Life with Belle – Page 32 – Denying Thumper

March 6, 2015

Nine nine nine

I’m all hung up on the fact that my next post will be the thousandth on the blog. I’m not sure if that counts the couple of dozen aborted drafts that never saw the light of day or not (or if it really matters since it’s kind of an arbitrary thing to get hung up on anyway). The next one has kept me from doing this one because once this one’s done then the next one is the big one-zero-zero-zero.

Plenty of things I could write about…

Drew was in town this week. Before he got here, Belle essential insisted that I take him to dinner the night he arrived. She even offered to help me groom myself prior to seeing him. I hope this continues to alleviate any lingering concerns among my readers as to Belle’s emotional wellbeing in this age of open marriage. I also hope my discussion of our open marriage and the fact that I had sex with another man again drives off any lingering hateful homophobes from your midsts (I’m not allowed to describe it here, but assume the aforementioned sex was as awful and dirty as you’re imagining if it helps you close your browser window in disgust and never come back). Minimally, even if you don’t like or get what we’re doing (all four of us involved), you should be happy for us that it seems to only make things better for everyone.

Over on his blog, Drew posted about the net positive effects our openness has had for he and Axel.

Now, five or six months later, I can honestly say I had no idea how great the open marriage would actually be for my marriage. The time I have had with Thumper has already made me a better husband because I am paying attention to Axel more, learning more about areas I was lacking or needing more experience in, and just knowing that the immense level of trust we have for each other is there, is working, and is helping us grow as a couple just makes my heart light up inside.

Mrs Fever posted a comment that was, as usual, insightfully relevant. In part, she said…

And as much as I love my boyfriend, and hate to leave him when our time is through, there is nothing like coming home to my husband afterward. Time apart always makes us appreciate each other more, and time with someone else makes me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. Which, as you say, is something that’s difficult to understand unless you’ve been there.

I have nothing much to add to their combined statements. I feel the same way. Giving me the freedom and the trust to be with Drew once a month or so only makes me love her more and, indeed, coming home from my time with him to be with her intensifies that sentiment.

In other news, we’re at the half-way point of my six week pre-vacation lock-down. I am, to put it as succinctly as possible, horny as all fuck. Funny, but my time with Drew doesn’t seem to make it any worse (or, at least not for long). I went into it this time really charged up and, after he left, I’m pretty much the same. I suppose that’s good for him. I find that being in this state makes me much more focused as to what I want out of our handful of monthly hours. Perhaps I was a bit too forward this time, but I didn’t hear any complaining.

In any event, the other morning Belle and I were talking about it and I’m fully and completely on the other side of the lock-up hump in that I am kind of desperately wanting her to maintain as much tight control over the penis as possible. I requested that she make me lock up even on vacation outside those time I have to be out (TSA, wetsuits, etc.). I feel as though being given too much freedom would make me mental. Distracted from the access and even worried about her commitment to my control (which is nuts, but these are all things that have happened in the past and the fucking hormones are powerful shit). She said she was already leaning in that direction anyway and hearing that made me swoon with gratitude.

That’s the fucked up shit of this chastity and denial thing. Being locked up and horny drives me crazy with desire and frustration but it’s the desire and frustration that, in turn, powers my deeply submissive need to be totally controlled and being totally controlled while feeling all that submissiveness makes me stupidly happy. The nervous ball of energy in my stomach and electric throb from inside the steel tube is in a very real sense the palpable proof that my wife loves me and cares about me. Awesome, right? It leaves me feeling deeply in her debt and so, so grateful to her for all things.

But now I’m treading on whatever post 1,000 will be about. So I’ll choose now as my time to stop and ponder.

February 27, 2015

Fortnightish

“Can you feel it?”

Belle asked me that as I was wrapped myself around her in bed, pressing my naked body against as much of her bed-clothed body as possible, hard stuffed tube pushing into her thigh. We’re at about the end of the second week of my six week lock-up prior to Spring Break.

“Yes,” I said quietly into her hair.

And I can. A lot. Everything is so much more now. How she looks, how she feels, how she smells, how she tastes. I’m starting to think more about what she might want or how she might feel about something or what she’d want me to do. It’s like fucking magic.

“I can tell,” she said before turing over to sleep, “It’s good for you.”

Whimper.

Then, after a moment, “It’s good for me, too.”

Four more weeks.

February 24, 2015

I find a clit

As anyone who lives with their penis locked in a steel tube can tell you, hygiene is important. Not to be scrimped on. Probably a third of the time I spend in the shower is attending to the tube.

So this morning, as I was doing my thing (which involves squirting soapy water in the tube and squishing it around), I stuck my finger down there to make sure everything was nicely cleaned out. Typically, I run it down each side to get to the place under the head of the penis where the PA ring goes around the fixing and urine can collect, but this time I also ran it over the top of the penis and ZING!

So that’s how I found myself with my finger down the tube rubbing the top of the glans on the head of the penis like it was a clit. I mean, the motion was exactly like fingering a clit. After a few moments of this, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, I realized several things. First, being forced into a situation where I can only rub myself like I have a clit is a pretty good mind fuck. Two, there is no way in hell I’d ever be able to come this way. With no way to stimulate the bottom of the head, I might eventually combust, but orgasm would forever be out of reach. Three, after a few seconds of this, the amount of room in the tube that made it possible was rapidly filled. And finally, I wondered if this was in violation of Belle’s “no playing with it” rule. Fuck, probably.

So I stopped.

I’ve been in the device now for about ten days which is not that big a deal in the greater scheme of things but longer than I’ve been locked up solid in a while. I am now entering that period where the device stops feeling like a thing which means I’m getting pretty horny. While I was fingering my little faux clit this morning, the tube felt less like a foreign object and more like part of the thing I was fingering. It’s a weird mental game my brain plays that tells me I’m in the groove. Also, I’m more or less sleeping through the night and am only slightly woken up by the tube pressure in the wee hours and find myself flexing the attempted erection so it fills with more blood and the tube gets that much fucking tighter only because I like how it feels.

It’s also sort of dangerous because I’m feeling the denial ooze around me like a warm mud bath and my desire to come is slipping further and further away. All I want now is her. To feel her come. To hear her moan and breath and climax with my fingers buried up in her hot snatch while the penis throbs and strains and pushes against immovable, implacable, clenching steel. If she let me out and told me I could fuck her and come, I definitely would because it’s her decision, but right now this second today, I would regret it. The head of steam is building in my loins and I want to feel it grow stronger. I am not nearly desperate enough.

But I try and put those thoughts aside. I don’t decide. If she wants me hornier, I’ll be hornier. If she doesn’t, I won’t. But I hope she does. That’s OK, right? Hoping?

February 21, 2015

Becoming what she needs

Belle has informed me that I will be locked up until we go away on Spring Break. That’s, roughly speaking, about six weeks of being enclosed in steel. Of course, the thing she’s really good at is doing whatever she wants and exercising her prerogative regarding the penis, so it’s entirely possible she’ll wake up one morning and decide she wants cock and let me out. Or she’ll stick to her statement and leave me in. I don’t have any way of knowing and it’s entirely out of my control.

Her reason for this (relatively) long lock-up (at least by recent standards) is because I’m apparently being insufficiently subbie lately. It’s not surprising considering the shocking number of orgasms she allowed me in recent months. Two in the past two or so weeks, even. That’s approaching 30% or so of what a normal man would have! Heavens.

I do know what she’s talking about. I can feel it. I’m doing my best not to second-guess her now that I’m fully engaged with the “she decides” model, but I know I don’t feel now the way I feel when it’s been a really long time since I last came. It’s actually hard to talk about because I feel like I should be removed from that decision. Whatever I say will influence her and I don’t want to unduly do so, but I will admit to getting used to coming (even if it’s still at a far reduced rate from what other men enjoy).

The thing I have to remember is she controls the penis so she controls me and she controls how I’ll be as a result. Sure, I can try and live up to her expectations, but the hormonal wall of denial is a sturdy backstop that helps keep me where she wants me.

She’s left with a difficult choice. She likes when I come in her and likes letting me feel that. She also likes letting me inside her, though she tells me now that she’s more or less off dick as a means to orgasm. She’s adjusted to non-penetrative techniques involving fingers, vibrators, and tongues. We tried Blue the other morning and it didn’t do much for her. In any event, she digs it when I can fuck her. But she also digs how I am when really well denied. All the salubrious affects that go along with the pent-up hormonal load. I know when it’s been months I’m totally different and she likes that Thumper better. I can only really be that Thumper when I can’t really remember what orgasm feels like. So, her choice.

We’ll have to wait and see. Six weeks solid is a relatively long time to be locked up. I’m not in the frame of mind yet where I feel really settled into it. I haven’t had that “it’s part me” feeling about the Steelheart. Well, not much. This morning, she let me get her off and she said it was a really nice orgasm so that makes me happy. She also told me she like feeling the hard steel against her thigh. That makes me feel…oh, my. I really wanted out. I really wanted to feel the penis inside her pussy. But I never said it because she, of course, knew I felt that and I, of course, knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead, while she purred and basked in the afterglow, I felt the PA ring pinch inside the end of a steel tube packed tightly with insistent erectile tissue.

She’s entirely right. Extended lock-up is what I need. It’s what needs to happen to make me that better Thumper she prefers and the person I’d rather be for her.

February 15, 2015

Merry Male Chastity Day

Seems implausible that I’d let the second annual Male Chastity Day slip by without some kind of mention…right?

A couple of weeks ago, I was contacted by the managing editor of Simply Sxy to write a piece for their site. Feeling sorry for them and their apparently congenital vowel deficiency, I agreed and suggested something introducing the practice of enforced male chastity on Male Chastity Day would be place to start. I may not know a lot of things, but I know male chastity. So I wrote it and, today, they posted it.

Yay, right? Well, yeah, I like it. But there was a problem¹. In it, I said:

The motivation behind Male Chastity Day may have been equal parts commercial and sincerity. In 2014, UK-based fetish shop UberKinky picked February 15th to celebrate male chastity (and maybe sell a few chastity devices along the way). While 2015 is only its second year of existence, male chastity enthusiasts (such as myself) have embraced it.

That is not correct. As Keyheld pointed out to me on Twitter, chastitylife247 was the first to propose a male chastity day. This is definitely the truth. They also, in that first Twitter exchange on the topic, settled on February 15 as the date. Keyheld is a prolific male chastity booster and worked with a number of other bloggers on Twitter to get the word out to retailers and manufacturers which led to UberKinky’s blog post and, it seems, a fair bit of confusion as to the date’s origins. Most links I’ve seen to the “source” of Male Chastity Day go to that UberKinky post I linked to in my piece and they’re the ones who set up the Male Chastity Day event on FetLife. So, good on UberKinky for being so supportive, but all props to chastitylife247 and Keyheld for originating the concept. I’ve sent a suggested correction to Simply Sxy for the article and I hope they’ll add it as soon as they can.

Of course, in this house, the other name we have for Male Chastity Day is “Sunday” and, as such, I woke up in the Steelheart. Belle, though, doesn’t feel compelled to follow the mandates of an arbitrary holiday and soon enough let me have the key and, as promised, let me come. This led me to say we needed to change the name of the blog considering I’ve had about 2,700 orgasms (roughly) so far this year. “Used To Be Denying Thumper” was suggested but my favorite is the simpler “Denied Thumper.” The motion, however, was declined and the name of the blog will not be changing.

So yeah, around here we apparently celebrate Male Chastity Day by unlocking penises and then sating me with an orgasm. Because she decides and nobody else.

¹ Actually, two. There’s also a confusing typo in the final paragraph. Grrr, typos.

February 12, 2015

Gym convo

I arrived at the gym this morning just as Belle was leaving.

“Are you going to see Fifty Shades of Grey this weekend?” the trainer asked with a smirky tone in his voice.

“See it?” Belle replied, “We live it.” Then she looked at me. “Don’t we, babe?”

“Yup,” I said.

February 6, 2015

Label maker

Some good comments on the post about bisexuality and the words we use to describe ourselves. Mrs. Fever said…

The problem with labels is that they are labels. Words attached to packages in stark lettering that can only be deciphered through the lenses of each individual’s experience. Which sticker “fits” according to our own self view has little to do with others’ interpretations. How we interpret what’s inside another’s Self, based on the label they slap on themselves, varies far too greatly for labels to be unifying. After all, one person’s tuna surprise is another person’s cat food.

I get that. I do. But the thing is, we need to label things around us. It’s what our little monkey brains do, whether we want to or not. I think we fail, though, when we try and make labels to describe ourselves that carry the entire genome of who we are and what makes us us.

Sexuality is hardly the only thing that struggles with this. Politics, for example (at least in the United States), is similarly problematic. You are either a Republican, a Democrat, an independent unaffiliated voter, or you associate with one of several marginal parties (Green, Socialist, etc.). But that’s not all there is to it. All Republicans are not created the same. Nor are all Democrats. And an independant might still always vote for one party or another.

There are these people who cut hair and we call them “barbers.” However, within barbers there are those who cut hair with their left hands. And within that group of lefties, some have red hair. And within those ginger leftie barbers, some have facial hair. And drive a Prius. And are Geminis. It’s entirely possible those left-handed, ginger, hirsute, eco-freindly and astrology-obsessed hair cutters really want to stand out as distinctly unique among the other barbers and come up with their own word (which I can’t possible even imagine because my example is so silly). But if they did and, when asked what profession they were in, answered with it they’d probably get some rapid eye blinking in reply. “You mean like a barber?”

Which is not to say that these very specifically distinct people don’t deserve their own identity. As I said in the original post, I love that we live in a time when there is so much diversity in our understanding of sexuality. When I was a boy, there was none of that. Barely two buckets you could put yourself in. Now, you can roll your own. But, I appreciate Suggestive’s point on this:

I found bisexual the easiest language to pass along a simple message. “I am not straight.”

I would only change that to include, “…or gay.” “Bisexual” means I’m living on something other than either end of a bipolar, black and white world. Somewhere in the middle gray space in between.

No, bisexual is not a perfect word. But it is one most people will have some understanding of when hearing it and that’s not nothing. We need labels because by creating that word we also create an identity that is greater than ourselves. An identity that requires acknowledgment by others. However, I think we need to see these labels as not the end of the conversation. They don’t need to perfectly summarize all that we are. They should be seen as a jumping off point for further discussion. No matter how well we categorize and label, at the end of the day, we are all unique and deserving of respect. Any label is nothing more than a broad categorization.

I’ve struggled with this before. I’ve even thought of myself as not “bisexual.” I’ve honestly hated that word most of my life and have only recently decided to reach an understating with it. If I want to have a conversation about myself or sexualities other than those dominant in the popular culture, I need to start somewhere.

That’s all “bisexual” is to me. A starting point that says I’m not straight. Or gay. I’m different. Let’s talk about it.

February 5, 2015

Look better naked

Spring Break is something like two months away. It’s always the first shot across my bow from a fitness standpoint. We usually spend a week or so on a warm Caribbean island in many fewer clothes than usual and I invariably want to look better in those clothes than I do.

“Fitness” is a multi-variable concept for me. I am fit. I run 5k several times a week (now that my achilles is healed back up…for the most part) and go to the gym for strength training a couple more times. That’s usually at least five days a week of physical activity. I have an above-average set of muscles where you want them, a strong core, and a great resting heart rate for someone my age. Even my body fat percentage is, according to my scale, in an acceptable place. But my physical appearance, smoking shoulder porn and post-run sweatiness aside, isn’t what I’d like it to be. It’s really never been except for one time in my life when I was waiting tables and busting my ass every night.

So, around the beginning of the year, I start to think about Spring Break and how I’d like to look in a swimsuit I have no business wearing. This year, Drew was thinking similar things and we started to look for a program to help track activity, etc. This led us both to be part of Ferns Workout Crew (hashtag fwocrew) and the realization that I have far too many apps involved with my endeavor to look better naked. This is made even more complicated by having a kinky pervert online persona and a muggle online persona.

Muggle side

There are several apps involved with tracking my food intake and energy output on the muggle side of things.

MyFitnessPal

MFP is sort of the hub of all the apps. It’s where I track my food (when I’m good) and, as such, it’s also where all my activity information ends up. Thier simple concept of eating less equalling weight loss is hard to argue with. No fancy diets. Just eating less. It’s also a great motivator to exercise as doing so provides me with calorie credits.

Strava

Strava tracks my running and other workouts. It feeds those over to MFP where they’re cashed-in for calories I can eat above and beyond my daily limit. As a road running app, I adore Strava. Beautifully designed and usually pretty solid from a functional standpoint. Stava also communicates with my Polar heart rate monitor and stride sensor (which a lot of these kinds of apps do). I used to use RunKeeper but I liked the cut of Starva’s jib better. I also used to use Nike Running but it didn’t play well with other apps (at the time) so I jumped to RunKeeper. Nike did show pace on my map, though, through changing my route color from red to green. I liked that.

I can track my workouts in Strava, but not reps and sets. Just what kind of workout it was (ie, strength) and how long it lasted. It gets passed off to MFP like the outdoor runs and when I run on our treadmill.

The concept of social networks is very important in all these apps for me. MFP has a ton of people I know in it as does Strava (and more all the time). The Strava folks seem to be a bit more hardcore than the RunKeeper crowd which I like. I really like to run. So much so that I probably overdo it and injure myself. Sitting with my legs soaking in giant buckets of ice water in the summer is a normal thing for me.

EveryMove

Everymove is kind of a sideline app. I only use it because a bunch of people I work with do. It rewards points and makes competing with a group of people dead simple. That’s pretty much it’s raison d’être. In addition, you can earn real-world rewards by being active (like coupons or donations to causes). I don’t really care about that, though. If it wasn’t automatically connected to Strava, I might not use it. Just like with MFP, everything just shows up there automagically.

Withings

My bathroom scale is from Withings and has wifi built-in. My weight, fat percentage, and BMI (which is kind of a crock of a metric) gets collected and eventually ends up in MFP. I also have a Withings blood pressure cuff I use a couple of times a month. That data also shows up and is tracked in the Withings app.

Trackers

I have tried several fitness trackers. I liked the Nike Fuelband for quite a while but they were unreliable and kept dying (and now Nike killed them). Also, they didn’t play with other apps (not unlike their running app). Then I tried the Misfit Shine. Very pretty but difficult to read easily. Waterproof, which is cool, but syncing with the app required physical contact with my iPhone which is a bummer. It uses a watch battery so it lasts a really long time but the app (at the time) had no social connections at all and didn’t connect with MFP. I also had an early Basis Band (since discontinued; this is the current product) which promised to track my heart rate but I found it to be very unreliable. Plus, it wanted the spot on my arm where my watches live and it was too ugly for me to wear every single day like that. Plus plus, again with the no syncing to other apps.

At the moment, I have no fitness tracker but the Fitbit Surge looks really awesome. I’m not making any moves, though, because the Apple Watch cometh and I know I’m going to get one and it will be awesome (that second bit is more of a hope than a fact).

Kinky sex pervert side

Fitocracy

Fitocracy is a workout tracker. With it, I can track my reps and sets. It has, seemingly, thousands of types of strength exercises along with a bunch of cardio. It offers curated workouts (collections of exercises) focused on different goals or you can create your own on the fly (which is what I do). You can also hire a coach directly in the app, which I haven’t done since I have a real life trainer, but it’s an interesting option to have.

The big thing about Fitocracy, besides being easy to use and well designed, is that it’s social at its heart. I abandoned my muggle account and created a new Thumper account so I can be on a team with Drew. Really, it’s just a way to keep one another motivated. It’s “gamifies” working out by rewarding points for each kind of exercise, apparently based on the intensity and difficulty. A downside is it won’t sync with MFP (which I don’t need anyway, but it would be nice).

Jefit

Jefit comes with being part of the fwocrew. It seems to do everything Fitocracy does just with an uglier and harder to use website. I still can’t figure out how to enter my workouts properly on their site. The app is somewhat better, but still not as simple or pretty as Fitocracy, in my opinion. However, I really like being part of the fwocrew and will have to invest the time to figure it out. The snobby interactive designer in me just can’t let myself use it over Fitocracy, though. It seems to have all the functionality needed to do what the fwocrew needs it to do, but I just don’t care for it at all.

I think that’s it. I have tried all kinds of other apps and gadgets, but this is the list of the ones I’m currently using. Some might say this is overkill (and I wouldn’t argue), but I love being able to quantify all this data about myself and share it with interested friends. It helps me stay motivated and focused and that makes me healthier and, eventually…hopefully, look better naked.

February 4, 2015

Bipanflexible

Lorelei, aka Suggestive, answered a question that’s been on my mind over on her blog. To summarize, how are bisexual and pansexual different things? The questioner defined them thusly:

bisexual: sexually attracted to both men and women.

pansexual: not limited in sexual choice with regard to biological sex, gender, or gender identity.

Lorelei’s reply was pretty spot-on, I think (“bisexual” is an older word from before the concept of a non-binary gender existence was common plus it might be better shorthand than “pansexual” before you get to know someone if all you really want to do is say you aren’t straight). You can go read the whole thing. It’s good.

The part that made me curious was this:

Pansexual opens up bisexuality to include transgender people, intersex people, and like you said – people that don’t necessarily gender themselves. In other words, someone who is pansexual is more or less bisexual, but someone who is bisexual is not necessarily pansexual.

I’ve thought a lot about this in the past (more or less the first time I found out Buck Angel was a kind of person in the world, whenever that was). When I say I’m bisexual, I might really mean I’m pansexual as it’s defined above because I’d very happily have sex with both trans men and trans woman. Either someone presenting very masculinely but with a pussy or someone presenting very femininely (and maybe with breasts) yet with a cock¹. Sure. I’m game. I like all those things and I don’t really think changing up the how they’re combined would be a bad thing at all. In fact, I’m sure I could even hook up with a non-gendered person. Probably. Well…probably.

This snuggles up to something else I’ve been pondering since I found it the other day. A few months ago, someone posted to imgur a set of charts that supposedly breaks down active FetLife users. Three charts in particular caught my eye.

First, the sexual orientation reported by all the active users:

Wow, I thought, look at all those bisexuals! Plus all the others I’d probably lump in with bisexuals (and then get scolded for doing so if they knew I was doing it). How awesome, I thought. My people!

Then I saw this. Sexual identity reported by just the men:

Fucking hell. Really, guys? Sixty-seven percent straight!? Can we believe this? Is it really true that out of all those thousands of kinky people (57% identified as male), so many of the guys are dead-on Kinsey zeros?

Of course, this is how people are choosing to identify. That’s not necessarily how they are. I suppose if you’re a guy and you’re married or in an LTR with a woman and you don’t have a lot of interest in men sexually and no ability to pursue any anyway, then you’re straight. I also think there are a lot of straight men who have fucked around with guys, especially in their youth. I know because I was one of the guys they fucked around with. More than a handful of current men who, when they were boys, seems to enjoy my naked company and seem to all the world as straight (and at least one I can think of off the top of my head who’s made borderline homophobic jokes on Facebook).

My personal opinion based on my own experiences with men who identify all over the place is that they actually are all over the spectrum. How we identify has less to do with how we are and more to do with how we want to be perceived. Men are not given bonus points in our culture for calling themselves anything outside “straight” and, it seems, will only do so for specific reasons. Same goes for men who call themselves gay. They might have a tiny or more consequential yet still minority part of them drawn to women, but they get no bonus points for ever letting that show.

Of course, I’m talking about men here because that’s what I know best. Women actually are somewhat rewarded for not identifying as totally straight in our culture. The men like it, for one, but it’s also more accepted. This is shown by how they break out on FetLife:

Just look at them. Not even a third say they’re straight. More call themselves bisexual, not even counting all the related flavors.

Who knows. Maybe all those guys really are super-duper straight and I’m full of shit. Maybe women just are more fluid sexually. But it doesn’t feel that way to me. I think a lot of guys aren’t perfectly K-0 but say they are anyway. Perhaps they confuse what they are doing with what they are? “I’m with a woman so I’m straight.” That would help explain why bisexuals are often called “formerly” bisexual with they settle down with someone of either gender. Who we fuck isn’t what we are, right? But maybe it’s a more prevalent perspective with men.

It’s also possible this is a generational thing. People my age were pushed to go straight or gay and neither side seemed to think something in between was valid. That seems to be changing with younger people. They’re inventing all kinds of interesting variations on the theme. And good for them. Bi, pan, flex. To me, they’re all essentially the same. But what they aren’t is fitting into anyone else’s conception of what’s “normal.” I’ll count that as a good thing.

¹ And let’s not get started on the fact that other cultures have archetypes of feminine men in them like the Japanese.

February 3, 2015

Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.