Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Hair control

It’s funny the things I can find sexy. Not funny as in clowns (because those motherfuckers are terrifying). Funny as in things typically not thought of as sexy by normal (you know) people.

Case in point. Belle likes hair on men. I don’t know where the line is (like, this dude’s probably over the top for her, but probably not this guy and definitely not this one), but luckily for me, I’m a reasonably hairy dude. Belle says the first thing that attracted her to me was the view of the triangle of chest hair that stuck out of the dress shirts I wore when we worked together. In fact, in writing that, I remember another girlfriend who was similarly focused. Guess it’s a thing then.

Anyway, the guy who cuts my hair likes dudes with little or no hair. At least, he likes them to have very short hair on their heads (and shaves his own). Unless I remember to specifically remind him not to cut it too short, he will. He also seems to find offense that Belle thinks he’s too energetic with the clippers because when I tell him to leave more on the top than he wants to, he scrunches up his face and like a jealous old drag queen and says, “Why, because Belle wants me to?” But, you know, he uses her real name. To which I reply, “Yes,” and he asks if she’s the boss of me and I tell him, well, in actual fact, she is. He rolls his eyes.

The other thing Belle likes is facial hair. I have a beard right now solely because Belle likes it. I grew it earlier in the year for her and won’t shave it off until she says I can (and even then, I’ll leave the Van Dyke-like thing I’ve had since forever, again because she liked it, but now it’s been there so long I can’t imagine not having it). At least she’s OK with me keeping the beard short. Unlike my pubes.

My pubes are longer now than they’ve been in a really long time. Maybe since I started attaching things to my body down there. I went away on my camping trip with a bit of a shag and, upon seeing the additional growth, she told me how much she liked it. So it stayed. Now, they’re noticeably fuller than usual and I am indefinitely suspending any pube trimming (except for some shaving around the edges and on the shaft, mostly for the devices I wear and because I think hair on a penis is revolting and she hasn’t expressed an opinion on it). Last night, when we were heading off to sleep, she was on her side facing away from me (as usual) and I was nakedly clutching her from behind (as usual) and her left hand happened to land right where her fingers could just touch the lock on the Looker 02 and she made a happy sound.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just felt your little bushy part and liked it.”

Warm.

Had I my druthers, I’d have probably shaved the beard off by now and cut my hair shorter and I’d have definitely trimmed my pubes down to about a 1/4″ , but I haven’t done any of that. How is this different than any person modifying how they are to be more appealing to their partner? Dunno. What I do know is, I’m doing this stuff with my hair because of her and her preferences and that lights my submissive circuits up.

EDITED to add that this, BTW, is my 800th post on the blog. For serious! Eight hundred! 

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One thousand percent

“I really want to come in you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“That’s not going to happen.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Are you sure?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“One thousand percent.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“OK, you’re done.”

 

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Back to business

So yeah, I wussed out on the staying locked up while camping thing. Made it one whole night before taking it off. Privacy and hygiene were the driving factors (as in, no privacy necessary to keep things reasonably clean). I’ll be camping again next month and am already thinking of ways to stay in. We’ll see.

While away, Belle sent the following texts to me (though I didn’t get them right away due to spotty cell coverage):

Currently staring at my fav pic of you (FB profile of the moment) and thinking how I’d like to be on top of you right now…

You may need to stay unlocked cuz Belle needs her Thumpie bad.

Needless to say, that got me going. By the end of the trip, when I was smelling my worst and ready to go home, I kept thinking about having Belle on top and fucking me while I had her tits in my face and, while I didn’t actually play with it, I did find my hand squeezing the resultant hard-on. All the way home, she was all I could think about. I spent a night in a hotel while driving back and put the device back where it’s supposed to be, both because I missed it and know how hotel rooms are a historically tempting place for me and the penis to have some fun.

We were finally able to get down to business Monday night ( a snippet of which I posted yesterday). It was all too much for me, though, and when she finally straddled me, I found there was nothing at all I could fill my brain with that would take me even an inch away from what was happening on the penis. None of my distraction techniques worked worth a damn. The world dissolved into the twin joys of her wet pussy and awesome tits. I had to stop her twice and, the second time, she climbed off. I felt bad, but the pre-game activities had me running too hot to be able to perform satisfactorily.

After getting her off, she told me she was willing to let me have a go at the pussy but didn’t want me to get all uppity and grumpy.

“I won’t be grumpy,” I said, very quickly.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” again, quickly. Before she even finished asking me. Honestly, at that moment I would have agreed to anything she asked just to get inside her again.

It was, of course, glorious, but short lived. I came close to coming fairly quickly and she told me that was it. I need that. To always feel like I’m being contained, deprived, controlled, and left wanting more. I didn’t get grumpy the next day and maybe it was leaving me in that needy state that kept it from happening. From feeling in any way indulged. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t given me pussy for more than a month.

After, I was high as a kite and figured I’d never get to sleep. I asked Belle if I could put the device back on she had just let me take off a little earlier. I needed to feel it on me and not have an annoying tube steak constantly swelling and swaying around. She said, “Of course,” and I pushed and squished the semi back into its home and clutched her from behind, holding her body as close to mine as possible.

“At least I’ll have given you something to blog about,” she said to me as we fell asleep. Indeed.

I honestly can’t recall ever being this happy in my life.

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Only she could

She slid her fingers out from her hot, wet pussy and brought them up to his face, rubbing them over his nose and lips and allowing him to hungrily suck the essence from her digits.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.

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Minnesota pride

Freedom to Marry Bridge

Today, my state’s Senate will debate and vote on a bill allowing same-sex couples to marry in Minnesota. Passage is assured. Since the identical bill has already passed the House, the governor has scheduled a signing ceremony for later in the week. Done fucking deal.

I think a lot of things about this. Just last year, the forces of exclusion and hate pressured the old legislature to place a constitutional amendment on our ballot that would ban marriage equity. Rights would explicitly have been taken away from a targeted portion of the population in the state’s constitution. Even though there was already a DOMA-like bill on the books. It failed by a razor-thin margin. Today, that old legislature has been routed and the new one  has performed a politically dangerous act: They have done the right thing.

I was proud of my state when the amendment failed. I am more proud of my state today. When the bill passes, I will cry. I’m already tearing up. Fuck it. I’m crying.

Hold on a sec…

All I can think about is the thousands of gay kids in Minnesota who haven’t come out to their families (or maybe even themselves) for fear of being told there’s something wrong with them. For fear of persecution. For fear of being different. By the end of the week, they will see that we, the people, want them to know they are no different than anyone else. They will love whoever the fuck they want and we will love them right back, no matter what. There’s not a damn thing wrong with them. Not a thing.

Such a good day.

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Weird?

Found on Tumblr. Love it.Weird?

Weird?

Weird?

Weird.

I especially like “There are people with the same hidden opinions and fantasies and together their thoughts are a silent parallel world where secrets are few.” Awesome.

Originally from Virus Comix.

 

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Bifurcated

So I had this dream. Vivid. In it, I was being fucked by a man. In fact, a man I’ve been fucked by before. There was no actual plot to the dream that I can recall. Just him fucking me. Oh, and the device. I was locked up, of course.

It’s been coming back to me lately. Usually when I’m partially asleep or just waking up. Not that I have had the dream again (as far as I can tell) but the memory of it is there. Lingering. Of just being fucked. Being a hole for some big dick to use. Not romantic. Just fucking.

The funny thing is, I still have contact with this guy. Not in person. We play iPhone word games against each other. He was not only my on-again, off-again high school kinda-boyfriend, he was the best man in my wedding to Belle. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and has what is in my opinion one of the world’s perfect cocks. Not super long (above average), but thick. Nice and fat.

Anyway, yeah, it’s been in my mind. I can’t get it out. He’s a long ways away so I don’t have the risk of bumping into him. That would be oddly embarrassing. I remember one time, a long time ago, I had a dream where I had sex with a woman I work with and the next day I could barely look at her. It took me a week before I could talk to her normally.

I haven’t told anyone about the being fucked dream. Well, not until now. Certainly not that I can’t let go of it (or that it won’t let go of me). I don’t know how it is for other bisexuals in monogamous hetero relationships, but my desire for being fucked waxes and wanes. I’m waxing gibbous at the moment, if I had to guess. It’s not directly related to being horny since I’m almost always horny and I am not always thinking about the buttsex.

The obsession has led me to realize I’m almost exclusively a bottom (not just in the BDSM context). When looking at images of men having sex, I’m drawn to the receiving guy. When fantasizing about sex with a man, I’m always receiving. I never fantasize about fucking a man. Back when I had actual sex with men, I didn’t really enjoy fucking them. If I’m going to be inside someone, I much prefer women (and one in particular). I don’t know why I never really thought about it before, but I’m a total bottom in every sense of the word.

Why does any of this matter? I dunno. Just that it and this NYTimes essay on bisexuality have been bouncing around in my head. When you’re bi and in a monogamous relationship, I suppose there’s always a bit of you that’s going to be frustrated. Maybe my frustrated halves are merging. Before one of you says it, yeah, I know there are lots of ways to receive the kind of fucking I’m craving from Belle, but she’s never expressed any interest in that whatsoever. So I guess it stays where it is. Bunking with the other frustrations.

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Transmuted pangs

Belle’s experiment with controlling my moodiness enters its third week. I’ve been out of the Steelheart for about an hour (since the day she let me out overnight earlier in the month) and that was for cleaning purposes only. I didn’t even get a boner. As I mentioned recently, I’ve found myself to be very irritable after being allowed to fuck her since we were on vacation so she’s decided I won’t get to do that as much as before and has stuck to it. I’ve essentially been locked up for month and have only been inside Belle once in that time.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

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Want

“It’s trying to get hard,” I said to Belle. We were laying next to each other and kissing lightly, my hand ranging under her clothes, from her ass up her back.

“Yeah,” she replied, “So?”

Ungh. 

Earlier, Belle and I had discussed briefly the grumpiness I’ve been feeling when let out and inside her. We agreed that it seemed to be caused by her indulging me. By letting my lizard brain think there was a chance to come. So, she wasn’t indulging me. But fuck, I wanted to be indulged. Badly.

The kissing intensified and Belle rolled back and pulled on me slightly, indicating I should be up and over her. On all fours, I kissed her face and neck and her hand ran down my naked side, over my ass and thigh, and then back up to find my nuts. She fingered that wondrously sensitive area between my ass crack and balls, including the steel ring anchoring her chastity device to my body. The ring of power, I thought. Where the metal did her business with me. The very spot where her control over me was made real. I felt myself slip lightheadedly into shallow subspace.

Her caressing of the tightening skin felt fantastic. I moaned into her neck and pillow. Her touch was light and playful. Then, SMACK! I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t really wanted it. But not so much that I wouldn’t accept it. She could do what she wanted and right then she wanted to hurt me. She didn’t have to ask permission. I fell more deeply into subspace.

WHACK! *gentle gentle* THWACK! Repeat.

The penis yearned to become fully erect, but the steel restrained it cruelly. The dull pain of the hard ring clenched around the captured erection mixed with the pain she was causing me. I wanted it gentle but also wanted to submit to her. Each time she made contact, I collapsed a bit but raised myself back up again hoping she’d stroke me lightly from then on. I tried to encourage her in that direction.

“That feels so good,” I whispered.

PUNCH! Immediate. No delay. As if to say, Oh? Really?

That one hurt deeply. I collapsed again and groaned as the wave of hot pain radiated out from my groin. But then I raised my ass back into the air and spread my legs a bit more. She was making me crave her attacks, but Thumper Time was up.

She pulled up her top exposing her fantastic tits and their hard, fat nipples. I greedily sucked them, one then the other. The penis raged and the lizard fell back in abject dispair knowing it was a futile effort. This was about Belle completely now. She would not be getting the key. I would not be indulged.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her pajama bottoms and felt the moist heat of her pussy glowing beneath. I pulled her pants off and sank my fingers into her hot wetness. So soft, so smooth. I craved it. The craving ate at me from within. So fucking close, but so far away.

I played with her clit and sucked her tits and she slowly arched her head, neck and back as the orgasm creeped up on her. Her hips started to gyrate beneath my fingers and her breathing grew short and ragged and my hips started to rhythmically grind against her thigh. I humped her leg in my impotent fashion, raging hard-on compressed and painful in its trap, in syncopation with her gyrations. She was coming and I was fucking her in my own way. The only way I could. The only way she’d let me.

After she came (hard) I felt like a man about to reach a summit that was suddenly not beneath him anymore. She was glowing while I was left to try to restrain myself from further grinding. I moaned. I whimpered. She ignored me.

She fell asleep. I stayed awake. I do love her so much.