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Thirty

It’s been thirty days since my last orgasm. If you’re like me, you probably find the constant number-keeping of a lot of denied male bloggers pedantic, but it’s different when it’s your number-keeping. Then, it’s fascinating.

One solid month is a milestone I feel like we’ve been working toward this entire past year. I guess I always imagined I’d be super horny at this point, but in reality, I was way hornier at two weeks. If anything, I think my frustration is diminishing, not increasing. At least as a general background noise type of thing. I still find myself overcome with vivid moments during the day and can be turned on easier than a table lamp, but I’m not quite as frenetic about it all.

Now that I’m out of the device, I tend to get hard a lot more, especially when I’m with Belle. I went to sleep last night hard, woke up several times hard, and spooned into her this morning after the alarm hard. Hard hard hard, all the time it seems. The device does provide feedback to my body that makes erections less frequent and shorter in duration. Once it gets out, it pops up more frequently than that kid’s hand in the front row who knows the answer to every question.

While laying in bad last night, I observed to Belle that it had been a while since her last orgasm. I’m not sure why I said it and, in retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to ask for sex and didn’t think at the time that I was, but it’s so obviously what I was doing. She said she was very stressed at work and that made it hard for her to want sex and that she knew it was hard for me to understand that. For me, stress at work leads to an increase in sexual appetite as a method to take my mind off it, but Belle (and maybe all women for all I know) is wired differently.

In any event, she told me my comment made her feel stressed out and guilty. Then I felt stressed out and guilty. I was wrong for bringing it up and I apologized. She said it made her think she was “doing it” wrong and I assured her I thought she was doing it just fine (I’m not sure there’s a one way to do this kind of thing). I felt like a jerk for bringing it up.

So I said to her that I was willing to ceded the last vestige of influence I had over our sex life. In our Covenant, it says I’m allowed to ask for sex once, but I told her I was willing to never be the one to bring up the subject at all. In effect, removing from the equation any and all verbal instigation on my part. Since my sex belongs to her and is for her anyway, I would become totally captive to her desires and, to the best of my ability, hold mine inside and just wait. She said she wants to think about it, but in the mean time I will endeavor to live what I offered. I won’t be suggesting, directly or through inference, that we should have sex until she says otherwise.

Which leads back the hard cock. Obviously, I can’t control that. I’m next to her, I get hard. I spoon into her, I get hard. It’s very noticeable. The only way to control that is to lock it up. As I said, it tends to get hard less often that way, and beside, nine times out of ten, she can’t even tell what its state is in there. This morning, I told her I didn’t want my erect state to cause her any stress. I can imagine that a hard cock pressing into her might send the same signal as me saying, “Hey, wanna fuck?”, but I really don’t want her to read it that way. I’d rather she interpret the hard cock as a sign of my devotion to her and my commitment to our dynamic. I’m hard because I don’t control my own orgasm. I don’t control my orgasm because I gave it to her. I gave it to her because I love her. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Updates of a random nature

I was away from Belle for two nights, so I was very happy to see her yesterday. Also happy that she let me massage her feet for 45 minutes and rub a kink out of her back, all while watching Mad Men. Before that, I made everyone dinner and cleaned up. It felt good being back and doing things for her.

The comments and pingbacks I got from my post from last Friday helped a lot. I’ve come to find myself agreeing with All For Her completely. My issue was having expectations of sex. I decided, somehow, that she was likely to want it, so when she didn’t I was upset. I can’t not want sex, of course, but expecting it is a bad idea. If you read the few posts I wrote prior to Friday’s, you’ll see a much more contented bunny and it’s all got to do with what my expectations were at the time. So yeah, All For Her nailed it.

I also think pasterychef touched on a good point. Regardless of whether or not we have sex, it’s very important to my mental well-being that Belle acknowledge my condition and position. As has been pointed out many times before, there’s a difference between denial and neglect. It’s a fine line that anyone doing the denial could find themselves crossing without even know it if they didn’t pay attention to their sub. I’m not saying that’s what Belle did in this case, but it’s worth mentioning.

Last night was an example of the right way to do this. As we watched Mad Men and the end of the Dallas/Giants game1, Belle had me get naked and lay next to her. She rested her head against my chest and gently touched me around the device and along my inner thigh and told me how much she liked the look of its shiny newness and how she enjoyed leaving me locked up in it. She’d also occasionally slap my nuts rapidly which, while not causing very much pain, was uncomfortable while she was doing it. The combination of all this drove me into very deep subspace and left me feeling as though I was entirely hers, to do with whatever she liked. I was kept by her. If she wanted to be gentle, she was gentle. If she wanted to be rough, she was rough. I just writhed in the light of the candles and football, my body very obviously desirous of sex and ready, but totally unneeded since she wasn’t interested. These feelings in me were accentuated by a comment she made earlier that suggested she did want an orgasm, but in the fullness of time and after the foot and back massage and drama and football, was something in which she was no longer interested. I went to sleep feeling very much loved.

This morning, she let me out of the device. I had developed a raw spot under the right side of the ring on my scrotum. I get this, to one degree or another, almost every time I get locked up, but usually at the beginning of the period, not after a couple weeks. Since she was going to let me out in the next few days anyway, she unlocked me so I could recover more quickly. Once out, I found a few more surprises from the new device. Turns out, the inside of the tube is not finished as well as the outside. I don’t know how they apply the silver coating, but it appears to be sprayed on and not very well deep inside the tube. Down there, the coating actually has a rougher texture than the regular, clear tube. Once out of it this morning, I found a black residue on the lower two-thirds of the shaft of the cock. Even in the shower, the color was hard to remove (kinda like permanent marker, but not as dark).

My other surprise was a little sore on the corona of the glans. I could feel it last night, so I just got it, but I suspect it’s there due to the rougher texture within the tube thanks to the unfinished paint job.2 The fact that it’s there means I’m going to have to inspect the meat every two or three days when it’s in that device. Perhaps, as the extra paint wears away, it’ll become smoother, but in the mean time, it’s an issue.

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1 A game in which I would have liked seeing both teams lose somehow. ↩

2 This mean, of course, that Tom was right. ↩

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Milking madness

I got a couple questions regarding the milking I mentioned in my last post via comments. I glazed over that more than I wanted to, so I’ll answer them here and expand on the event.

From Dev:

What did the milking feel like?

From esirpus:

When you are giving yourself a prostate milking are you wearing your chastity device? And if so is Belle supervising you?

I’ll take the last two first. No, Belle was not supervising me. She’s instructed me to take care of this by myself. Sure, I’d love for her to be involved, but if she doesn’t want to be, at least she’s letting me do it alone. Anything anal squicks her out, so I can’t count on her involvement going forward. And yes, I was in the device. In my handful of attempts at this in the past, I’ve found having access to the cock makes it somewhat easier, but also more dangerous since a few pulls to help things along can be taken too far. Also, the juices seem to run a bit more easily through erect meat than flaccid.

As to how it felt…this is more complicated. The act of stimulating the prostate feels amazing. Sometimes, so intense it’s hard to say it feels good. I imagine it’s not too dissimilar to what it must feel like to have one’s clitoris stimulated. I have a hard time imagining that prostate massage alone would ever lead me to a real orgasm, but the signals it sends my brain when I’ve found the spot are so closely related to orgasmic pleasure that I find it only sends my frustration and desire for one into the stratosphere. It’s kind of like a car engine that won’t start: turning the key makes a lot of noises that kinda sound like it’ll turn over, but it never quite gets there.

I’ve never really been able to get much out of myself this way. A dribble here, a dribble there. The last time, with the G-force, was pretty much the same. However, I did end up get a feeling like I had to pee. Once I tried, I found the fluid that came out to be thick and milky. And plentiful. Turns out, I was successful but didn’t understand the feeling well enough to know.

With regard to doing it in the future, I think the secret is getting into a sufficiently relaxed state. Since I feel like I’m kind of sneaking around when I do it (though Belle’s been aware of the last few attempts) and I’m usually squirreled away in a bathroom or something, I never let myself totally enjoy the moment. As with anything anal, being relaxed is key. Usually, I’m too tense. Also, there’s a fair but of contortion involved in reaching the spot. Not so much with the G-force with its handle and length, but even then it’s impossible to really lay back and enjoy the sensation since I’m the one creating it.

I’ll probably give it another try in about a week. Any tips in the mean time would be appreciated.

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Birthday loot review

The birthday presents arrived as scheduled.

hi yo silver, away!

Belle let me put the new CB6K on right away. I think my total time unencumbered was about 30 seconds (just enough time to clear away those hairs that can’t be shaved when packing). Physically, besides the color change, the two devices are very similar. On the new device, the two pieces that form the top of the A-ring snap together with an audible click, while on the old device, they simply slid into place. Also, the spacer I was wearing (second smallest) was slightly longer in the new device. I dropped down the smallest spacer to compensate. The silver finish is beautiful and highly reflective. Both Belle and I find it much more attractive than the old clear option. The parts other than the tube are all made from black plastic, though to me it doesn’t feel like the same material used in the clear device. The tube does not appear to be black. The best I can tell, it’s clear underneath the silver.

Functionally, the devices are identical. Psychologically, they’re different. In the old clear device, my connection with the cock was never really broken. While I couldn’t touch it, I could always see it in there. Kinda like visiting day at the prison, I’d knock on the plastic and wave while he pressed his face against the window of his cell. In the new device, though, I can’t see it anymore. Instead of looking like a cock in a plastic tube, this new device looks like a silver phallus. Before, it felt like the cock was locked away, but now it almost feels as though the cock’s been replaced by Robocock. Losing that visual connection with the flesh has, in a way, lessened my thinking about it. Out of sight, out of mind, as it where.

In short, I’m very happy with the new device. I’ll be curious to see how it wears over the next year. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

Also in the box with the chrome CB6K was the Tantus G-force. As I said before, my experience with other prostate simulators (mostly the Aneros) has been disappointing. I find it difficult to experience any significant sensation and find them hard to manipulate. As recently as this past weekend, at Belle’s instruction, I tried to relieve myself of accumulated fluids to no avail. However, the G-force is a tool to be reckoned with. The longer shaft, bulbous head, and easy-to-grip handle allowed me to quickly find and assault the magic gland. Eventually, I produced a respectable amount of thick, milky fluid. The G-force gets a thumbs up in my book.

I also bought a heavy steel ball stretcher, but for obvious reasons, have not had a chance to try it out yet (though I am very much looking forward to doing so). The Japanese nipple clamps had been back-ordered, but arrived before the end of the week. These things are wicked. They grab on very firmly thanks to little rubber pads on the clamps and, due to their design, grab on more tightly as the chain that connects them is pulled. Unlike other objects I’ve had clamped onto my nips, the Japanese clamps hurt from the moment they make contact. I look forward to seeing these used on me by Belle.

I haven’t had this much fun with my birthday presents since I was a little kid.

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More hard

I have a lot of conflicting thoughts right now.

Last night and tonight, Belle was out after work and not home until late. Yesterday, it was supposed to be just a quick thing, over at six, but she didn’t get home until after 10:00. She was tired and quickly went to sleep. Tonight, she was out again at a work dinner, got home after ten, and was quickly asleep. Both nights, I whiled away the hours between being Mr. Mom and the time she got home perusing blogs, reading porn, etc. Both nights, but especially tonight, I was expectational of some kind of sexual contact. I’ll be out of town tomorrow and Saturday night meaning tonight was the last chance we’ll have to have sex until Sunday night. However, both nights, nothing. At least tonight, she remembered to let me sleep naked.

I know, I know, I know. This is the deal. She gets to be the one to decide. But fuck, it’s hard. It’s hard because all I can think about now is sex. It’s hard because I’m still all locked up and Sunday will be one month without an orgasm. It’s hard, because when the cock’s trying to be erect and stuffing the device full, my nuts feel twice their normal size and I’m left absently stroking the hard plastic tube like it’ll lead to something. I’ve never been here before. On the one hand, I want to be the denied, chastised husband. The one who’s always horny and has no sexual power, but on the other, she just kinda fell asleep here two nights in a row. I know I’m not going to come (or even get out). I’m not asking for that. But I’m so, so desperate for her. I need to feel her or, alternately, at least hear her acknowledge my condition. But to just roll over and say goodnight? That’s fucking hard.

And, like I said, I’m full of confliction. As I write these words, I can see in them the appeal they’d have for a purportedly submissive male such as myself. They’re filled with frustration and inequity and reading them is like pouring lighter fluid on a fire. Outside the envelope of expectation, with my brain operating somewhat more clearly, the disappointment feeds my submission. I can actually feel warm waves of it wash up my spine with each throb of my heart. I’m locked, utterly denied, powerless. Like, really. In the past, I’d be angry. I do admit that for a few seconds, I was a little mad with her tonight, but it didn’t last long and I’m not angry now. Instead, I feel like my masculine prerogative is being popped like a stepped-on cherry. But it’s not going quietly.

My reaction tonight was very different than one I’d have had 3-6 months ago. How will I react in six more months? And how does the denial factor into this? Am I being made more docile through her control of my orgasm? Or am I really this submissive? I don’t have the answers to those questions, but I do know this: submission and denial is hard.

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Feeling good

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“Yeah?” We had just climbed into bed and were waiting for the offspring to go to sleep in their bedrooms.

“Sure,” I said, “What exactly are you asking when you ask how I’m feeling?”

“Well, you know, physically, emotionally. I want to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”

I told her that on a macro level, I was doing very well. I was quite happy with everything relationship-wise. I had few complaints. Yes, I was disappointed that we hadn’t been able to have sex over the weekend, but I was really very happy with the way she had handled me the night before. Maybe not so happy about it at the time, but in retrospect, I thought she had been great. I was quite pleased to see her not apparently bothered with any feelings of guilt with regard to ignoring my sexual desire. She admitted to still being torn around that. Lingering feelings that she was acting in a way she should not – that she was being a bad mate – still hung in the air at those moments when I’m at my most pathetic.

I told her I really didn’t want her to feel in any way guilty. I trust that she will provide me attention that’s all about me at some point. I do not feel ignored by her at all. It’s important, though, that she determine the timing of that. Everything has to be on her schedule. (She hadn’t yet read my post from yesterday when we had this conversation.) By asserting her control in that way and leaving me horny and desperate, she was filling a need within me just as much as when she will eventually tell me I can have an orgasm. Different needs, but needs just the same.

She told me, in reply, that she was really quite enjoying leaving me locked up now. A few times, she thought of letting me out so she could have her way with her cock, but had actually liked the idea of leaving it locked away, completely under her control, even better. The mind fuck, she said, was more appealing to her than the actual fuck. I, of course, melted inside and got all warm when I heard her say those things. I jokingly accused her of telling me that because she knew how much I wanted to hear it, but she said no, it was really what she was feeling. I made the mistake of asking her, in rapid succession, if she had thought about how long she was going to leave me in, would she make me wear it on a trip I’m going to take in a few weeks, and, lastly, when would she let me out? All, more or less, the same question. As soon as it was all done running out of my mouth, I told her not to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. She agreed, I shouldn’t have asked.

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.

Luckily, she wanted some attention from me. By this time, the kids were apparently asleep, so she told me I was going to make her come and then we were going to bed. I used my hand and mouth in the way proven to bring her to orgasm the quickest. Nothing unusual or particularly striking, except she was very sensitive to my touch after her longish orgasm drought. She came right on schedule.

Later, I was feeling decidedly non-eunuch-like. Whatever moment of zen had worked its way into me earlier had been blown away by feeling her pulsing contractions on my fingertips. I was really, really fucking horny and totally unable to sleep. I laid there for at least an hour and a half, visions of sex and fantastic scenarios flashing though my head, edited together like a music video. The cock swelled as much as it could and started to flex automatically in its confinement. But something felt…different.

I realized, after all this time, after maybe a year of complicated feelings regarding the act of orgasm, that right then (and, actually, right now), I wanted to come. I wanted to fuck and come and spew forth. Her recent confidence in dominating me coupled with her admission that she liked leaving me chastised and the aforementioned 20-some days without release all finally built up in me and I wanted to come. This was the feeling of being truly denied. Not humored. Not accommodated. Denied. It was a supremely frustrated feeling. It’s a very difficult feeling. But, I do admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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The hard part

I can’t even remember the last time Belle let me give her an orgasm. Seriously. Looking back at the blog, it may have been ten days ago. That’s a whole long time for a guy like me. I assumed I’d get to give her some homestyle bunny lovin’ this weekend, but she had a bunch of work to do and was too uptight about it all on Saturday and just wasn’t much in the mood Sunday. So, yeah, ten whole days. And counting.

Last night, laying next to her as she was trying to get to sleep, was maybe the hardest thing I’ve done since ceding complete control over our sex to her. I wanted it so bad. And by “it”, I mean her. I wanted to touch her and smell her and taste her and feel her pleasure radiate from my hands or mouth or her cock or whatever. But, you know, it’s not for me. It’s for her. She decides. She chooses when it happens. And I just wait until she’s ready.

Don’t misunderstand me. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I know how I’m supposed to act now. I can’t paw all over her, I’m not supposed to bring it up or try to force it on her, and above all, I am not to be moody or pissy or in any way express my dissatisfaction with the arrangement. That’s the deal. I am submissive to her. I know. I need to focus on those things I can do to make her happier, not the other way around. But damn, laying there stewing in my hormone encrusted state, naked except for the device, and not doing anything about it…geeze, they just don’t teach this stuff in school, you know?

On the positive side, while I wasn’t doing too good of a job hiding the state I was in (though the damned plastic did a fine job of concealing the erection), she didn’t seem at all perturbed by my condition. I think she may have acknowledged it in some small way, but she didn’t show any guilt or seem to feel any angst and, above all, made no move to resolve my issue. She was tired, I was horny – so what else is new?

And that was awesome. Just awesome. I really and truly felt my role. While in the past, my frustration led me to act out in ways inconsistent with our arrangement, I was somehow able to turn my frustration around and use it to feed my submission. I craved her attention so much it almost hurt, but, at the same time, I was able to identify that near-hurt as a direct byproduct of how I want us to be. I was not the injured, piqued, ignored husband stewing in resentment. I was the unused tool. The horse left in the stable. The locked-up, denied, sofuckinghorny guysub who knew his place and who bloody well kept his hands to himself and went to sleep like she told him to.

I am, in fact, just where I want to be and I’m glad to finally have the sense to recognize it.

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Birthday presents

Belle’s back and the world is right again. We were both pretty tired last night (she from getting up early for her flight, me from getting about seven hours of sleep since she left), so nothing of consequence happened other than I got to lay with her, spoon into her, be naked around her, etc. When you’re in my position, you glean what you can from what you get.

Even though I was totally exhausted and I felt the kind of contentment her presence always brings to me, I still had a hard time falling fully asleep. The weather is more humid and warm than it has been, and that contributed, but I just couldn’t get to the point where the buzzing in my head finally succumbed to the fuzzy blanket of sleep. I’m sure her hand resting on the top of my naked, uncovered ass had something to do with that. I was sort of half dozing for I don’t even know how long, well after she was totally out. The cock kept swelling up inside the device at random intervals and I once again experienced its autonomic rhythmic pulsing as though it was trying to pump out the contents of my swollen prostate.

For those of you keeping score at home, tomorrow will be three weeks since I last came.1 Three weeks where nary a drop has escaped me. Driving around today, I swear I can feel it in there. The pressure from sitting on the firm seat in my truck and the vibration from the engine and road worked together to pinpoint the area under my perineum that feels plump and overly sensitive. This morning, as I went about my business getting her coffee, bringing her the paper, etc., I found gobs of clear, sticky fluid leaking from the end of the tube.

The right tool for the jobWith that condition in mind, and also thinking about her statement that I would relive that pressure though milking rather than ruined orgasms (not that I could ruin an orgasm with this thing on me), I started to release some of the money I collected on my birthday and bought a specialty tool from Stockroom.com. It’s called the G-force and it’s a hard silicone dildo with a handle on one end and a bulbous knot on the other. It’s specifically designed for reaching those hard-to-get-to spots. I have a few different items (one, two) designed to stimulate the prostate, but I find they’re hard to manipulate in tight quarters. I like the look of the G-force’s Kung-Fu grip. Usually, I play with the toys I already have all alone, but I’m hoping that the G-force will prove easy and effective enough that Belle will use it on me. More and more lately, anything I do of a sexual nature by myself feels inappropriate with respect to our arrangement.

I picked up a few other things, too. One was a heavy steel ball stretcher that I’ve kinda sorta been obsessed with for a long time now. It comes in two halves which screw together with an allen wrench and pulls down on the testes with over a pound of weight. I’ve played around with suspending weight from by balls in the past, so I know I can take it for at least a little while. For me, this has been one of those objects I’ve just been unable to stop looking at. So, you know, perfect thing to blow some birthday money on. I also got a pair of black Japanese clover clamps, but they’re on back-order.

The other thing I got, even against the assuredly correct advice of Tom, is a replacement for the cracking and soon to fail CB6K we’ve had for almost a year now. I considered a stainless steel model, but eventually decided to go with another CB6K since doing so would leave me extra cash to blow on other objects of perversion. While I could have just replaced the tube, I instead went for the chrome-looking device. I like the shiny appearance, like the idea of it hiding the cock away from view, and I like that the other parts are black, not white. I’ve never been a huge fan of the clear and white parts. It’s makes the device look almost clinical or something.

With the exception of the nipple clamps, it should all arrive by Tuesday. Now I need to figure out what I’m going to tell people when they ask what I spent my birthday loot on.

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1 When I mentioned to her that I up against three weeks (and my record, BTW), Belle would only say I had “a while to go yet” before I could come again. I have a feeling I’m not even half way there. ↩

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Hot flash

As I said, Belle’s away on a short business trip. This means, as usual, I’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to consume a fair amount of porn. Since she left me in the clutches of the CB6K, this has led to a corresponding increase in the amount of unexpended hormones coursing through me. Also, as usual, it means last night was very nearly sleepless. I did sleep, for about two or three hours, but not until I popped a Tylenol PM and even then not for at least an hour or so after I took it. Today, I found myself dealing with some interesting and heretofore unknown side-effects of my denied, locked, and hormone drenched condition.

In my job, I often find myself in rooms full of women where I am either the only man or only one of two. Today, I was in about four meetings stretching over five hours where I was outnumbered at least 4-1 by the double-x set. After the third hour or so, I started to feel the electric resonance of carnivorous butterflies bouncing around in my chest. These hormonal surges start to kick in after a couple of weeks of orgasmless existence, but I had never experienced one in that setting. I felt like getting up and running as fast as I could through the endless rows of cubicles of my client’s office. It was hard to sit still. When asleep, these surges will wake me up. When already awake, they apparently make me want to do jumping jacks on the conference room table.

In any event, while all this was going on, I happened to glance across the table at one of the more attractive women I was meeting with. Suddenly, I was presented the most intense and palpable, well, vision, I guess. Hallucination? I don’t know what to call it, but I felt my mouth on a woman’s hard, erect nipple and my hands on a soft, female form. Not exactly the woman I was looking at, but looking at her had triggered it. There was no face, not even Belle’s, it was just a nipple and a body and me. Instantly, I felt the CB6K fully pressurize. I was fairly useless for the next five to ten minutes as my mind processed the experience and the surge of testosterone (or whatever) was absorbed by my body.

I wonder if I blushed.

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Numbers

Last night, I wrote down the dates for the next year’s worth of Saturdays on a sheet of paper, cut them all out, and tossed them into a hat. Of the 50-some little bingo ball-like clippings, Belle drew eight: the eight times I’ll be allowed to pleasurably achieve orgasm over the next 12 months. She didn’t tell me much about the dates (and, in fact, said, “It’s not for you to know or worry about. Just wait.”), but she did mention that there are three “dry spells”. Three rather long dry spells. And she intimated that I’m at the start of a dry spell right now.

BINGO!The longest I’ve gone without coming so far is about three weeks. Now, I’m facing the prospect of twice that and probably much longer (52 weeks divided by eight would mean I’m coming every month and a half or so, on average). What constitutes a “dry spell”, anyway? I admit to being excited by the prospect, but I’m also more than a little nervous. I have no idea what I’m in for now. It’s all new territory.

As we discussed it – my orgasmic fate – the cock became very hard. Still free, I hoped against hope that she’d want to use it, (it’s been days and days since she last let me make her come), but she wasn’t all that interested. I never asked so she never said so directly, but she knew I was ready, knew how horny I was, but chose not to act on the opportunity. There wasn’t even a trace of impatience or angst within me regarding that. As I said in my last post, I totally accept that it’s her hand on the sexual rudder. My availability or eagerness is not that big a deal since I’m always eager and available. So we went to sleep, me spooned into her, hard cock again between us.

Before that, though, as we lay in the dark she said she’s worried about my prostate health as we embark on this new and greatly reduced orgasm regimen. I told her the science seemed to be contradictory on the matter, but we could always ruin one occasionally to blow out the pipes. She said she’d probably allow me to milk myself instead. In any event, it was also decided that, assuming she likes this method of determining when I get to come, we’ll select new dates each year around Labor Day.

In the mean time, I’ll be locked up again today. My short little stint as a free(ish) man will end due to Belle’s impending business trip. After she reminded me last night that I’d be reimprisioned before she left, I asked, “What, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” she replied flatly, “I can just see it now on your blog. ‘I was just blah blah blah and then…’ So no, I don’t trust you. You’re getting locked up.”

Whatever you say, Belle Fille.