Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

Posted on

Belle’s back

I neglected to change into my acrylic PA ring before locking the old CB6K on. Truth is, I really like how the big steel ring looks and, since it’s visible now, I wanted to keep it in. Pure vanity. However, this means I’m no longer operating in stealth mode. Unless the cock is feeling a little porky and is pushing the ring down and holding it against the tube, the ring knocks around a bit. It’s not consistent and some times are worse than others, but there’s almost always some kind of sound being made.

I walked around most of the day yesterday with change in the pocket of my sweats to help cover the sound. This morning, I’m in jeans and can still hear it in there. Truth is, I kinda like that I’m making an odd sound. While I’d rather be quiet around the house, out in the wild it’s like I’m making a coded declaration of my position. It’s not like anyone who happens to pick up on the sound will think, “Is that a 4 ga captive ball ring I hear knocking around the inside of CB-6000 male chastity device!?” In fact, it’s not so obvious that anyone will think anything, but I can hear it and, occasionally, so with they and that, I must admit, gives me a perverse satisfaction.

Ironically enough, after I wrote those first two paragraphs, I had to leave my desk for several hours and locked my laptop’s screen using my screen saver. Upon returning, I found that the last person to unlock the screen was a user called “admin”. Not me. My office is on the small side, so I know exactly who “admin” is, though I’m not entirely sure why he’d need to access my computer. In any event, this post was up and visible to him as soon as the screen saver went away. I can only assume that he’s now wise to my little secret. For a moment there, I felt somewhat violated and pissed, but not right now. If my cover’s been blown, it’s not because I was being overt or obvious or anything. I trust he’d be discrete and not tell the world, but even if he did, I guess I really don’t care. It also helps that I can fire him if I want to.

In any event, Belle arrived home yesterday as previously reported. One small hiccup, though, in that I thought she was landing in the early afternoon when in reality she landed late morning. I was planning on using those hours to finish the laundry and clean up the whole house, so when she got there, everything would be perfect. Instead, the laundry was not folded and the sheets on her bed were still in the dryer and the kid’s playroom was a disaster. Regardless, it was really very nice having her back and there were many moments when we stopped and hugged and kissed and exchanged little bites on the neck for the rest of the day.

As we went to bed, the jet lag was hitting her kinda hard so I wasn’t expecting much beyond more kissing. Expecting, no, hoping, hell yeah. I’m back in the “proper” mindset now and fully accepting that we’ll only have sex according to her needs, so I would not have been disappointed had she wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep it off. Turns out, though, she wanted to come.

Hearing her say the words, I felt like a greyhound jumping after the fake rabbit at a dog race. I quite literally leapt into action. I immediately started to run my hands over her body, especially those areas I’m not normally allowed to touch. She was immediately responsive and it wasn’t long before she asked me to go down on her.

Asked me, mind you! Like there was ever a question. Fucking hell, YES, I wanted to go down on her. I think it took about 4.5 seconds for me to get my tongue in her snatch. She maneuvered me into a position where I was able to eat her out while simultaneously reaching up to play with her nipples. That required me to lay on my stomach with the device (and it’s fully engorged contents) painfully pressed into the mattress, but the payoff was enormous. I could not get enough of her. It was all I could do to focus on the task at hand and not rub my face into her soft wetness. I had the palpable urge to mark myself with her scent. Even after she came (all too quickly), I laid with my face pressed against her. If I could have, I would have crawled up inside.

That power her pussy has over me – the way it consumes my thoughts – is completely a byproduct of the denial. Of course, I was always a fan, but now, I’m in fucking awe of it. Its taste and its smell and its heat – everything. It’s the embodiment of her power over me. It radiates her feminine will over my actions and I’m left able to do little more than worship it when given the chance.

This morning, I asked her if she let me pleasure her because I was so apparently desirous to do so. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” I did that to her because that’s what she wanted. Plus, she felt I deserved a reward for maintaining the house so well while she was gone.

Hooray for rewards!

Posted on

Pictures don’t lie

Attached, please find photographic evidence that, following a brief recuperative period, I have reestablished the secured state required by my Belle Fille prior to her leaving for the other side of the world.

Security was reestablished at approximately 7:00 PM CST, November 20, 2009.

That is all.

Posted on

Reruns

I occasionally go back and reread some of my own posts. Two things happen when I do that:

  1. I realize I tend to repeat and even contradict myself.
  2. I cheer myself up.

 
Case in point where I do both simultaneously: Back in September, I wrote a post called “Feeling Good” where I said:

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Sound familiar? Pretty much the same vibe I’ve been feeling recently actually seems to have started two months ago. But, unlike recently, I was feeling pretty good about it (hence the title). I wish I understood better how the exact same emotions can, in one case, leave me a happy little sub and, in another case, cause me to spiral round the psychic bowl.

I don’t know. It’s complicated, right? Like a little machine made of brass rings, emotional and hormonal and more, constantly turning so that all the tiny variables of life can’t interact on it in exactly the same way more than once. I am evolving. I should make a list of posts like this one for those times when I find it difficult because there are moments of lucidity where all the rotating segments line up and I can see, right in front of me, satisfaction. Then they turn again and I’m left to coast until the next alignment.

Why do I find this so hard? There are a metric shit ton of guysub blogs out there and a very tiny number of those guys (at least, according to my limited census) ever seem to enter into periods of funk and doubt. There are notable exceptions, but so many of them seem to chug right along, never looking back, never really thinking about where they are. Belle accuses me of thinking too much. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should stop trying to figure out the mechanics behind the constant rotation and just accept things as they happen. The difference between trying to stop the wave as it crashes into me so I can analyzing it, interrogate it, catalog its every atom or just letting it crash and wash over, savoring the sensation.

Either way, I’m pretty sure at this point I’ve already written about it, both loved it and loathed it with anticipation and dread.

In rereading this, I feel I can’t leave the impression that I’m still funky. I’m not. I miss my Belle terribly and crave her return. I miss her body next to mine as we sleep, I miss the sounds of her moving through the house, I miss making her coffee. I want to be and do exactly what she wants and I know that will satisfy me. Whatever alignment caused me to slip into my foul mood has moved on. I can feel it. Now all I need is her, with me.

Also, I want to bring special attention to Elle’s most recent HNT. Just awesome. Maybe her best yet. (And don’t forget to click through to the second image).

Posted on

Calibrating

Reader BT left the following thoughtful comment to my last post:

The malaise is a normal part of the progression of a real Female Dominated relationship. We males are always “on” when it comes to sex. Always the reaction is “Why not?” when the possibility of sexual activity comes along. Women are generally “off.” Their reaction is generally “Why now?” when faced with sexual possibility. By handing over the control of the sexual activity in your relationship to your wife you are naturally going to find yourself subjected to periods of “drought.” It’s a female thing.

But as it turns out that you can find that you actually can enjoy some aspects of it. It is during the times when the focus isn’t on the sexual in your relationship that it can be on deeper personal attachments between the two of you. More on your devotion and trust and caring and mutual support of one another. And that can be very fulfilling and satisfying. That probably doesn’t seem like crazy-talk to the gals reading this comment, but it might seem like it to the guys.

In addition, after having your wife in control of sex for awhile your body learns to react in new ways. There will be times when your “big” brain is saying “Man is she looking hot. I really want to have some sort of sexual contact with her!” while your other “brain” seems to know that there is no possibility of that occurring and so doesn’t bother to rise to the occasion.

Don’t sweat it. (the malaise and the slight ED) It is all part of the process and a good sign that you are happily progressing along this path together. At times like these concentrate on trying to do considerate and thoughtful and romantic things for the one you love. You don’t realize it yet, but you have been emancipated from the chains of always seeing everything through the lense of sexuality, and because of that you are free to enjoy pure romance and love in ways you probably never have experienced before.

Go Thumper, GO!

While formulating my response, I realized it might go on for a while and figured a full-blown post would be more appropriate (because maybe everyone doesn’t read comments). Also, Belle told me in an email from Hong Kong that she “really liked” what BT said, so it’s relative importance has been elevated.

First, I will pick a nit with something BT said regarding how I’ve given Belle control over sexual activity in our relationship. In fact, she always had control over sexual activity in our relationship, from the first time we did it straight on through to the wedding night until today. The only real change in the last year is that I can no longer guilt her into giving me some. She pretty much does exactly what she wants when she wants, as is her right as outlined in our Covenant.

What I’ve actually given over to her is the cock. She now controls what I do with it at all times, not just when we’re having sex. When I can touch it, when I can see it, and of course when it gets to come. The net result of this is that our sexualities have melded – mine into hers. I no longer have the ability to achieve any kind of sexual release on my own. Everything has to go through her.

I’ve struggled with that because I feel as though my sexual identity disappeared into her somewhere. We still inhabit two bodies, but sexually we are one – and not the one who wants to do it all the time. Maybe I’m mourning the end of my separate, distinctly male sexuality. Maybe I’m having a hard time fitting her female sexual motor onto my male engine mounts. Maybe, as she’s suggested, I’m just feeling sorry for myself.

The upshot of this, though, is that a great deal of the tension between what I want and what I get went away. That tension powers all the other stuff, to a certain extent. I agree with BT that I should focus on being considerate and romantic during these slow periods, but at least for the past month or so, I only felt the wind flutter out of my sails. I lost my sexual North and she didn’t really give me a new one to replace it – a point to sail towards.

The bright spot in all this is I don’t feel any resentment or anger. I did feel that when we started down this path (a hang-over from feeling it for the better part of the last ten years), but not recently. Not really at all. Angst, sure. But that’s very different than stewing over her perceived neglect. I completely accept her control over my sex and really don’t want things to be any other way (and neither does she). So maybe BT’s right and this is all just “part of the process”. If so, I’d like to move on to the next part, please.

And maybe I already have. I don’t feel at all like I did before she left. I’m actually kind of horny again and feeling the familiar tremulous anticipation of something I’m not going to get. I can’t say I understand all the levers or that living as the s to her D has been easy, but I can say we’re both in this for the long haul. We’re going to make it work.

Practice makes perfect.

Posted on

Still alive

While I can’t say the malaise has been shaken off, it has been given a good kick. Yesterday, the last full day before Belle went away for a week to Asia, I asked for an orgasm. It’s not that I especially wanted one, but I was at a loss with regard to my continued apathy and saw her impending departure as yet another seven days of sexual vacuum.

As I requested it, I imagined doing myself since she’s on the rag, but as the evening came alone, her fingers found the opening in my pajama bottoms and started to caress the flaccid cock. She did this for quite some time and the damned thing barely twitched. It’d been 23 days since the last orgasm and there she was paying it the most attention it’d seen in two weeks and all it did was lay there. I told her I was worried that I had somehow broken it.

I eventually closed my eyes and really concentrated on the feeling of her fingers on my skin. After a good ten minutes of this, there was life. A few minutes after that, there was a firm plumpness. Then, an honest to god hard-on. Finally.

Her grip was an odd one with most of the stroking being applied to the sides of the erection. She worked on it for what seemed like quite a while and I wondered if she’d ever get me off that way or if all she’d do was get me really, really turned on (and then if that wasn’t just as good as getting off) when I felt the tell-tale tingling and gurgling of the plumbing, deep down inside, rattling and clanging to life. Shortly thereafter, I was coming into her hand in great squirts. My entire consciousness had become that orgasm and as I felt the crest of it wash over me and the spasms start to subside I willed them to continue. Now that I was doing it – finally – I wanted it to go on and on and on. I never wanted to stop.

Today, as she busied herself around the house, I half hoped (OK, more than half) that she’d forget to tell me to get back into the device. She left me out on Friday which was why the meat was so readily available the night before. But, less than a half hour before she left, she told me to get it on. I actually begged to be left out, but she was firm. I was to be locked up. And so I am. I will have been locked into one device or another for all but two days of the previous month by the time she comes back from Asia. At least, as she clicked the lock shut, she thanked me for giving her control over it.

The truth is, I wish it was off. I wish I could be stroking myself right now and I wish I could come. I have a great desire to come. Had she left me out, I’m not sure what I’d have done. Part of me rationalizes that what I need to get my mojo back is a lot of coming. Lots and lots. I need a reset. A reminder of what I’ve been missing. Proof that I still can and still want to. Then again, as I sit and type this, it occurs to me that this desire, the thing I’ve been missing for weeks and weeks, may be my absent mojo after all. Perhaps wanting to come but not being able to marks the beginning of the end of my funk.

Maybe. I suppose only time will tell.

Posted on

Floating in the void

I’ve been trying to write something for a few days but each time the WordPress editor comes up, all blank and intimidating, I wither and slink off. I’m wandering around in a bit of a funk and I can’t say what it’s really about and if I can’t do that I certainly can’t write about it. I suppose I could do a chastity nerdery post and compare and contrast the CB6K and the Steelheart (and mention that I’m currently in the CB6K instead of the Steelheart because we’ve decided it needs to go back to Germany and get a smaller ring), but that wouldn’t feel right. I certainly will get around to writing all that, but to do so now would be like describing the ballpark when I really should be calling the game.

So yeah, malaise. I’ve been denied for 19 days today and locked up for just over two weeks. In the past, this’d mean something, but at the moment I’m not feeling it. I’m feeling something, I just don’t know what it is. Belle’s aware of it, of course, and we’ve bandied about the “taking a break” thing, but I don’t know what that would mean and don’t want to be any way other than I am now. I don’t want to come by myself. I don’t want to be unlocked. I don’t want my orgasm back. And that’s really the issue. I don’t want it, period. While I haven’t come in nearly three weeks or felt a free erection in over two, I’m kinda not missing them. And that bothers me. A lot.

It could be that we’re not being intimate right now. We’ve had a few moments. We shared her orgasm this weekend, but then I ruined it by letting myself get too carried away and not leaving her alone in the bask and glow stage. I felt very bad about that. Then the other night she slapped my balls around a little and I really liked that (so much so that it caused me to excrete a thick slug of precum afterward), but in between these events I’m not feeling what I used to feel. I’m not feeling horny, at least not a flavor of horny I’m familiar with. If she made a move toward sex, I’d do it happily and enthusiastically, but I’m not feeling compelled to push the issue. She doesn’t seem to want it, anyway.

It’s not just Belle. Porn, my old standby and the thing that’s in the past helped me get my motor running, hasn’t been very compelling. I used to be able to appreciate it even when locked up but now, while I might get a momentarily tight tube when looking at it, I don’t feel much interest in doing so and the residual affects are fleeting. I don’t recall there ever being a time in my life when I felt so apathetic towards arousal.

I wonder if this is the point I’ve been trying to get to. Have I lost my independent sexuality? Is it entirely about her now and, absent her motivation, do I not have a sex drive? And if so, am I OK with that? I really don’t know. I feel like there should be more. That I should be feeling more. I miss the subbie vibe and the drive to do things for her. Now, instead of feeling the need to demonstrate my submission, I just do it. There’s no charge around it. So, is this right? Is this where you get when the newness rubs off?

I don’t really know the answer to that. All know is I’m not horny, but I’m not not horny, either. I’m not happy, but I’m not unhappy. I don’t feel subbie, but I am acting that way (or trying to). I feel like I’m floating in a void, neither light nor dark, cold nor hot, no up and no down. I don’t want things to be different, but I don’t want them to be exactly like this, either.

Posted on

Punished

Apparently, I was being snarky. That’s what Belle said, anyway. I certainly was poking fun at her, but, you know, in the most respectful and loving way possible.

Whatever. She didn’t appreciate it.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” She asked.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“OK. Get the Icy Hot.”

“What!?”

And it went on like that with me begging and squirming and trying to talk her out of it. Eventually, she made me get up and retrieve the tube of devil paste from the bathroom. I got back into bed, placing it on my nightstand, and tried to distract her. I was hoping to be able to wait her out. Soon, she’d be sleepy and maybe I’d get off the hook.

After a few minutes, “Get naked and under the covers.”

I did so, still hoping there’d be a reprieve. In theory, I want her to punish me when she sees the need. In practice, Icy Hot hurts like fuck. Plus, I wasn’t really prepared mentally since I wasn’t even aware I was committing a punishable offense.

“Give me the Icy Hot,” she said. I gave it to her while still doing my best to talk her out of it. She seemed to very much enjoy my pathetic protestations.

“Close your eyes.” Whimper. I closed my eyes and opened my legs, exposing the poor, unsuspecting scrotum.

I heard the cap open…I heard the paste squeezed out…I heard the cap snap shut…a few moments of silence…then I felt her fingers smearing the cold lineament across my skin. As usual, for the first several moments it just felt cold. Then even colder as whatever hellish combustion process it utilizes started to take effect. Then hot. Then really hot. Motherfuckinghot.

I tried not to make too much noise, but each wave of burning was greater than the last. I rolled over on my knees and spread my legs so my nutsack would hang freely. She placed her hand on my back in a gentle, loving way as I clenched my eyes shut against the burning. The fumes of the Icy Hot were traveling up my crack and started to provide my ass with a contact burn. That was new.

She must not have put nearly as much on as last time. The burning waves seemed to start to subside after the forth or fifth. Soon, all I felt was a lingering, low-level heat. As I moved about, the burning would intensify for a few moments and then retreat again. I felt well and truly punished.

The next morning, all the burning just a memory, I still felt the difference. I was much more contrite and feeling the subbie vibe. Icy Hot is almost too intense for us to use in a scene now, but as a punishment it was quite effective. I enjoyed the psychological afterglow of being punished even though the actual act was hard to take. From her perspective, its impact far exceeded the effort she needed to put into it. All she’d have to do in the future to make it a more severe punishment would be to increase the amount applied. Since I really don’t like it all that much, I will truly want to avoid it.

I’ll have to do something about the snark.

Posted on

Heavy petting

Laying in bed this morning, with the bright Fall sun streaming through the window and illuminating the scattered pages of The New York Times, another perk of prolonged orgasm denial presented itself. Belle was reading the paper while I was watching TV shows that had piled up on our DVR. I had my head up near her shoulder and was enjoying the lazy, familiar contact with my mate when she put her arm around my neck, her hand down the front of my t-shirt, and started to run her fingers though my chest hair.

These simple, absentminded touches can totally consume someone in my condition. It’s only been ten days since the last orgasm, but that’s long enough to be ramping up into the first strong pangs of desire. As she ran her hand from one nipple to the other, I felt the new metal tube start to tighten and my ass grind down into the bed just a bit. A strange purring moan came softly from my throat. I felt very content. Happy.

Of course, I would have thought that was pretty swell even if I wasn’t soaking in my own androgens. But little things like that are kicked up by a significant factor through denial and are one of the happy little side-effects of not being allowed release.

To that end, I was lobbying Belle this morning not to let me come when my first date comes up. She says it’s soon, but it’s only been a week and a half since my unintended orgasm (let alone the two she let me have in Mexico). I suggested making me wait until next year. That’s just a little longer than I went last time. I also suggested she tack on a month each time I get to come. Two months would lead to three months would lead to four months, etc. I know I’m not supposed to be thinking about that, but anyone who’s read this blog for a little while knows I’m more than a little obsessive about things.

Yesterday, I said to her in passing that it had been nine days since I came. Why, she asked, in the face of asking not to come for the rest of 2009 would I feel the need to reminder her of a mere nine days? Good question. I know I wasn’t lobbing for release. I think I was just fishing for some recognition. A pat on the head. Pathetic, I know. In any event, she reassured me she did recognize my commitment to her control. She said she knew it was hard.

Which leaves me with conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, I am committed to her control. I’ll come when she tells me to and I won’t whine or fret. Promise. On the other hand, I want to do hard things for her. I want to be pushed over ever-more difficult challenges to demonstrate I will do anything she asks. Hard things have value. Easy things don’t. If you think about it, that just about sums up the entire practice of long-term orgasm denial.

Posted on

Security wankie

As I said yesterday, the new Steelheart is only a little less secure than my CB6K. However, it is less secure, a fact only compounded by the total failure of the PA fixing that came with it. This reality has led me to rethink a few things regarding the entire purpose of the device.

Some guys look down their noses (or boners, as the case may be) at those of us who remain chaste though the use of devices. They say the only true way to demonstrate commitment to their partner is to always have access to their dicks but to never use them for anything their partners haven’t authorized, let alone ejaculation. I truly do appreciate this point of view and admire men who are able to muster the self-control necessary to keep their hands off in the face of incredible frustration. But I guess that assumes they are, in fact, keeping their hands off.

Personally, I don’t need the device to keep from having an unauthorized orgasm. The last thing I want is to orgasm (though I desperately want to always feel like I want to – paradox!). What I crave is lots and lots of stimulation. I love playing with myself up to the moment of orgasm, cooling off for a few seconds, and then doing it again. I adore the feeling of a stiff one in my hand, heavy PA ring flopping to and fro. Even with it’s not hard, I find I can’t keep my hands off the cock. It’s like a magnet to me. So, based on all that, what the device represents is Belle’s desire to limit my ability to pleasure myself. She knows I will not come on purpose. But she also knows, from experience, that allowing me to play with the cock is a recipe for disaster.

So, the device isn’t about orgasm control. It’s a masturbation and self-pleasure control mechanism. When she puts me in it, she’s saying she wants me to focus on her and her needs. Jacking off in the shower, even if I don’t come, is distracting and indulgent. Stroking in bed after she’s fallen asleep does not leave me in the same frame of mind as when I’m just left to stew in my juices. Those guys who liken my device to a crutch are right, I guess. It’s a deterrent. A reminder of what she wants. And I need it.

My quest for the undefeatable device is more about nerdery and kink than anything else. I want to feel totally powerless against the device, but don’t actually need to be powerless. For me, it’s more like a “keep off the grass” sign or little wrought iron fence around a flowerbed. A reminder that there are rules and I’m expected to play by them.