn’t connect with it. I kept thinking and tossing and feeling separation angst (I have some trips coming up) all the while trying to keep sexual images and thoughts as far away as possible.

At about 11:30, I got up and took the last Tylenol PM in the house. I don’t like taking it but I could feel the kind of panic in me that usually unspools into zero hours of sleep. Then I went in the living room and read more of the book I’m getting through. By 12:30, the pill was taking over and I was yawning. I sent back to the bedroom, stripped, crawled in next to her, and tried to get on the road to Sleepytown.

Eventually, I did.