Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Right this second

Sometimes, I start to write a post meaning to say one thing and end up saying something else entirely without even realizing it. That happened yesterday. I related the fact that we were in the hot tub but got all carried away with her furtive little kicks to my groin and forgot the Really Big Thing™ we talked about.

In my opinion, there’s always been in the back of Belle’s mind the idea that what I really want – the thing that’ll make me most happy – is to actually come like a fountain at the end of all the teasing and denial. Maybe, once upon a time, that was true. But not anymore. We both agree that when I’m in the phase I’m in right now that we’re both happiest with the D/s. The power of my sexual frustration has stripped away my self-centered mantle just enough so that I’m especially attuned to her needs. I’m not going to try to get too psychological about it or fall into any of the typical Femdom stereotypes, but there is something to the idea that a woman can harness her man’s need for sexual release and focus it on more productive (for her and the relationship) pursuits. That’s where I am now. I know I’m not the same person when I’m like this. Well, the same, but a different version perhaps. I act very differently. She’s used my desire to change my behavior, and I like it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I’m a “true” submissive or if the denial just makes me one. I still think it’s the case that I’m not a real submissive, but the truth is, I like being turned into one by her. Just the idea that my natural urges are being used to modify how I behave is a huge turn-on. Plus, I recognize that she’s happier with me and the relationship when I’m in this state. I’ve touched before on how maintaining the sweet spot between the more selfish apathetic condition of my normal self and the leg-humping horndog of me carrying way too much pent-up sexual frustration should be our goal.

So, back to what I really want. In fact, what I know now is I never want to be sexually sated ever again. I never want to be in a position where I’ve achieved so many orgasms that I’m totally uninterested in maintaining a submissive position with her. In the past, she’d give me lots of release around special occasions or, once she let me come, she’d let me come a lot. Recently, she’s moved away from that strategy and I’ve found that, yes, there is a hit to the sub energy after I’ve come, but the bounce back happens much more quickly if they’re singular events.We are both so much more happy with how things are right this second that we should make right this second the model or our relationship and not some ideal espoused by the dominant phallic-centric popular paradigm of sexual perfection.

Also, with regard to “special occasions” (such as romantic get-aways or birthdays or anniversaries or what have you), I think what they offer is a special opportunity to make the denial even more effective. Yes, the romantic anniversary trip we’re taking to Mexico in the Fall is a classic scenario where a normal, sexually equal husband should expect lots of terrific orgasmic sex. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t get any. My orgasms, as I’ve said in the past, should be the opposite of special occasions. They should be perfunctory and banal. Everything special should be focused on her. My orgasms are to be regarded as unavoidable maintenance events to be put off as long as possible while hers should be frequent, spectacular, and celebrated.

In retrospect, this may not seem like a Really Big Thing™ to anyone who’s been reading the blog for more than a week or so. The concept isn’t what’s really big. Disabusing her of the idea that my craving for sexual release means I’d be happier once I achieved it – that’s the big thing. For both of us.

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My Mistress

Belle and I spent a nice portion of yesterday in the sun, floating on two innertubes bound together with a bungie, Coronas in hand, tethered to a pontoon in the middle of a northern lake. The water was chilly but the sun was warm on our skin as we let the gentle breeze move us around. It was lovely. Afterward, back at the cabin, I found Belle in the hot tub all alone.1

After asking for and receiving permission to join her (the kids were upstairs getting their fill of Sponge Bob, the in-laws doing whatever it is they do), we soaked in the bubbly warm water. Lately, I’ve felt the need to gush endlessly about how happy she’s making me. I told her – again – but also added that I find her to be a remarkable woman. I know from reading enough guysub blogs that the majority of SOBs like me out there don’t generally find their spouses amenable to a D/s arrangement (or, just as often, they don’t have the nerve to even find out). Yet Belle has been wonderful. She and I have found a way to relate inside this headspace that makes me over the moon happy. My only fear is that I’m happier than she, but she tells me that when I’m feeling very submissive (like lately) and my urge to service her in every way is running its highest, that yes, she’s very happy, too. So I’ll just need to be happy and try to accept that she’s also as happy as she can be. Constant communication is, as usual, one of the secrets to our success.

So, back in the tub, I was down toward her feet, holding them, rubbing them, massaging her calves, when she realized our relative positions gave her feet a perfect vector into my balls. Up until this point, she’s always used her hands when hitting me there, but I’ve fantasized about her kicking me. There wasn’t enough room for a full-on kick in the balls, and the water slowed her movement somewhat, but she managed to make a few connections without me even asking (one of which that was especially painful). By the time she needed to get out, I found I was unable to do so due to the massively hard erection she had produced (and the cock ring had enhanced). I bobbed around in there all my myself for a while until I was presentable to any in-law or offspring I might have happened upon as I exited the water.

Later, in bed, I told Belle that I have been feeling the need to call her something more formal that just “Belle Fille”. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but yesterday when I wrote in my previous post that she and I didn’t have any formal honorific for me to use with her, I think I finally realized how much it meant to me. In the past, we had discussed our options, but none of them seemed to strike her fancy. This time, I said to her that I needed to call her Mistress. My Mistress. Mistress Belle Fille. Even writing it out embarrasses me, so imagine how saying it to her made me feel. In any event, I got it out and she acquiesced. From now on, I will, in the appropriate setting, address her as Mistress. *blush*

I can’t say for certain why this is suddenly so important to me. I like how it makes our power exchange more formal. I like how it elevates her. I like how, in my mind, when I think about what I should or should not be doing (either with her cock or just in general), she’s not just my Belle Fille, now she’s Mistress. The female version of Master. I am mastered by Belle Fille. And I like it.

So after that was decided, I asked my newly minted Mistress if she’d punch me once in the nuts. I know what you’re thinking. WTF is it with all the testicle pain? For the love of god, isn’t there anything else to do? My answer is twofold. First, the ROI of testicle abuse is quite high. Very little effort (and no tools or toys) can result in enormous pain. I dig that. Second, and this is the part I really can’t explain logically, I find my desire for nut torture goes up in direct proportion to how long she’s denied me an orgasm. Of course, my overall desire for pain increases as well, but in particular, testicle pain in something I find myself craving. Dreaming about. I am simply addicted to it at the moment.

In any event, I asked.

“Will you punch me in the nuts if I hold them? Just once?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly. My heart raced and my breathing became heavy. I wasn’t sure which way the answer would go.

She pulled back the covers exposing my crotch. I encircled my nutsack with my fingers, pulling the skin tight and causing my testicles to be completely exposed. They could be no more vulnerable.

“Now I’m scared,” I said, looking into her eyes. She touched the cock gently, lightly, as she ran her fingers over the engorged meat. Her calm green eyes seemed to say, “It’s OK.” I kept my gaze fixed upon them, the eyes of my Mistress, my tormentor, my love.

She has never hit me harder and caused me more pain. One strike on my right nut. The pain irradiated my whole body. Lovely, glowing pain. I fell asleep as the dull throb ebbed in my groin, clutching her tightly to my naked body.

—

1 We have it rough, don’t we? ↩

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Time out

The Thumper clan is enjoying the extended 4th weekend at the family lake-side rabbit warren (first referenced in the three part saga, Crossing the Rubicon). It’s a smaller than usual family gathering. Only me, Belle, offspring, and Belle’s parents. In the in-law lottery, I have to say I did pretty well. They’re great people.

In any event, Belle was luxuriating on the couch on the screen porch while I sat at the other end with her feet on my lap. It was just the two of us, so I started to massage her feet. After a little while, her mother came in the porch and sat down in another chair. Then her dad showed up. All four of us sitting there, and me sort of absentmindedly rubbing Belle’s feet.

“Does your husband often massage your feet?” my mother-in-law asked Belle.

“Oh, yes. Several times a week. Whenever I want.”

Now, there’s nothing especially odd about a husband rubbing his wife’s feet, but the act, for me, is connected to my submissive side. To hear my Belle discuss is so calmly, that I not only rub her feet but do so several times a week. Whenever she asks. I admit, I was feeling very self-conscious.

“In fact,” Belle continued, “he even got some special foot cream to rub my feet with. He’ll massage my feet, my neck, my back. He’s a wonderful husband.”

I changed the subject.

—

Later that night, I massaged her feet properly: With lotion and no prying eyes from the in-laws. As usual, she was fully dressed in her bedclothes while I was naked except for whatever she chose to have attached to her cock. In this case, the chrome cock ring. I was down at her feet, kneeling, with her feet in the V-shaped space created by my legs.

“I think my mom’s jealous about the whole foot massage thing,” Belle said lazily.

“Hrmmm,” I replied. I’m very fond of my mother-in-law, but any connection between her and my sex life is a non-starter.

I gave her the best massage I could. My hands, already strong, seem to be getting stronger with all the rubbing she’d been having me do. In the past, I’d be aching from the effort after 15-20 minutes, but not any more.

When I was done, I was laying next to her and feeling a great swell of sexual desire build within me. I’m still being punished so didn’t except any Thumper-centric action, though I held out hope I’d be able to watch her pleasure herself.

“Is there any thing else I can do for you?” I asked. I ask that and, I’m sure, she hears “can we have some kind of sex now?” but I really and truly do want to know if there’s anything other than sex I can do for. And, of course, I want to know if we can have some kind of sex.

“No, I’m good, Thumper. Thank you for the foot massage.”

“Thank you for letting me give it to you,” I sincerely replied. I crave contact with her. I crave the opportunity to give her any kind of pleasure, even if it’s not sexual. When I’m as deep in my headspace as I have been the past few days, brimming with roiling sexual desire and a full charge of static submissiveness, being able to touch her skin in a pleasurable (for her) way calms me.

That being said, I thought I’d try my luck at a little somethin’.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it, Thumper?”1

“Can you hit me? In the nuts?”

She took her finger and ran it over my scrotum, the cock ring making it and its contents more prominent than usual, and then down the length of the turgid cock. She took my breath away.

“Oh, no, Thumper. He’s in a time out, isn’t he? He’s been bad…”

“But,” I stammered, grappling with the sensation of her finger on my neglected flesh, “you made me come. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know, but you didn’t have permission. So no, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Whimper.

“I don’t want to hear your pathetic whining, either.”

“I’m sorry, Belle Fille.”

—

1 We really do call each other Thumper and Belle Fille, even in real life. I don’t have any other kind of honorific to use with her like “goddess” or “mistress”, so I always call her Belle Fille when I’m feeling the submissive mojo.↩

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Real life

A reader calling themselves gasmaskpipe (there has got to be a story behind that one) left the following comment to my post Ramifications:

Erm, sorry, but the bit where you say “but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh” left me feeling that you don’t really appreciate just how lucky you are to have a woman who is not only controlling your sexual activity, but also modifying it in a way most of us only dream about. Stop moaning and start appreciating what you have. I’m sorry if this message seems harsh, but you need telling!

Now, I’m not trying to single out gasmaskpipe for a whippin’ (for all I know, they’re not even into that kind of thing), but the more I thought about it, and especially after Dev’s comment in reply, it’s occurred to me that I had something more to say on the matter.

This blog is about my real life, not some porn fantasy femdom cartoon1. There are so many blogs not totally unlike mine out there and very many of them are very much alike. However, I like to think the thing that sets mine apart (and a couple of others) is that I’m not writing about some paradigmatic male submissive relationship. I am not a stereotype. I am a man in a relationship with a woman and we’re stumbling along as best we can down a path neither of us knew was in our future. I think the measure of success we’ve had up to this point is because we are traveling our path, not the subculture’s definition of one. That means, on occasion, I’m going to come here and sound a little whiny or a little ungrateful or a little sad. It means I’m going to write about decidedly unsexy stuff like marital infidelity. And yeah, it means I’m not going to strike the expected tone of others chronicling their version of the standard femdom tripe.

I reread that paragraph and realize I come off sounding angry or bitter or something. I’m really not. The bottom line is, I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing2. Belle and I are trying to strike a mutually enjoyable sex life and, I think, succeeding more often than not. Sometimes, that’ll lead me to recount incredibly sexy scenes (at least, incredibly sexy as far as I’m concerned). But not always. And certainly not always according to your expectations.

Getting back to GMP’s original point, yes, I count myself incredibly lucky. I’ve said as much here many times. I am really nothing more than yet another dime-a-dozen man who’s uncovered a submissive side in the midst of an otherwise vanilla marriage who, unlike so many others, has had the great fortune to be married to a woman willing to indulge my needs. I tell her all the time how happy she makes me and how lucky I am and how this is the most excited and most engaged and most happy with my sex life I have ever been. And it’s all thanks to her. God, I love her for it.

So did I whine? Sure. Am I ungrateful? Never. Not even for a second.

—

1 Well, at least portions of my real life. I spare you the tedium of hearing about my work, political leanings, and child-rearing adventures.↩

2 And neither, it seems, do some of my favorite bloggers on the subject – which may help explain my attraction to them.↩

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HNThumper II

OK, I admit it. There’s something slightly intoxicating about the prospect of hundreds of strangers getting a look at me that’s usually withheld for Belle or my doctor. I do like the idea that unknown eyes are on my body (and even some known eyes). It feeds my latent exhibitionism and I suppose is similar to the motivation that’s behind the obsessive blogging of my life’s most intimate details. In any event, I’m following up my last foray into HNT with this sequel.

Conceptually, it’s the same deal as before except this time I’m not in the CB6K. You can make out the profile of the circumcised cock I gave to Belle beneath the tight white fabric (even the bump caused by the ball on the curved barbell PA jewelry near its head). What you can’t see is the heavy chrome cock ring I’m wearing as a reminder of her control. At least, not until you click past the jump…

Sans plastic

Continue reading “HNThumper II”

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Ramifications

In my last post, regarding my forced yet unauthorized orgasm, I said:

I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything.

What I meant was, Belle was acting nonchalantly about the orgasm she pulled out of me against my will that she had not given me permission to have. It seemed, if I needed permission to come, that there should be some kind of consequence for having come (even when she basically made me do it). I would have expected the “court” to take into consideration not just the crime, but also the circumstances surrounding it. Punishment, yes, but tempered.

Well, it turns out I’m married to a hanging judge. Here’s my punishment:

  • No sexual contact with Belle or her cock, unless otherwise and specifically directed, until Monday, July 6. I can barely touch her anywhere on her body without permission.
  • No participation in Belle’s orgasms, other than observation, until Monday, July 6.

Sounds simple, but in reality it’s tantamount to the nuclear option. Six days of not being allowed to touch her (or myself) is bad enough (especially since she still hasn’t placed me back in the device), but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh.

However, Our Covenant is clear. First and second on the list of “Punishable Offenses” is unauthorized orgasms and failure to provide Belle an orgasm when she requests one. I committed both at the same time. Not only did I come, but she had to finish herself off with the vibrator. Also, the punishment for these things leaves a lot to her discretion:

c.    Punishments
The punishment Thumper receives for violating a rule will be determined solely by Belle Fille. This can include extending periods of orgasm denial or chastity or revocation of his ability to participate in her sexual gratification or the infliction of pain beyond the threshold he finds sexually gratifying.

d.    Determination of guilt
Determination of Thumper’s guilt for any offense is made at the sole discretion of Belle Fille. Thumper is not allowed to argue Belle Fille’s determinations of guilt or sentences lest they be doubled.

So yeah, I’m screwed. And – just so we’re clear – I am not fucking arguing the sentence, OK?

Not only did I have to lay there last night while she fucked herself with Pink (which, BTW, took much longer than when I do it), but, after she came, she was so spent by the experience that she fell asleep on her back (very usual), right after telling me I was only allowed to touch her once she rolled over onto her side to go to sleep. Which she did not do. So. No participation in her orgasm and no physical contact with her afterward. The bunny was totally shut out.

We’re heading north tonight for the 4th weekend and she’s said she’s bringing Pink along for the trip. Realistically, she could have three more orgasms and leave me out of them. Three more extended periods of listening to the vibe move over and into her, the little moans that escape her lips prior to the big ones upon climax, and three more throbbing hard, no-touchy cock moments for me. All because she made me come.

I love my Belle Fille.

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Stupid penis tricks

I think this is neat, though I assume you’ll find it gross. I figured out yesterday that, if I remove my PA jewelry and pinch the head of the dick closed, I can pee just fine through my piercing. What do you think, future HNT material?

I only mentioned that because it made me think of this post’s title and I wanted to use it in the worst way.

More talking last night. We are doing so much talking lately. Mind you, I don’t have a problem with talking. Shit, I can write a 2,000 word blog post like nobody’s business, so talking certainly isn’t a problem. I over analyze and bellybutton gaze with the best of them.

Turns out Belle is still processing anger and hurt from six months ago when I was her lousy cheating husband and not her fuzzy little bunny. I respect that and want to do what I can to help her, but I simply cannot comprehend where she’s coming from. Where we are now is so much better than where we were prior to The Troubles. Personally, I have never felt more love for Belle or been happier in my marriage. In addition, I’m more sexually fulfilled now than at any time in my life. Not exactly satisfied since, you know, that kinda of goes against the paradigm and all, but my sexual relationship with Belle is more honest and open (even with myself) than any I’ve ever had (and, in my younger years, I had plenty). I am so very happy.

But Belle still has sadness. Moments of great sadness. And I can’t understand it. I can’t relate to the time travel required to revisit the hurtful, painful times in the past. Right now is wonderful for both of us (she says), so why dig up when things sucked? We know why the affair happened and what we needed to do to fix it. It’s been fixed. We’re not the same couple we were nine months ago.

I used an oyster analogy. Oysters get sand in them and it pisses them off so they do what they do and eventually what they get is a pearl. It’s a lovely, wonderful thing (at least to us humans) that all started with an annoying, painful thing. And it’s still in there, beneath all the layers. It never goes away. I get that. But it’s built upon and eventually becomes the foundation of something so much better. That’s our relationship right now. At least, that’s how I see it.

I’m not dismissive of Belle’s feelings. I try to talk her through them and do what I can to be supportive. Any time she needs to cry or talk, I’ll of course be there doing my best to understand.

Somehow, we ended the conversation with her still wanting the back rub she asked for before we went to bed. I was tired, and figured she was, too, but I had the oil and the towels and the hands, so rub away I did. I was really horny at that point. The slick oil on her naked back, the erection held securely by its chrome cock ring pressing against her ass and back…it was heaven. Again I found my hands moving against her skin and the feeling that I was masturbating in my mind. Somehow, the similarity of the motion combines with my heightened arousal and I feel like I’m jacking off. She really has become the focus of my sex. When I touch her, when I pleasure her, when I get her off, I’m touching, pleasuring and getting myself off.

When the massage was over, she again surprised me by asking for Pink, the little vibe. It was still in my drawer from the last time she used it, so I was able to get it pretty quickly. I never actually turned it on, though, because after a few moments of feeling my fingers, she announced she wanted to get off on her cock.

“I want to feel my cock in me. I want to watch you suck my tits while I ride my cock. Can you handle it, Thumper?”

“I think so,” I stammered.

“There is no think. Do or do not,” she replied, channeling Yoda.

“I can do it, Belle Fille,” I said with more confidence than I felt. To hedge my bet, I let my fingers become more insistent hoping she’s come that way and I’d avoid the risk of an unauthorized orgasm.

No dice. She really enjoyed the finger action, but nonetheless rolled me on my back for her main event. As she slid down on top of me, I tried to think about anything – anything – other than what was happening. After a little bit, I felt the familiar tingle and placed my hands on her ass to slow her down. She stopped for a moment and the urge passed, but then she started back up again.

And almost immediately, the tingle started back up again. I tried everything I had read about postponing orgasm. I bore down and applied internal pressure to the general area and that helped a little. Doing so caused my abdominal muscles to tighten, which she felt.

“What are you doing, Thumper?”

“Trying not to come.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh…OK…I guess.”

“Good, because I’m going to fuck my cock for a good long time…”

Mother.

I knew I was doomed. The tickle grew and started to coalesce. Orgasm was imminent. I placed my hands back on her ass and pressed down, trying to make her stop. She did, for a second, but then started gyrating over the fully engulfed member.

“Oh god! Oh no! I’m going to come!” I was pleading for her to stop, but she wouldn’t. I felt the wave crash over me and a half dozen thick spurts of ejaculate surged out of me. I tried to fight it, to a point, but she was still gyrating. I was helpless. It was as if she pulled the orgasm from me, totally against my will.

A few moments later, she rolled off. “Give me Pink,” she said. I ripped through the bedsheets and under pillows trying to find the damn thing. My head was spinning with the sudden release and the guilt and the feeling of disappointment. Finally, I found the vibe and made a move with it toward her pussy.

But she grabbed it out of my hand. She pressed the button and I heard the thrumming little motor sink into her semen-lubed pussy. I left my hands off her until the very end and then it was only to rub the nipple closest to me. She didn’t push my hand away and finally came in a cascade of “oh, fuck”s.

She said afterward that she didn’t care if I came. It wasn’t her concern. She was getting her pleasure and that’s all that mattered. She didn’t feel like stopping so she didn’t. Very simple. I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything. Then again, she knew what she was doing. Knew I was helpless to stop it. I don’t know. I’m confused.

In the mean time, I’m still pretty horny. And feeling guilty. I wish I had last night to do over…

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Fear

Belle was giving me what I wanted last night. Specifically, pain. Specifically, testicle pain. I was on my back this time and that allowed her to get in there with more force than past attempts. A couple of times (and one time in particular) it hurt. Like a motherfucker. In fact, it kept on hurting well after she was done.

Ah, bliss.

I’d writhe and moan and groan and tenderly cup my assaulted body parts while she just laid there and watched. It was awesome. But, the pain was so intense I found myself afraid of her and what she might do next. I found it very difficult to open my legs back up to her and I was flinching whenever she moved her hands near my balls. Her modus operandi involves gentle, lingering strokes followed by hard whacks so it’s hard to always tell the sweet touches from the hard ones. A few times, she used her fist.

And that’s when I felt it. Fear.

This is what I wanted. It’s what I craved. For her to push me to the brink of what I can endure. To stretch my boundaries. Again, bliss. I was genuinely scared of her and told her as much. Admitting the fear only made it more delicious. Only made the cock throb harder.

Once or twice, I more than flinched. I actually closed my legs for protection.

“Looks like next time, I’m going to have to tie you down.”

Oh, mama. Would you?

But really, I think it’d be even hotter if she didn’t. If, when she noticed me assuming a defensive position, she ordered me to separate my legs.

“Stop that!” she’d say, “Show me those nuts. Yeah, those. I’m going to hit them now. Really hard. Really, really hard. And it’s going to hurt.” Wrapping her fingers around their base, stretching the skin and exposing the sack’s contents completely. “I’m going to hit you right here and it’s going to fucking hurt. You want me to? Huh? You want me punch you in the fucking balls?”

Oh god, yes. Please.

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Hot WiFi action

With regard to my recent observation of how hot the idea of Belle having a paramour makes me, I thought I’d share some thoughts about a couple of sites I found by sifting through the incoming links to this blog. One of those led me circuitously to another blog called Hotwifing Exposed (which, at first glance, reads like it might be a technical site dealing with the intricacies of WiFi networking). They don’t link to me directly, but the blog Subservient to Her does, as well as to Hotwifing.

There are two relatively recent posts on Hotwifing that deal with his and her perspective on the same encounter. I have to admit, reading them got my blood pumping in a way no porn has in quite a while. Seriously, I could feel my carotid artery throb. Heat rose in my face and the old plastic pal in my pants was doing its job, double time (I was packing at the time, but not right now). No doubt about it. This shit gets me hot.

Asking Wikipedia about hotwives redirects to an article about swinging, which is considered an umbrella over it all , I suppose. The distinctions are subtle, but the primary difference between cuckolding and hotwifing is, from what I can tell, that the cuck is much less a player in the wife’s escapades than is the husband with a hotwife. The cuck is deeply subservient to the wife and her other sex partner while the husband with a hotwife isn’t necessarily (though Ben, the husband from Hotwifing, does refer to his wife’s lover as the “alpha”). I don’t pretend to grok it all, but that’s my impression.

These differences are easily seen in how the two talk about having sex with their wives. Here’s how M, of Subservient to Her, describes the end of a recent (and rare) sexual encounter with his wife:

As i rolled off of Her and kissed Her breasts and shoulders in thanks, the reality of the situation began setting in. It had felt wonderful to have that experience with my Mistress and i felt gratitude, but i also felt some regret for having soiled Her glorious Cunt with with my lowly, filthy seed. For Her to receive it seemed beneath Her somehow, and the meaning of the moment was clear to me…She loves me and recognizes that i am working hard to be Her good little slut-slave. She wanted to reward me, even if it meant letting me fuck Her with my poor little excuse for a cock…and even if it meant allowing me to sully my True Mistress with my cuckspew.

Wow. I mean…just wow. I’m sure M’s a great guy (he’s commented here before, so he must be), but it’s so hard for me to understand his POV that he might as well be writing in a foreign language. I DO NOT JUDGE, but I also cannot relate. For me, a big part of my turn-on is derived from the idea that I am totally worthy and by all rights should be able to fuck Belle to my satisfaction, but that she doesn’t let me. It’s not so much a concept of relative personal worth as it is power exchange – hers absolutely over mine.

In comparison, here’s Ben from Hotwifing:

I have to admit that when I got back upstairs (record time after locking the door behind Jerry) the first thing I had to do was lick Anna’s pussy. Not a first, but boy was it wet. I couldn’t hold on long though and was soon climbing up between her legs to feel the indescribably beautiful silky smoothness of a pussy full of Jerry’s cum. Anna was super aroused by the time my cockhead arrived at her cervix and she was pulsing away around my shaft. I could clearly feel the extreme wetness of the puddle he’d left deep inside her. We had the most delicious, slow, intense, grinding fuck, making good use of what you see in the picture above to ease the motions, and it all ended in our speciality simultaneous orgasm as she hoisted her knees high up to let me in as deep as I can go and I offloaded her second injection of cum in the evening.

This guy, I get. No fucking around with personal pronoun capitalization, no self-deprecating comments, and no doubt that he absolutely gets to fuck his wife (at least as soon as the other guy’s done, anyway). The sex Anna gets from the other man actually increases both their desires for one another.

Each of these relationships seem to be rooted in a desire to give the female as much sexual satisfaction as possible and, in both cases, the women end up with a lot of power over the men (though in the case of Ben it’s negotiated away while in the case of M it’s just given).

Steve over on Glow Inside touched on hotwifing recently and came to an entirely different conclusion than I have:

I have absolutely nothing at all against it if other couples decide that the woman can go out and get screwed senseless while the man says at home locked up and waiting for her to come home. I can happily fantasize about there being women in the world who are like that. For some reason, that’s hot.

But I cannot fantasize about being the guy in that situation without everything going pretty soft and and unresponsive down there in Dickland. And if it won’t work in a fantasy, it certainly isn’t going to work in real life. There…that’s my totally phallocentric view of the whole thing.

In a previous post, I posited that my ability to get off on the idea of Belle having a paramour might be rooted in my focus on ensuring her satisfaction (and not only in the bedroom) over mine. However, Steve’s got that in spades (more than me, certainly) and he’s unable to find a way to get exited by it in real life, but I am. So, what is it about a person’s mental state that allows them to be stimulated by the prospect of their partner getting it from someone else? What combination of kinks is required to get hard (or wet) from the idea? Certainly, confidence is required. Confidence in one’s self but also in one’s relationship. Obviously, Ben and Anna have a great deal of confidence in their relationship (and it appears the swinging has only made it stronger). But, does M have confidence? On the surface, one might doubt that he does due to his obvious inferiority POV, but I suspect that in practice he and his wife have a very strong, if admittedly non-standard, relationship.

Well, that’s all I have for the moment on this topic. I’ll stop processing it in public now…