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Dreamy

I forgot to lubricate the ring last night and I could really feel the difference this morning. At about 4:15 its bite woke me up. I relieved myself, which brought the, um, swelling down a bit – at least enough to be able to go back to sleep.

Then, I had this weird dream. I was in a strange, dimly lit house but all our stuff was in it, even the full length mirror upon which Belle hangs her key on its silver necklace. The whole family was there, except for Belle. Even in my dream, the device was hurting me, so I went looking for the key so I could move up to a bigger size (note, not to take it off, but to leave it on with a bigger ring). As I went into the bedroom where the mirror was, a little rabbit (I am not making this up) stopped me. Looking up at me with his big, Disney-esque eyes he said, “But what about my suffering?”

Apparently, I shrugged off the little rabbit, found the key, and turned my attention to the device. That’s when I found that the tube and KSD-G3 had fallen off in my hands, but the ring was still locked to my body (and I know that doesn’t make any sense). I fiddled with the little silver key and went to put it in the keyhole only to find my little chrome lock had been replaced with a big clear plastic one. Her key was useless. I couldn’t get out of the ever more painful device.

Like I said, weird.

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Three days and out

My Belle told me last night that she was letting me out of the device on Wednesday. That’ll be around eleven days in, give or take depending on how you count the night I bled, which is about the longest I’ve been locked-up, but I can’t recall the record at the moment. Isn’t keeping score like that such a guy thing to to, BTW? I want to break records here, people! Hopefully, she’ll keep me in for a month next time. No, wait. Really?

We were very chatty since she’s fighting off a bug and didn’t feel much like doing anything else. I got out of her that she really likes where we are now. She likes that we’re so much closer. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever been more intimate with each other. She can see and likes how the denial and chastity are affecting me. I have to admit, the idea that her control is actually modifying my behavior to such an extent that she’s noticing it and that she likes it and wants it to continue sends a thrill through me. I mean, that’s the whole point of it, right? Mutual exchange of pleasure. I get off on being controlled – in fact, mentally and physically transformed through her control – and she likes the resulting changes. They should feed on each other over time. Last night was the first time I can think of that she spontaneously volunteered a positive opinion about what we were doing. Or, at least, one so obviously positive.

She also commented on how differently I act each time she has me locked up. Last time, she thought my mood was fairly flat versus my increased arousal and submissiveness this time around. I was flat last time, but I was also heading into some treacherous emotional waters brought on by her trip, etc. Also, I went into chastity that time all on my own. This time, she decided that I’d be locked up. There’s a vast psychological difference between the two.

In fact, upon further consideration, I think my new-found interest in serving her (that is, relieving her of stress, making her happy, and otherwise doing whatever I can for her) is a rechanneling of sexual energy that before I didn’t know what to do with. Doing things for her gives me a focus and a way to burn up some frustration in a positive way. That’s my theory of the moment, anyway.

So, while I get out on Wednesday for who knows how long, I will not be coming any time soon. She still doesn’t know when that’ll happen. If it doesn’t occur by this Thursday (and I have no reason to think it will), there’s no way it can possibly happen before next Friday, what with the family all sharing one hotel room on our trip. That will be about three weeks and will break my old record of 19 days. I think I’m excited about that. I mean, breaking records is good, right?

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A conundrum

The fear of death by blood loss kept me out of the device Friday night. As I said, I was fairly upset that I had, once again, done something that had forced me out of chastity prior to Belle wanting me out. I really want to play by the rules with these things and the rules state she decides, not me. She said she wouldn’t punish me since it was an accident, but I felt bad just the same. I decided to make the best of it and try to get a good night’s sleep without the usual early morning bulgefest.

At about 4:30, I woke up anyway. Not because my erection was encased in plastic but because it wasn’t. The change in sensation was enough to throw me off and there I was, as usual, awake and thinking about a boner I couldn’t do anything with. I was, however, happy to see the ‘lil gusher from the night before had been sealed and no more blood had leaked from it. Over the course of the next few hours, I tried to find a comfortable position for my big, stupid hard-on and drifted in and out of sleep.

At about 6:30 or so, we were both awake and I was nestled into her, trying not to impale her on my early morning, sex deprived firmness. We continued a conversation we started the night before about how were we feeling with where the relationship was evolving. I told her I need to find ways to serve her better. That somehow my submissive inclinations were pointing me towards needing more ways to please her and that I wanted her to help me find those ways. There was a lot of close contact and kissing and me feeling dreamily subbie. Her body, being so close, tempted me and my hands wandering all over it.

At this point, she rolled onto her back and moved her arms away from herself. I took this as a sign she wanted me to go further, though I didn’t get clarification on what she wanted. It felt a little to me like she was opening herself for me to enjoy. I can’t say why, but I sensed a tenseness in her that didn’t suggest she was really in the mood. I thought to say she didn’t need to do anything she didn’t want to, but the words never came out.

After a few moments, my mouth was on her breast and my hand was on her snatch and it really became clear she wasn’t ready. I pulled back and asked if this was what she wanted. No, not yet. Damn, I should have said something when I thought to. We held each other again and she said sometimes, that’s all she wanted. I said she should only do what she wanted and no more. I had assumed she wanted what I was doing. I should have asked and she should have said something. We came to a new understanding: I am no longer allowed to initiate sex without expressed permission. I can ask or she can offer, but I’ll never assume again. I wanted her to understand that this meant I would not try to read her or seduce her or in any way take the initiative without permission. In essence, I was finally and fully letting go of the last threads I still held of the traditional male prerogative of sexual initiation. When it came to sex, she was now fully and completely in control. She said that was exactly what she wanted.

Later in the morning, after the kids were settled with their media and food, we were back in the bedroom. Now it was time for me to make her come. Since the cock was unexpectedly available, she wanted me to fuck her with it. I told her I was worried and asked to use the desensitizing gel. No, that was no good for her because it would mean using a condom and she like to feel my skin. OK, super. I guess we’ll do it your way.

She was very ready for me. I’m not sure what it was that got her so wet (perhaps it was the thought that she now held all the cards with regard to sex), but just the act of sliding into her nearly made me shoot my load. I tried to keep most of my attention focused on her upper body and only let every third or fourth processor cycle think about what I was doing down below. I was fucking her sort of shallowly hoping that might help me keep control, but she started to move her hips counter to my thrusts and I found myself going deeper and deeper. Soon, my cock was fully engaged with her snatch and I felt the need to pull the emergency brake. A very tiny amount of my fluid spilled out, but I had stopped the orgasm.

The entire time I was trying to keep the lid on my orgasm, she kept her hips moving so that I never really stopped fucking her even though I was trying to stay still. I started in again, more slowly than before, but that caused our rhythm to be out of whack. She wanted faster and, honest to god, so did I, but if I had tried I’d lose control. She stopped me and said it was no good. She wanted me to go faster but knew if I did I’d come.

Belle’s the kind of girl that, once you start her down the path to orgasm, any deviation or delay could cause the entire trip to go bad. With that in mind, I quickly slid down her torso and pressed my mouth against her pussy. My arms were wrapped around her legs allowing my hands to pinch and play with her nipples while my tongue danced over and dove into her depths. I expected to taste my own semen, but couldn’t really make it out mixed with her juices. Eventually, she came really hard. It was a terrific orgasm for her, even though getting there had been a little messy.

I had moved back up her body so I could kiss her while she basked in her afterglow. I could feel my still wet, chilly dick slap fatly against her invitingly warm pussy. After giving her a respectful amount of basking time, I asked if I could go back inside her. She said yes and I slid in the best I could without a full erection. She was everything I knew she would be: warm, wet, amazing. It was a supremely indulgent moment and I simply enjoyed being enveloped by her. After a few moments of this bliss, she started biting and sucking on my neck in the way that makes my knees wobbly. I experienced the unusual sensation of becoming fully erect while motionless and inside her. Jesus, the biting felt good. I told her to bite harder. Harder. Oh fuck, harder! She pulled away, leaving me panting and spent (and with two giant monkey bites on each shoulder). I rolled off, hard yet satisfied.

So now we’re left with a conundrum. She likes it best when it’s my cock that makes her come. However, she won’t let me use the numbing gel since that would mean I’d need to use a rubber and she wants to feel my skin. As I have gone on and on about, I’d really like to use a strap on with her, but no dice. She want to feel me. I’ve tried to say it will be me since I’ll be doing the fucking, but she’s not interested (damn it). All she wants is my naked, hard cock but that’s the one thing I can’t use in the way she wants me to. I have no solution. Unless she’ll allow us to experiment with other options, I’m not sure what to do. I want her to be as fully satisfied as possible but am physically incapable of doing so while maintaining her control over my orgasm. Maybe with time and practice I’ll develop the technique necessary to become the lover she needs.

After the sex, I cleaned up and she locked me back into the CB-6000. That’s where I am now, way, way more frustrated and turned-on than I’ve ever been after only a single week denied. She still hasn’t told me when I’ll be released from the cage, though she knows the date. She has no idea when I’ll come again, so I’m operating under the assumption that it won’t be before we get back from our trip – two more weeks minimum. Since I only get nine more orgasms this year, it’s entirely possible I won’t come again until March.

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Blood

I am in a never-ending battle with my body hair. I really hate most of it. Not so much that it’s there, but that it doesn’t grow where and how I want it to. It just sort of pops up in random places and patches. I want things to be a certain way, and my body hair just doesn’t care.

So that’s why, before my daily chastity hygiene regimen, I was using the razor to neaten up the stubble growing around the device. I’ve cleaned up my pubes literally hundreds of times, though not usually while locked up. And, because it’s a razor on uneven and stretchy skin, I’ve nicked myself plenty of times. No big deal.

This time, Belle had headed off to the airport to pick up her parents which left me time to clean myself up for whatever she might want when she got back. I had already pulled the skin out from under the CB6K ring and shaved off the stubble and had moved to my scrotum. I love a smooth scrotum and its hair in particular is difficult to maintain since it seems to start growing out 12 minutes after you shave it off.

Next thing I knew, there was blood running down my hand and dripping onto the floor. Not just a little, but a steady drip drip drip of bright crimson. I felt nothing. No pain at all. I pulled out a handful of kleenex and sopped up the blood trying to find the source. Apparently, I had made a teeny, weenie, itsy, bitsie, infinitesimal (you get the idea?) little, tiny nick on my scrotum. In fact, the work “nick” makes it sound bigger than it was. The hole in my skin was no bigger than a flea on the butt of the mayor of Whoville. It was small. But blood coursed out of it. I kept dabbing at it waiting for it to stop, but it didn’t. It just came and came.

For a few seconds, I started to panic. I had nothing with which to stop the blood if it didn’t stop by itself. I would apply pressure by holding toilet paper over the cut for a while only to see the blood well back up once I pulled it away. I called Belle and asked her if we had anything to stop bleeding with, but didn’t really get into what was bleeding. We had nothing, so I asked her to stop on the way home to pick up a styptic pencil. In the mean time, I used one of our grabby clothepins to hold the toilet paper over the wound. That way, at least, I could put the kids to bed without blood running down my leg. So there I was, walking around the house, wearing my chastity device and a bunch of toilet paper pinched onto my bloody scrotum with a clothespin. Very sexy.

Belle came home with the styptic and met me in the bathroom. Seeing my condition, she was afforded the opportunity to roll her eyes at me and point out how high-maintenance I was. Yes, but worth it, right? At that point, I had had the TP clamped over the cut for at least an hour, but as soon as I lifted the clothespin, the blood came right back up. I could see it actually pulse out of me with each heartbeat. Visions of Dan Ackroyd in drag danced in my head. I applied the moistened tip of the styptic to the cut and…nothing. Now I had a bloody styptic pencil. Fuck. I started to wonder what the smallest wound was that I could bleed to death through. Would I need to go to the emergency room? How would I explain this? Well, at least it wasn’t a duct-taped hamster stuck in my rectum (Which, BTW, is why I think girbels are better for that since they have those handly tails. Just sayin’).

Belle suggested we remove the device. It wasn’t really in the way, but dealing with the wound would be easier without it. I really didn’t want it off since the last time I was locked up I came out early through similar (though less Terentino-esque) stupidity on my part. The thought occurred to me that even if we could stop the bleeding, this same skin would be stretched tight in a few hours by my nocturnal erections pulling on my balls. Would that reopen the cut? Would I wake up in the morning laying in a sopping pool of my own blood? I felt a great deal of disappointment as she unlocked the little chrome padlock and I slipped the tube off my dick. Fuck, again.

I reapplied the styptic and got the same non-result. This was really starting to piss me off. The cut was so little but wouldn’t stop being a tiny fountain of blood. I can only assume I nicked a blood vessel just under the thin skin. I had never seen anything like it.

Pulling back the tissue from the cut, I thought it looked like it might actually be slowing. I applied more styptic. Yes, it was. Big exhale. A few minutes later, it had stopped. The great bloody ball crisis of ’09 had finally come to an end.

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The light bulb moment

I was perusing some old posts over on Aarkeybabble and he said something that flipped a little switch in my head. Here’s his totally out of context quote:

I’ve been trying to deny myself a little more – reading some other guys who say things about themselves like “my need for submission” – which is vastly different from my selfish “need to be dominated” mindset.

That’s it. That’s what I’ve been feeling lately. Previously, I wanted Belle to dominate me, but now I feel the need for submission. These are entirely different things. Yes, I sound like a reject from The Perfectly Obvious Dinner Theater, but give me a break. I’ll still a n00b at this stuff.

It’s only recently that I feel like I’ve stopped spending so much time fretting about what she was going to do to me and have spent a lot more time doing things for her and accepting whatever came my way. There have been moments recently, sometimes in bed but not always, where these waves of submissive warmth have washed over me and the feeling is so much not the angst of before. Yes, it’s true. The bulb has finally lit.

Wanting to be dominated is not the same as wanting to be submissive!

Stop rolling your eyes at me.

So then, because I’m me, I’ve been spending a lot of the day thinking: What does being submissive mean to me? What do I get out of it? Why do I like it? I really can’t answer these questions yet.

At this point in my evolution, it’s hard to be too lucid on what being submissive is to me. It’s really a series of questions, more than anything else. What can I do for her? Is she happy? Does she need anything? I want to serve her in a bunch of little ways and to reduce her stress level as much as possible. Yeah, sure, I should have wanted those before the whole D/s thing showed up, and I did. But it’s different now and I think that’s because one very specific thing has changed. Now, she owns my cock. It’s remarkable how that little tiny detail can focus one’s mind.

My submissive feelings toward her are not just about sex, but they’re wound up pretty tightly with it. I’m not being nice just because I want to get into her pants (though I do, and badly). I know that if she only let me rub her feet, massage her shoulders, and wash her hair for the rest of the month with no sexual activity at all, as long as she was happy, I’d be fine. Yes, I’d be a quivering mass of repressed sexual energy, but I think I’m learning to pour that energy back into other parts of our relationship. And besides, I like the feeling I get when I’m subjugating my needs, sexual or otherwise, to hers. Believe me, nobody’s more surprised to hear me say that than I am.

And it’s not about being weak. I’m an not weak. It’s not about letting her think for me. She doesn’t. It’s not even really about control, except for her absolute control over my sex. She doesn’t much tell me what to do or boss me around (yet). I don’t think she’d want it to be about those things. Who the hell wants to be with a weak, mentally dependent puppet? And who wants to be that puppet? That’s not what either of us signed up for nor are we capable of living that way.

I don’t know. I sound like I’m rambling. Suffice it to say, I feel as though I’m seeing the game board from an entirely different angle. All the peices are the same and they move the same, but everything’s shifted 90 degrees. Another Great Big Obvious Thing™ just dawned on me and opened up a new box of stuff to sort through.

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Beware the biting rings

I’m on my sixth day back in lock-up and the CB-6000 and I are starting to settle in with each other again. I’m using the middle-sized ring exclusively now and most of the time it’s fine but the nights can still be a little challenging. I like the fact that the entire device seems not to droop as much and it’s definitely more secure, but those sharp corners were biting pretty hard this morning. Even though I only woke up twice (which is a 33% improvement over the previous few nights), it seemed like the 5:00 AM wake up call was more intense than any of the others from the previous week.

I’m still trying to figure out what causes some nights to be harder than others. I lube up the same and make sure my bladder’s empty, etc. The only difference between last night and the others was Belle finally let me bring her to orgasm (her first in five days). All the other nights were foot or back massages. I should keep an eye on that. I wonder if experiencing direct sexual frustration at bedtime (as opposed to the general background noise of sexual frustration I float through all the time) leads to more nocturnal discomfort? Worth watching.

So anyway, I woke up all painful and whiny and told Belle as much (including that I’m in the smaller ring). She asked me why I torture myself like that and I told her I really would rather consider it her torturing me since it was entirely her will that had me in there to begin with and that it would be better for me if she referred to it that way. She said, yeah, it was because of her that I was imprisoned and that it was too bad she wasn’t going to give me the key so I could move up to a bigger ring. *bing*

Upon her saying that, it was possible for me to time exactly how long it takes a sexually stimulating thought in my brain to convert into an order for my cock to get hard(er) and then for the cock to actually carry out that command and further engorge since about a heartbeat after her words entered my ears I felt a ratcheting up of pain in my groin and let out a little whimper. Of course, now I’m worried she’ll take pity on me and let me out soon. It’s not that I really, really like the pain and discomfort (no, I only really like them) or that I’m in any way trying to control indirectly when she locks me up and for how long, but I’m just getting past that part in the lock-up period where my flesh is adjusting to being encased all day long (evening issues excepted). I’d much rather be locked up for fewer, more lengthy sessions than more frequent, shorter ones. She knows when I’m getting out, though she won’t tell me. I’m thinking it’ll either be this weekend or just prior to our trip. I have to admit, I’m interested in staying in until we get back before being let out since I’ve never been in that long and would like to see what it’s like. Of course, that’s entirely her decision.

Other than that, I’m just trying to get past the first-week-of-no-orgasm hump. I don’t think I’ve been locked up for this part of the orgasmless period and the combination of the sensory mind-fuck of chastity on top of my body trying to absorb all the unused hormones has been interesting. As I touched on the other day, my sexual frustration and submissiveness are both running higher than I would have expected at thing point. Even Belle’s noticed the difference (in a good way, I think).

I’ve posted before that, when I’m wearing the device, I think everyone’s looking at my crotch all the time. I still think that, but I’m starting to not really care as much. It’s not that I want to go around and tell all my employees what I have in my pants, but by the same token, being too hung up on what they see or think they see is unproductive. I do my best to make sure I’m situated as unobtrusively as possible when I stand up and walk around, but otherwise really don’t care as much as I did before. Worst case, they think I’m sporting a big fat boner all day (it’s not too far from the truth). There are worse things.

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Again with the Christians

Who knew that my new lifestyle would give me so much in common with the Christian set?

ex-masturbator-shirt-22082-1233763796-7

This, from a new line of inspirational t-shirts for Christian teens. They also come with the sayings “EX-Fornicator”, “EX-Athiest”, “EX-Rebel”,  and my absolute favorite, “EX-Homosexual”.

More info here. Buy them here (seriously, I want the EX-Masturbator badly). Via BuzzFeed.

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You learn something every day

Guess what I found out this morning? Gold Bond Medicated Body Lotion contains menthol. Guess when I found that out? After putting it on a Q-Tip and using it to lubricate the tube of my CB6K. Guess what else I found out? I liked it.

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Thumper’s plan

I decided yesterday afternoon about three that I wanted some pussy that night. In the past, that would have meant waiting until we were in bed before doing anything about it. Then, I’d come on to Belle in an attempt to get my dick wet, and if she declined (which she often did), I’d give her some attitude, be pissed, and then go jack-off to porn. Those were the old days.

These days, things are more complicated. I needed to plan and plot. My goal was to ease her reentry into home life in order to make her as relaxed and retaining as much residual energy as possible. To that end, I picked up both kids, helped the boy finish his homework, and literally had dinner on the table all before she walked in the door. Then, I made sure her coffee was set to brew at 5:15 AM and cleaned up the kitchen. Nice. For her, no muss, no fuss.

Once in bed, I told her it had been three days since her last orgasm and I thought it was high time she had another. It was my job to make sure she was properly serviced, after all, and my professional opinion was she needed me to work her over. She looked at me for a moment and basically said all I wanted was to get into her pants. Well…yes, I said. But she was going to get an orgasm while I was going to get nothing more than hard plastic biting into my hard cock. What if she wanted a foot massage, she asked. Fuck. The foot massage. She loves those. Well, I’m happy doing whatever she wanted, I lied, but wouldn’t she really like an orgasm? Huh? Wouldntcha? Just a little one?

She then reminded me that she decided what would happened, not me. If she wanted an orgasm, I would give her one. If she wanted a foot massage, I would give her one. Basically, whatever she wanted, I would give it to her. Now, go get the cream and rub my feet.

She’s right, of course. That’s the deal. That’s what our Covenant says. So, she got a fucking great foot massage powered by my repressed sexual energy.

The problem with my plan was it being centered around me trying to get something I wanted when I should have been planning only to give her satisfaction in whatever way she needed it. I had forgotten that to make her happy is to make me happy – that there are multiple paths to my satisfaction. I was being generously selfish. I was doing things, but I was doing them for myself, not her.

Afterward, when she and her well-massaged feet turned over to go to sleep, I reflected on my attitude. I had been too forward and pushed too much, but wasn’t mad or upset for not getting what I wanted (as has happened in the past). On the contrary, I was happy and content. It’s good to be kept, denied, controlled by her. I like it. Oddly enough, I really, really like it.