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A wolf in wolf’s clothing

Being up over two weeks without sexual release for the first time ever is starting to gnaw at me (sixteen days, but who’s counting…oh, yeah, I’M counting). I wake up with a serious case of the carnivorous butterflies every morning and find myself kinda jumpy and buzzy at different points during the day. I have a feeling Belle’s craving a little bunny lovin’ herself, but what with Mr. Winky currently in recovery mode, there’s no hope of getting him wet in the foreseeable future.

This morning my urges were so powerful they stopped being about having sex, per se, and were more about just consuming her. I wanted to simultaneously bite her, envelope her entire body in mine, crush her in my arms, and just fuck the holy hell out whatever was left. It was all very reptilian. Of course, I didn’t do any of those things. I tried my very best to remain the sweet and gentle mate she requires me to be.

And that, my friends, is where a lot of this orgasm denial stuff trips my trigger. My animalistic, testosterone-soaked hunk of burning love being smothered by the cool cascade of her feminine power. I’m all strain and frustration and spring-loaded desire and she lies there exuding collected calmness and just smiles at me. If we were cartoon characters, she’d be a sexy sheep striking a Mae West pose and I’d be a wolf with a steam whistle blowing out of his raggedy top hat.

Belle tells me she might allow me to come to orgasm tonight, but only if the piercing looks and feels better and only through manual stimulation. No penetration. My mouth goes dry at the thought. I so badly want to come but I also so badly want to fuck her that I may – impossibly – keep waiting until the new hole in my dick heals more completely. Pardon me while I go curl up in the corner and softly whine to myself.

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One fortnight

I nearly forgot to mention that today marks two weeks since my last orgasm, a new record by four days with no relief in sight. I’m surprised at how calm I am in the face of what is easily the longest I’ve gone without ejaculation since I’ve been able to perform the feat. My attitude is undoubtedly a side effect of the still-fresh hole in my dick.

Since we’re on the topic, I can report that the hole hurts. Or rather, the area in my urethra through which the stainless steel bar passes is very sore. The flesh on the bottom of the head of my penis is slightly swollen and pink(er). Urinating causes a burning sensation and is somewhat harder than usual since, I assume, it has to pass through the swollen, crowded tube. The swelling and pain did not appear until the day after Belle jacked me off. I think, in retrospect, that was slightly more action than I was ready for. All the swelling and pain is slightly better today than it was yesterday, though. I’m doing my salt water soaks twice a day as proscribed. Updating my Facebook status to “is going to soak his penis” crossed my mind earlier this evening, but I thought better of it. Anyway, it is healing, but much more slowly than I’d prefer. Wednesday will be a week since the piercing and Belle tells me that’s the very earliest I’ll be allowed release.

Yesterday, I experienced a new thing. Semen leaked from me off and on throughout the day. I’m assuming that’s my prostate expelling all that unneeded ammo it’s been sitting on for 14 days. It was somewhat sad and depressing seeing those sorry little hard stains in my underwear.

Come on, cells, heal. Heal, damn it, HEAL.

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626 v. 217

Over on The Glow Inside, I found this entry linking to one of those silly web quizzes that tells you something about yourself. Specifically, it attempts to quantify one’s sexual perversions and render a kinkiness score. My favorite of these kinds of things is this old chestnut that supposedly tells you how gay you are. According to a British television network, I am fairly gay, but my score seems to fluctuate wildly. Seems to me, the best way to find out how gay you are (as a male) is to ask how much you like sucking a cock or having it up your ass, but what do I know? That’d make for a pretty short quiz, I suppose.

In any event, Belle and I took the kink test. I scored somewhat higher than I expected with a 626 out of 1000 (a “Major League Kinkster”, apparently). It’s true that there are few things I’m not willing to try or are interested in, but my practical experience in many of them is limited. Guess I got a bunch of “A for effort”-type credit. I wasn’t sure Belle’d break 100, but she scored a whopping 217 which, they say, sweetly hints at her kinky nature. Belle’s immediate comment was, “Why are we together?” but I was really pretty enthused. I mean, sweetly hinting at a kinky side? Sounds good to me. At least there is a kinky side, right? Could have been a lot worse.

Oh, and by the way, we’re together because I’m deeply in love with her and can’t imagine being anywhere else. So there.

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Pushy bunny

I got Belle a copy of The Mistress Manual by Mistress Lorelei. It was well-reviewed on Amazon and it’s just my thing to buy a lot of books whenever I’m trying to to grok a new subject, but it’s been sitting on Belle’s nightstand uncracked since it arrived so yesterday I picked it up and started reading it.

Mistress Lorelei suggested I stop. At least, to stop before I got to the juicy stuff. OK, I figured, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I was able to get through enough to know Belle’s not going to like some of what she has to say. First of all, Lorelei talks a lot about “sissy maids”. As I’ve said, I am not a sissy, do not want to become or be turned into one, and, in general, am not interested in doing all the housework (nor is she interested in me being a sissy). In addition to lauding the benefits of the live-in sissy maid, Lorelei also discusses the joys of dressing your guysub (her word – hadn’t seen that form of the term before) in women’s clothing (specifically, underwear). Again, not burning with a desire to wear lacy panties and Belle’s never suggested I should. We don’t have a problem with guys who do, but it’s not an idea that trips either of our triggers. However…

Mistress Lorelei did help my thoughts coalesce around something I had not been able to put words around previously. While I’m not interested in doing all the chores, wearing panties, or otherwise being emasculated, I am turned on by Belle making me perform tasks or putting me in situations I’d never embrace on my own. I like the idea of her pushing me beyond where I’m comfortable. For example, when she forced me to eat my own come. Yes, eating come (my own included) turns me on, but it’s only a turn-on for me while I’m turned on. Approximately .25 seconds after it comes out of my body, the idea of eating it is about as arousing as is the idea of eating snot. She didn’t just ask me to eat it, though, she made me by smearing it over my lips. It was a marvelous moment where she spontaneously asserted her dominant prerogative. It was awesome and it’s one my favorite memories from our recent past.

This concept intersected with our life last night. Belle had already told me I was not going to service her, but she was being very generous with her attention towards me. She was clawing my ass, pinching my nipples, and jacking the cock (while avoiding the still-tender piercing). It was heavenly. I had asked (begged, really) to be allowed to go down on her, and she refused. Then, as she was biting and sucking on my neck (and leaving a nice little trail of marks down to my shoulder), the intensity of the feelings got to me and I begged to be able to do anything at all to her. I guess I didn’t really think she would let me, but I really, really wanted to and also wanted to hear her refuse me again. However, it didn’t turn out that way. She got pissed. Felt I was trying to control the action. I apologized and did my best grovelling bit, but she was fairly nonplussed. After she chewed me out for a while, accompanied by my continued pleas for mercy, she decided I had ruined the moment and would have to massage her feet with lotion before she went to sleep (which, you know, wasn’t all that bad either).

She may have been right. I may have been trying to steer the ship. It’s not uncommon for me to achieve a nice subbie headspace after we get started, but it’s not usually the case that I’m feeling submissive before we get going. Had I been grooving the guysub space, I don’t think I would have continued to beg her for access to her body. I might have tried once, but she was being pretty firm with her refusal. I doubt I would have pushed it. Maybe that little voice in my head that hoped she would capitulate and let me go down on her was playing a bigger role than I thought. Had she directed me to leave my comfort zone beforehand – to jump-start my submissive tendencies – I probably wouldn’t have pushed her so hard.

So, to tie all this together, I had never really appreciated why dommes made their subs do things like kneel or kiss their feet before a scene. Since I didn’t feel a terrific desire to bow before Belle or worship her feet (not, at least, until getting warmed up a bit), I figured that her forcing me to do them wouldn’t find a place in our relationship. In fact, I continue to think too much about my interests and desires. No, I don’t instinctively want to bow to her, so she should make me do it. Since sucking on her toes is usually something I need to warm up for, she should make me do it before anything else. We both need strategies that will allow her to assert her dominance, not for my pleasure, but to ensure I don’t usurp her authority.

Because of last night, there’s a phrase that reiterates our power-sharing arrangment that she’s requiring me to say before I’m allowed to do anything with her. At first, I felt silly and somewhat embarrassed saying it, but by about the third time it came out of my mouth, it sank in as to why I needed to say it. And, in turn, why I needed to write this.

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This morning

I awoke this morning with the carnivorous butterflies at full battle alert. My whole body seemed to vibrate with a tremulous, insistent lust for Belle. There was a moderate amount of pain coming from the end of my erection, but the immediacy of her physical presence filled my senses and caused me to momentarily subjugate the hurt. At first, she was sleeping, and I tentatively moved my hands over her body, cautious not to wake her but finding it difficult to control my urge to touch her. As she stirred from sleep, I became more bold, moving my hand beneath her bedclothes and down between her legs. Thankfully, she was receptive and pulled her top up to to reveal her breasts, in doing so wordlessly directing me to provide her the service I so badly craved. She made little effort to please me. There was a vague touching on her part, but it seemed more about her appreciating my form than an attempt to give me pleasure.

I consumed her nipples as if they were water and I a man lost in the dessert. I fought the urge, so familiar when my lust is running high, to sink my teeth into her soft flesh. My mouth found its way to her pussy and I eagerly lapped at her wet folds. Her first-thing-in-the-morning aroma was strong and powerfully affected me. My newly pierced meat strained against the still-unfamiliar steel passing though it, but the intensity of her womanhood blanketed any pain. I was solely focused on consuming all of her that I could before she inevitably fell over the cliff of orgasm.

As her climax approached, she started moaning loudly and with abandon. I found myself, for the first time, making sympathetic orgasmic moans. Soft, almost whimpering sounds came from me as I palpably felt the crest of her pleasure approach and then wash over me along with the knowledge that, sadly, my enjoyment of her body was coming to an end.

Afterward, I laid my head down on her pubic hair and inhaled her redolent essence for as long as she’d let me. I placed my hand over her pubis, cupping it over her mound. I felt the source of her power over me radiating from it. An animal-like lust welled within me and, again, I was nearly overcome with the urge to bite her. But I didn’t. I kissed her. As sweetly and as tenderly as I knew how. And I thanked her for allowing me the pleasure of giving the same to her.

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Uncharted waters

It’s been eleven days since my last orgasm. This is a new high-water mark in my denial and there’s no telling when I’ll next be released. When I last went ten days, I was nearly manic in my need for release, but right now I’m in pretty good shape. There are a number of differences this time. Then, I had also been in the CB6K for eight days (which was my longest stint), so there was more than one thing I was looking forward to. Also, that period of denial led up to our weekend alone at the cabin which had me really excited since it was also going to be the first time Belle tied me up and flogged me.

This time, though, she’s been out of town for a few days, so the edge of my desire seems to be off. Even though she got back yesterday, we spent most of the time preparing our house for a party of 50 people tonight, so quiet time was at a minimum. I assume that since we’ll have 50 people over, the opportunity for sexual contact will be low tonight. My next best chance will be tomorrow night. But, oh yeah. I have a fresh flesh wound in my cock.

I did eventually bleed yesterday, but it was diluted and came out the end of my dick, not the hole. I had assumed the blood would come from the wound, but it doesn’t. Even this morning when I found spots of fresh, pure blood in my dressing, it had all come through the natural opening, not the new one. I can report that my nocturnal erections caused some significant discomfort last night. Hope that doesn’t last long. Right now, I can feel it in there and there’s some minor discomfort, but the bleeding seems to have stopped, at least temporarily. Also, I ordered this piece of jewelry for when the majority of my healing’s done. It’ll give something for Belle to hold on to when she’s leading me around.

Basically, I assume I should be climbing the walls, but I’m not. I chalk that up to the cock not feeling like a source of pleasure, but it could be I’m just acclimating. By the time I get to come next, it will have been two-and-a-half to three weeks of denial. That orgasm might just make my head explode.

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OMFG, there’s a metal bar through my dick

It’s been less than an hour since a needle was stuck through my dick.

As I said in the previous post, I went to Saint Sabrina’s in the Uptown area of Minneapolis to get my PA. My piercer’s name was Jesicka and she was amazing. While very professional, she was also able to put me at ease (and, while my outwardly steely demeanor may have suggested otherwise, I needed her to put as much ease on me as possible). She was just awesome. Can’t recommend her more highly.

Before going, I thought the following:

  • It would hurt like hell
  • I would bleed like a stuck pig
  • I’d be naked from the waist down
  • I’d be able to watch the procedure go down
  • My dick would have withdrawn completely into my body

While Mr. Winkie did look terrified, I’m happy to report it wasn’t outrageously small. A small modicum of my male ego was thusly preserved. The moment the needle went through did hurt, but not nearly as much as I thought it would. She inserted the receiving tube into the head of my dick, which was mildly uncomfortable, and then punched the needle through. I thought she was still working with the tube when the actual piercing took place and by the time I realized it was over, she already had the jewelry in. Turns out, I didn’t bleed at all. She said that most people don’t bleed when pierced using the method she developed. I couldn’t see what she did, though, since she had me laying flat on the table. Also, she only had my pants pulled down to my knees, so I wasn’t as naked as I thought I’d be (or as cold). There was a moment after she started touching my dick that I thought I might actually get somewhat aroused, what with being as horny as I am, but nothing untoward transpired.

So now I’m at home and I do feel a small amount of pain down there, but nothing major. I unwrapped the ghetto bandage she put on me (a surgical glove packed with gauze and secured with rubber bands) and found there’s still no blood. I chose to go with an eight gauge curved barbell with a larger ball in front an a smaller one in back. The rod of the barbell is a little long, but Jesicka said we need to see how it fits while erect before adjusting. If it turns out I need a shorter one, I’ll go back in about three weeks and she’ll fit it.

The first peeing event was also pretty uneventful. The ball in front did disrupt the stream, but maybe not enough to keep me from peeing standing up (my obsession). I expected urine to leak through the hole, but it didn’t. Maybe that’ll change after it heals. She told me I’d have to use a condom during intercourse for at least two months. So, if my math’s correct, I’ll only need a three-pack. 😉

All in all, I can report it was much less traumatic than I thought it would be. If the healing period is similarly uneventful, I’ll be very pleased indeed.

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Unpainting corners

Eileen commented on “The one where Thumper get put into his place” and her words have me thinking. In part, she said:

I would mention from my own experience that if Belle is prone to guilt or being worried, this kind of interaction could be very tough for her. I often feel I have been painted (or have painted myself) into a corner by creating sexual expectations & buildup I simply can’t deliver on. For me, it took a very long time to get to a place where I could “take control” as you describe it, without some kind of emotional backlash from the part of me that feels obligated to create equity in my relationship with May.

Painted into a corner by expectations that can’t be delivered upon. Ouch.

Belle is prone to not only guilt, but also worry. The guilt might come from growing up Catholic, but the worrying is purely genetic. She inherited that from her mom’s side of the family. There is nothing my mother in law can’t worry obsessively about, and Belle’s has a bit of that in her. So, does she worry about meeting my expectations? I’m sure she does. The zeal with which I have embraced denial and submission is typical of how I attack new interests and, I admit, it could be off-putting. She may feel that I’ve worked out in my head how everything’s supposed to proceed and exactly what I want her to do to me. Truth is, I haven’t. There are things I want to do and have done to me, and I should be more open to her about them, but I can’t enjoy any of this if it’s proscriptive. Sure, there are things I really get off thinking about, but I don’t assume we will explore all those things together. I’m not trying to put her into a position where she’s responsible for making all my fantasies come true. One, that would be a hell of a lot of work for anyone, and two, I’m not sure I want them all to enter the real world. Basically, this will work best for me (and her) when we arrive at a place where she’s doing what she wants and how, and not just because I want it or enjoy it. This is not a place I’ve ever read about online since it will be unique to the both of us. My only expectation is that she will not do anything she really doesn’t enjoy.

Regarding any guilt she might feel from the inequity of the arrangement, I think that might be the easiest to assuage. I like the inequity! I get off on the unfairness! Being arbitrary and capricious in the doling out of sexual experiences is exactly what I want. She should come ten times more often than me. She should tell me every day for a week when I’m going to get sex and then, on a whim, decide against it. I want her to leave me straining and hard and constantly yearning for release. (God, just writing this sends waves of excitement through me.) Of course, simply saying this can’t stop her from feeling guilt, but I can only continue to say it in hopes that eventually she’ll see that keeping me frustrated and in a state “normal” society would define as terrible and unfair is one of the ways I can find happiness and some sort of satisfaction.

I’d tell her all this in person, but as I said yesterday, she’s out of town until Wednesday. And besides, this blog is partially for me to relate my story to anyone interested in reading it, but also (and, in fact, maybe mostly) it’s a tool with which I can organize my thoughts and relate them better to Belle. I do talk to her – a hell of a lot – but not always in a clear and succinct manner. Hopefully, she’ll read this tonight from her hotel room and see more clearly where I’m coming from. I certainly don’t want her to feel guilt or any kind of pressure. This is supposed to be fun, not all heavy and laden with baggage. I hope we can approach it full of joy and laughter as we discover a new and (hopefully) exciting way to enjoy each other.

Thanks, Eileen.

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The piercing cometh

My Belle Fille’s out of town again until Wednesday. Just a quick trip, but in my orgasm-deprived state, her absence is keenly felt. I wish she was here now. *sigh*

Ahem. Sorry. In other news, I made an appointment today at Saint Sabrina’s for my PA piercing. Wednesday at noon. Yikes. I admit to being more than a little nervous. I mean, they’re going to poke a hole in my dick. There will be blood. Perhaps, a lot of blood. Um…anyway, I’m telling you this in an attempt to make it impossible for me to chicken out. If I don’t follow through, I’ll have to come back here and explain.

It’s recommended that one not have sex for a week following a new PA piercing. Wednesday will be ten days (my record so far) so add a week onto that, I guess. Two and a half weeks. I am simultaneously horrified and excited by the prospect. It’ll take four to six weeks to heal, so I’m also guessing that keeps me out of the CB6K until sometime in January. Happy New Year!

OK, I’m going to go now and freak out about my dick and not coming for more than half a month. See you tomorrow.

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RobotSub

wall-eAnyone else who’s seen Wall-E think he’s a great little malesub and she’s a kick-ass domme? Am I the only one?