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Presumptive assumptive

You’d imagine that at some point I’d learn not to make assumptions. My assumption this morning was, since I volunteered to get locked up so as to ensure my good behavior yesterday and, had I not, I’d’ve likely been left unlocked until later today, that I was going to get out again this morning.

She told me to go close the door and I did. When I got back into bed, I was on all fours and she reached up between my legs and started to caress my balls with her fingers. All five of them running down the sides of my increasingly taut ball sack, a few occasionally stroking my perineum. The kind of touch that makes my limbs weak and the cage so crowded.

“I’m going to leave you in there this morning.”

Whimper. Then she made a half-laugh amused sound.

But she kept at my balls so I almost didn’t care that I wasn’t getting out. Almost. I kept thinking about her hot pussy and sinking back into it. But then she’d stroke my balls again and the thought would falter and go unfocused.

“You’re leaking on my arm.”

Whimper, again.

The Steelheart was so tight. So fucking unrelentingly tight. I could feel my heart beating inside it as the erection fought the warm steel. Futile. It became a fight between feeling the wonder of my balls being caressed and the ring and tube crushing them in response. Then she pressed on them. Hard. The sack being so tight made it especially vulnerable to that kind of action. I moaned/groaned in response.

“I don’t know how to interpret that.”

Me either. It hurts and I’m frustrated into a stupor but I like the intensity of it. The loving hardness of her. Don’t stop doing it/stop doing it.

I repositioned myself to lay beside her and she pulled off her night clothes exposing her beautiful breasts. I put both my hands on them and rolled her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers. They hardened to my touch and the mean steel pressed into her leg. Her hands went straight for her pussy. Her hips were grinding and moans left her lips and she got herself off while I focused upstairs. I wasn’t expecting this.

Her pussy is so much to me. The whole world. After yesterday’s wonder, today was turning into the opposite. I was getting zero pussy. I could tell by her sounds and her movement this wasn’t a warm up act. She was going all the way and, once there, wouldn’t want or need me to touch it.

She came as loudly as she dared and maybe a quarter as loud as she would have liked. Yes, Belle’s the kind you can hear from down the block in the summer.

Whimper, 3X.

This is a different kind of denial. Denial of access. Of feeling her come. Sure, I was there. In the room where it happened. But it was all hers. It was hard for me. Harder than being locked up. Harder than making myself avoid orgasm when every cell in my body wants it.

We laid together after. She was coming down and I was vibrating inside. Uselessly. There would be no focus of my energy in our bed today.

“I’m so horny,” was all I could say. Stupidly. Of course I am. But I needed to say something and that was the only thing that pulled itself together.

“Hmf,” she replied. In a way that clearly communicated the lack of interest she had in my comment. The pointlessness of it.

“Being horny is better than not, right?”

“Thank you, Belle Fille.”

Later, in the kitchen making breakfast, I felt amped up and jumpy. Wonder why. But I also realized that my earlier comment sounded passively manipulative. What she wanted this morning was to make herself come. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with that and, while I can be disappointed in not getting what I wanted, I don’t get what I fucking want. Because that’s not what our sex is about and I know that and that’s what I asked her for. It is pointless for me to say I’m horny when it was obvious I was. Being horny is normal for me and not her problem. It’s a feature, not a bug, so don’t report it.

I apologized for saying it. I reiterated that she should always do what she wants. I should never say or do anything that could motivate guilt within her if all she was doing was operating under the established rules of our dynamic. Which she was.

The problem wasn’t her. The problem was me and my assumptions. I cannot assume I’ll be let out. And, regardless, I cannot assume that when she gets off it’ll be as a result of my actions. Figure it out, you dumb bunny.

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A good morning 

April, so far
Device distribution, April to date

When we got back from Spring Break, as I said, I locked myself back up in the Looker 02. In the weeks since, I only got out to swap devices and have otherwise been secured the whole time. I switched the L02 for the Steelheart because it’s Belle’s favorite and then, due to my own inattention, needed to go into the Jail Bird. Being locked up in a closed tube like the Steelheart as much as I am has made me much more aware of the changing chemistry of urine than the average boy, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, I neglected my hygiene routine for too long and things started to burn after peeing. Nothing a few days in an open air cage couldn’t fix. (For those of you who like their data visualized, I have included a chart.)

She felt it was important for me to stay locked up until today to help me reset my attitude and submission to her. What with all the talk about other men and what they were saying to her and threatening to do, I found myself craving her pussy more than at any other time in recent memory. Mind you, I like it a lot even on the worst days. What I’m talking about here is a whole ‘nuther level of pussy craving.

I woke up with the penis all pushed up against the bars of the JB. My balls have been feeling especially plump for the past week (likely a result of being so turned on so much of the time), and the whole package was the very definition of “straining.” She let me have the bit that fits the locking screw and it went well and fine until I had to get my nuts out. They were just too fat to slip through without a painful wince. In earlier days, this kind of thing would probably have left me feeling the symptoms of blue balls for two weeks, but I rarely feel that now. Just this ouchy quick trip through a steel ring.

Everything is more intense in those moments the penis is out and hard for the first time after a few weeks. I want to devour her from the pussy up and she needs to give me a figurative swat on the nose to calm down and remember my place. But god did I just want to plung right in and fuck her to bits. Regardless, I did my duty and kissed her and sucked her tits and fingered her snatch and felt the hard-on between us throb and grind into her thigh.

There’s this one little spot on her clit. On the right side, down a little. If I let my finger tip flick over it in just the right way I can make her right foot jump. I love that being so focused on her pleasure for so long has left me as familiar with her pussy as I am the penis. I know her spots. I know the places to touch to warm her up and how many fingers to use and where to go when she’s plateauing and then how to bring her home to orgasm. I know her rythym and what her sounds mean and where she is in the process of coming with me. I can tell the difference between her letting it take longer because she likes what I’m doing and when she’s having a harder time getting there. Her body and my brain connect there in a more intimate way than they do when the penis is inside her. And when she came this morning, I had to stifle my own exclamation at feeling her clamp down and pulse on my finger, back arched and eyes closed. The female orgasm — Belle’s orgasm — is one the most beautiful things in the world to me. And like all of them, they’re over too quickly.

I fought the urge to push in as soon as she was done. I found my body positioning itself above her even as I told myself to wait for permission. With just the slightest touch by her, I moved over and shoved the penis home. And…oh, my. I just. There aren’t words for how it felt. To be in her. Soft and warm and wet. The feeling of total gratitude towards her for sharing that part of her with that part of me. Millions of years of evolution to make it as inviting a place as possible to a man all came crashing down on my head and I nearly shot my load the second the penis was totally in her. But I didn’t. She told me I was expressly forbidden to do so. So I fucked her slowly and gently and with a constantly changing rythym so as to avoid getting too close too quickly. I felt like the first time I had to stop to avoid coming she was going to tell me to get out so every fiber of me was focused on not getting there.

Sometimes, when I get to fuck her, I fantasize about other men having been there first. In the past, that was entirely fantasy. To an extent, it still is. Maybe it’ll always be so. But the fantasy is ever so slightly more real now and I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that what she was letting me do to her she was letting me do to her. That I didn’t have any special claim to that place. That someday another might be there instead and her soft cooing would be the result of his actions and her hands would be wrapped around his neck and on his back as he pumped into her as I was. My heart was filled with gratitude that I was being allowed the pleasure. And it was so much pleasure. I concentrated on how it felt to such an extent I could feel the grip of her pussy precisely and the feeling of the individual petals of her labia rubbing past the flair of the penis head as it slid by. I could feel the tip of the penis barely graze her cervix and couldn’t help but think if I was going after him I wouldn’t be near it. I felt drunk on the passion of it all.

I lasted a lot longer than you might imagine. It was glorious, but eventually the lizardly part of my sexuality snaked up out of its hole and muscled in. I started to fuck her harder and faster. I pushed in as far as I could and tried to push in deeper. Her breathing changed as the impact of my body into hers bacame more intense and purposeful. I could feel an orgasm rising in me. I could feel it shoving its way past my inner guards as though she had given me permission to come. But she hadn’t. This wasn’t about having an orgasm. This was about coming in her. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession and competition and making mine the seed she carried. It was older and more primal than love.

Just as the the orgasm started to touch the point of no return, to words screamed out in my head at the same time.

MINE.

STOP!

And I did. I stopped thrusting. I held still. The penis flexed and pumped like a drowning man clawing for a rope that wasn’t there. One lonely shot of ejaculate came out, then nothing. No orgasm. Just intense and nearly overpowering craving to do so. I growled like a Klingon into her neck. I fought the urge to bite her. The lizard screamed at me and yelled about how some other guy wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. Idiot rabbit.

“Mine” it is not. The thing I was fucking her with isn’t even mine. None of if it is. It’s all hers. Every bit of it. My heart filled to explode. So much love.

Afterward, I asked to go back in to the Steelheart. I could tell the lizard was still slithering in the shadows. I could tell by how the penis felt and the impulse I had to grab it and yank on it. If she left me alone with it, things would happen. So she laid there as I assembled the device and turned the lock. And that’s where it sits now. Behind steel and beyond reach. Until she wants it again.

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Options all around

Belle and I experience the openness of our relationship in different ways. For me, the possible reality of it being open in her direction as well as mine has all kinds of net beneficial impacts. My submissive instincts are heightened, I’m deliriously attracted to her, and I’m simply very happy that she’s excited and feeling good (side note: TOG didn’t blow it entirely and is still in the picture and back in Belle’s “good graces”). I remain totally free of jealous feelings and lack any notion of possession over her but do have a noticeable sense of competition resonating within me (not that I can compete with a thick 7½ inches, but I have lots of other talents and attributes). 

However, I don’t see a lot of these things happening in her when I’m with other people. I think there are several things that account for this. One, so far, I’ve only been with other men and she knows that I’m not able to develop romantic feelings for them. Close, physical relationships to be sure, but never achieving ingnition into love. In short, these things are really about sex. And the sex it’s about is the kind she has a difficult time giving me. The kind that involves props and pain and buckles that she could do but both of us would know it’d be just for show and then it’d lose its magic. So it’s more like letting someone walk the dog. Kind of a physical maintenance thing you’re perfectly happy letting someone else attend to. Finally, in these scenarios I do not have and will never have a usable penis. 

In as much as I’m unpossessive of her, she is intensely possessive of the penis. She feels as though control over it is control over my soul and, if that’s the case, it doesn’t really matter what the body is doing. She reiterated that regardless of who the potential partner is, the penis will never be allowed to penetrate them or be pleasured by them. It will always be secured. It belongs to her and she fucking means it. 

I admit, this really works for me. Not just because I’m a sub and like being controlled and denied and all that, but because it makes me feel special that she is so possessive over (at least part) of me. And that makes me wonder if my lack of feeling possessive over her could be construed as a negative thing. It shouldn’t be. It’s not that I don’t cherish her. I do. But for me, that manifests in a way that allows me to want for her all kinds of pleasure and experience. It seems so clear to me that I’m emotionally and mentally polyamorous by nature. But besides that, the notion of feeling possessive connotes an entitled control and, as a submissive, I simple don’t feel as though I can claim that. I’ve exchanged the traditional notion of exclusive partnership (as if that means much to me anyway) for a relationship dynamic that is much more emotionally satisfying and the net result is I have no right of possession over her at all. 

I hope that she feels compelled to explore this new openness in the future regardless of how current options play out for her. I’m also amazed and infinitely grateful that we’ve got an arrangement that allows us both freedom to proceed in ways that don’t compromise our conflicting expectations of what “open” means. 

In related news, Drew was in town again the other day. He has a client here now and will be visiting a lot more frequently and for longer stretches than he has in the past. We had dinner together at a South American restaurant (covered in some detail here). We had a good conversation and covered in frank detail the issues that led to the ending of our sexual adventures. I admit, most of the issues were mine so it was incumbent on me to be as honest as possible and I was. Maybe it was me playing to the audience of the big purple-haired possibly dykish bartender who overheard 60% of everything we said (and inexplicably turned me on), but I tried not to hold back. 

Short story is, we’re negotiating a resumption of that aspect of our relationship. Unlike last time when we kind of rushed into it and didn’t necessarily set good boundaries, this time there will be a contract and everything. Having clearly established limitations and expectations is D/s 101-type stuff. Of course, there is nothing kinky D/s folk love more than contracts. 

The big thing I asked of him, the “price of admission” to be able to top me again, was to choose which he wanted more: A friend or a sub. I fully admit that such a request seems cold and unfair, but to follow the whole “Mistress vs. Goddess” thing (but in this case, “Master vs. God” perhaps), I don’t naturally have it in me to worship a guy like I do a woman. It’s just another part of my flavor of bisexuality that I can’t love a man romantically and I can’t create in my head the necessary framework to allow a more passive domination over me by one. The only way a D/s thing with work with Drew is if he is actively working to extract my submission and the only way I can get myself into a place where what can happen is if I don’t have to find a place to put all his insecurities and random life issues while it’s happening. And I don’t say that to suggest he’s excessively insecure or anything. He’s like any other person and has all kinds of issues and attributes mashed up inside him. He’s an emotionally open person and freely expresses himself to his friends. That’s cool if he’s my friend. But if he’s my Dom, it doesn’t work for me. So I asked him to pick. And he did. 

The contract is essentially done. All I need to do is send it back to him with acknowledgment of such and it will take effect. I’ll probably do that today some time. One of its provisions is I won’t be expected to write about my relationship with him here or on his blog or anywhere else. It’s not that I don’t like to share the intimate details of my sex life (obvs.) but I found the expectation that I would to be difficult to deal with. So I’m sorry for the hot homo sex fans amongst you, but I won’t be going there this time (he is, of course, free to write whatever he wants on his blog). Also, the new deal more clearly establishes when I’m doing “Drew time” and when I’m exclusively doing “Belle time.” Also also, it makes clear that there will be periods when the contract is being recognized and followed and times when it will not be (and those dates will be understood by both beforehand). I think that’s important because I found last time I needed some space and never really felt like there was time to get it. 

So, that’s that. Further experimentation in ancillary D/s. Tally ho.

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Hell hath no fury

I experienced a whole new thing on Sunday. Belle and TOG had arranged a time to Skype and the time came and went with no word from him. She was disappointed and hurt, as anyone would be, and I was mad. 

Thing is, “mad” doesn’t really capture the emotion. I was really mad. Furious, but not letting it show to her. There’s a flavor of anger that is specific to someone wronging one of your own and that’s what I was feeling. It’s not a thing I’ve ever felt in that context. I was left to comfort her because this guy had flaked out on her, like you would a good friend except this good friend was my wife. The objective, Vulcan part of me has tried to understand what his POV might be and appreciate what he may be going through, but the rest of me gives not a shit about any of that and wants to hurt him.

They have exchanged communications since but I’m not privy to the convo because she’s decided not to tell me. All I know is she told him what she felt she needed to considering his behavior. No idea if this is the end or just a bump, but I’ve decided to stop writing about TOG for the time being either way. There may come a point when it makes sense again, but not now. Last night, Belle said to me, “Your readers are going to be so disappointed,” sort of in rueful jest. That punctuated the growing feeling I already had that spending so much time documenting them here was feeling way too invasive to her. The very last thing I want her thinking about is how her outside relationship is potential wank fodder for people who read me for the prurient details (and trust me, I’m very much pro-prurient details in other contexts), how they’d react if that doesn’t work out, what they would say in comments, etc. I have enough trouble with that.

So, if I talk about it, it’ll be in an abstract way and from the POV of a submissive in an open relationship (while the idea of calling myself a cuckold is dirty hot, I’m not sure I am once since I am also free to have outside sex…as long as it doesn’t involve the penis). For instance, having to console her drove any and all sexy thoughts from my head. It made this even more a Real Thing, not just because it affected her but how it affected me (the quiet rage thing). This is the part the hawt cuck porn doesn’t help you with and accentuates how real life is. You get all kinds of emotions and outcomes, not just the formulaic. I was part concerned husband, part submissive partner, part comforting friend who wanted to drive over to his house and kick his ass all at the same time. He wasn’t the potential bull for my hotwife, he was an emotionally immature idiot who didn’t know how to use his words. Maybe both at the same time, but the one eclipsed the other (and still does). 

Objectification issue: Resolved

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Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.

Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky. 

I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.

The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.

In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied. 

I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.

I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.

To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?

I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!

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Back off, rabbit

If I look back on my sexual history over the last decade or so, I’d say the one area that could use some improvement that consistently shows up is that I’m far too…um, enthusiastic. Which, in and of itself, is one thing but when you combine that with a larger than normal visibility due to a platform such as this blog where I get to prattle on in front of thousands of eyeballs, it all gets out of control. I just get carried away. Part of that is because I’m constantly stewing in my own frustration and that causes me to perhaps make less defendable choices, but part of it is just how I am.

After yesterday’s post about the Facebook messages between Belle and TOG and whether I should read them following Belle’s offer to let me do so, I started to feel like I was doing it again. Yes, I still really want to read those messages, but no, I’m not going to. Partly because I decided it was too intrusive to Belle and her potential relationship with TOG and partly because the ethics of doing so are a little shaky but mostly because Belle decided it was too much. TOG is a thing that is happening to her, not me. She needs to be able to maintain a sphere of privacy and freedom and giving me such an unfettered view into her interactions with TOG totally punctures that. So yeah, that offer is now off the table.

I’m also going to try and get myself under control with regards to how much I talk about she and he. To be sure, things are not settled there and anything can happen. They may decide the emotional risk is too great for him if they became involved. He may freak out and ghost her. Things might just peter out as they sometimes do between people. If I make too big of a deal here and, because the prospect of it leaves me so fucking exited, then it starts to kind of hang a cloud over the whole thing. Because I write about it and because there will be comments or whatever, me and my take on what’s happening become too important. The gravitational influence starts to change the natural trajectory of the thing. It’s unfair to Belle and, I guess, TOG (though he knows nothing about any of this kinky sex blog stuff). 

So, starting today, I won’t be asking Belle any specific questions about TOG and their conversations or plans. She will share with me whatever she wants or needs to. I have reserved the right to be able to talk about how being the husband of a proto-hotwife makes me feel, both with her and here, but she gets to veto anything she thinks crosses a line and I’ll be doing my best to keep my blogging about it to a reasonable level. It might be different if she didn’t read the blog, but she does and always has and always will, so that’s that. Also, my only other ask (I call it an ask because it seems weird that I can make rules for her) is that each and every time they are together physically (if and when that happens), I want to know how often his cock is involved. But she does not need to offer specifics. Like, she could say they fucked and how many times but I wouldn’t be able to ask what he said to her while doing it or what piece of furniture she was bent over at the time. I can ask general-type stuff (“How did it make you feel?”) but even then she can cut me off if she thinks it’s too intrusive. Basically, other than the fact it happened, all other info will be metered out as she see fit. I think this is important because it maintains an airspace between them and us that respects her prerogative as the dominent partner.

It should be noted that Belle doesn’t think I can keep to this arrangement. She thinks I’ll crack and start asking things I’m saying now I won’t. I do totally acknowledge that I am craving information and am dying to ask more questions, but I am doing my best not to. The way it makes me feel is really very similar to what it feels like to be denied. It is a form of denial. It’s an demonstration of my submission. So from a dynamic standpoint, my lack of insight into what’s happening is a source of energy for me. The subby rabbit in me feeds off the fury of my internal sex lizard as he goes crazy thinking about what he doesn’t know.

She made me figure out for her today how she can Skype him. I don’t know when and for what purpose they will be using it and I’m not going to ask. I may not be told when it happens. So we’re already operating under the new rules. 

Funny thing about all this is I have now been living with an indescribably powerful desire to fuck the taste out of her mouth for about 72 hours. Continuous, palpable, and often difficult to contain every time I see her or hear her voice. Well, “difficult to contain” except for that one part. This morning, since I knew I wasn’t coming out of the Steelheart, all I wanted to do was set up camp between her legs and plant my face in her pussy. I hope that later tonight she’ll let me do it again. The introduction of TOG has made her the most desirable object in the world to me. Funny how that works. Also funny to think that one way couples could reinvigorate their relationships would be to crack them open every once in a while and let someone else have a turn. 

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Possession is nine-tenths, etc.

Belle and I spent some time after the lights were out last night just talking. Talking about TOG specifically, marital openess in general, me, her, etc. (even Drew, but that’s for another post). It was wonderful. Even though the tone was far more tame than the night before (for example, my finger wasn’t in any of her hot, wet orifices), it still left me too hopped up to sleep (and now you’re like, oh fucking great I get to read about how the rabbit can’t sleep again).

Anyway, lots to write about there, but first this…

At some point, Belle offered to let me read the history of her messaging with TOG. Not like right then but sometime if I wanted to. Nothing to hide and all that. I am of two minds. On the one hand, it’s pretty personal and seems borderline intrusive. But, of course, she offered and it would save her having to answer my endlessly annoying questions. On the other hand, I think it’d be hot as hell. Anyway, I asked Twitter what they thought and DarqKnight offered the above.

I want to talk about possessiveness. Not because I think DarqKnight is wrong. This is not a case of right and wrong. But “possessive” seems analogous to “jealous” and jealousy is really interesting to me.

I skipped over it yesterday, but I think jealousy is, at least in part and in some people, driven by insecurity. Worry that one’s partner will choose someone else or prefer someone else. In my case, my particular blend of perversions are such that rather than making me jealous, these possibilities turn me on. Also, as I said, I’m confident in my position with Belle and don’t for a second (well, not for two seconds — more on that in a minute) think she would leave me for TOG. Once that’s out of the way, there’s room for compersion to set in. Plus, there’s a real benefit to me for her to be having this fling.

What I mean by that involves the concept of “new relationship energy.” NRE is described by Wikipedia as…

[A] state of mind experienced at the beginning of most significant sexual and romantic relationships, typically involving heightened emotional and sexual receptivity and excitement.

I mean, we’ve all been there. Belle is experiencing a healthy jolt of NRE along with all the associated benefits and in the same way sunlight reflects off the moon some of it’s bouncing off her and hitting me. She’s in a better, sexier mood and that’s good for me. She’s ridiculously attractive to me right now. She’s also more interested in her health and well-being and I’m happy about that, too. So beyond the compersionistic aspect (yeah, I may have just made up a word) of feeling happy for her because she’s enjoying what’s going on, I’m able to also benefit from the real impact it’s having on her in other ways.

Of course, there’s a second way “possessive” can be defined. If I had a nice car (and I do), I would be possessive of it (and I am) as a thing that belongs to me and is mine to enjoy (and it is). Of course, there is no “car owner relationship dynamic” but if one was a Dom one might consider thier sub as “theirs” and feel a similar exclusive right of use. Maybe that’s what DarqKnight meant. If so, of course, I don’t feel that for Belle. I’m fortunate she doesn’t feel that about me (except for the penis, of course).

So I said I don’t for a second think Belle would leave me, but that’s not entirely true. As we were talking last night, she told me that I was wrong when I said all TOG knew about me was the relative size of the penis. Early on, when describing to him the parameters of our open marriage, she told him that I’d not only be OK with her being with him but that one of my fantasies was to be cuckolded. That helps explain the aggressive tone of his “I want you to enjoy sex with me more than him” attitude. As we talked about that, I had a brief bolt of panic that flickered for just a second. The idea that this other man would be actively trying to woo my wife and would have unfettered access to her while doing so is, however remotely, risky. And, I have to tell you, risky is sexy. How we respond to risk is sexy. Why do we do risky things? Because they’re fun. Risk means the envelope is being pushed. It’s really only with sex that we seem to collectively frown at the idea of introducing risk of any kind. So yeah, there is somewhere in me a tiny piece of worry and it may grow as we get closer to the time Belle will meet him, but to me it feels roughly equivalent to what it would feel like to downhill ski or skydive. Maybe something catastrophic happens, but chances are it won’t. Skating that edge has its own excitement.

There’s a noticeable age difference between TOG and Belle. Had I been able to cast my perfect guy-on-the-side for her, I would have probably made him closer to our age, but this is what it is. Belle seems worried that a guy in his late 20’s may not be fully prepared for what a woman in her forties is like, but I counter with the fact that there are lots of things that make someone sexy and desirable along with their physical attributes. She’s confident and successful and experienced and married and any or all of those things might be firing in TOG’s head as he thinks about her. He and I are in agreement that the age difference is actually pretty fucking hot.

I said in my first post about TOG that the only real concern I had was that Belle would be hurt. She told me her worry was actually the other way around. Apparently, TOG is quite smitten with her and may end up being more attached to her than is practical considering the circumstances (married, other side of the Atlantic, etc.). She’s been clear that she thinks he should think of her as a fun port o’ call on his life cruise and not a destination. If there’re any clouds on the horizon of this little adventure, it’s that TOG might become overly invested in Belle emotionally.

I suppose it’s possible Belle could, too. That her fun and sexy feelings for him, once she actually gets to know him in person, may become more significant. The prospect of this doesn’t bother me. Like I said yesterday, I think I am fundamentally polyamorous and feel pretty confident I would be able to adjust to a reality in which Belle had another significant relationship along ours, but I’m not sure Belle’s wired that way (let alone TOG who I know no better than a hole in the ground).

Getting back to the offer of reading her messages with him, I’m totally going to take her up on that. I think the prospect and her instant willingness to let me see them says a lot about the fundamental strength of our bond. It occurred to me last night when we talked and I said something about writing here about stuff that I wasn’t entirely sure it was appropriate. This blog is about Belle and my relationship. TOG represents something related but really totally separate. It’s her relationship with someone other than me. Regardless, she’s cool with me going on about it so I will, I’m sure, at length.

So yeah, that’s where we are…

Is it August yet?

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Further TOG pondering

I wasn’t going to write my previous post last night for fear it would rev me up too much to sleep afterward but it was pretty clear I was already too revved up for that. Beyond just the normal excess RPMs spinning around after getting Belle off just before bed, the conversation about the other guy (now officially TOG) kept bouncing around in my head and I had to get it out. Reading it now, it seems a little rushed and messy, but it does a good job capturing my state of mind at the time. Actually, it’s still kind of my state of mind, though I have had some time to reflect. 

“Compersion” is a word that, essentially, means the opposite of jealousy. Instead of finding discomfort or anger or sadness when one’s partner has sex or finds love with someone else, you experience happiness and feel good for them. I am compersioned as fuck. During the night, I kept reaching over to her and holding her or just letting part of me touch her. This morning, I couldn’t just give her a quick morning peck. I need to kiss her full on the lips, open and wet. Hold her. Put my face in her neck and purr. I am completely and totally smitten by her.

The challenge I’ve had is remembering what this is about and who it’s about. If she ends up meeting TOG and getting fucked by him, that’s all her. Her choice, her pleasure. Not really about me at all. But excitement at the prospect of it almost forces my mind to race away and spin fantasy scenarios. I imagine how the prospect and reality of their sex would change how she treats me. What she needs and expects from me. I imagine someday meeting him and the things he’d say and ask. In relationships where denial or chastity are involved (any kind of femdom, really) it’s important for the man to give his partner as much room as possible to make for herself what the dynamic needs to be for her. In doing do, he’ll enjoy an authentic dynamic they both get something from even if it’s not the fantasy life he created in his head. That same approach needs to be taken here by me. Yes, I have vivid ideas about the hottest way possible for this next chapter to unfold, but those ideas aren’t as good as the real thing because it will be real so the real thing needs to develop. Too bad August is so far away. 

Also, I don’t want to create a situation where she needs to live up to my fantasy. I certainly don’t want her thinking about how I’ll react to whatever transpires. To be factoring in my expectations. There’s enough pressure involved in meeting a new person and finding a way to pleasurably interact without thinking about the hopes and dreams of the locked up sub back home. 

I wonder if the ability to feel compersion is something that’s hard wired in some people or if it’s something that’s made possible because of other factors. I know about myself that I am suited to an open relationship and even polyamory. I just am not that jealous. At least, in me whatever jealousy I feel channels into productive kinds of things. But I’m also pretty confident in myself. Confident in my place in Belle’s life. Even if Belle and TOG fuck and even if Belle finds herself having deeper feelings for him, I don’t for a second think that would lead to problems between us. I would be happy for her and figure out a way to make room for whatever followed. Whatever my need is to feel what it’s like for her to be with another man, it’s not driven by an inferiority complex. I want to hear and know he’s got a nice cock and knows how to use it and even that she likes it better than me, but I know that’s a single aspect of our relationship and I have another attributes. In fact, I’d say the perceived competition drives me to accentuate those areas. In any event, my theory is jealously is driven by insecurity and I’m simply not insecure about too many things.

It’s all very complicated and I’m still figuring it out. How can I say I don’t have an inferiority complex but want her to be with a guy whose got a bigger cock? How can I get so excited by the idea TOG has said he wants to give her better sex than she can have with me? I’m not insecure but totally get off on being made sexually inferior. I don’t know the answers. More of those knotty BDSM paradoxes, I guess. 

The sleeping was quite difficult last night. Too many thoughts and visions. Too many explicit visualizations literally forcing themselves into my attempt so find peace. I don’t know that the penis was less than half chubbed out all night and it was forcefully pressing against its containment on several occasions. I’d hear my heart pounding in my ears as the enormity of the reality of Belle taking a lover presented itself again and again. Eventually I popped a melatonin, but even then I only got two or three hours sleep. 

Today, the Homeland Threat Level chart of my horniness never really dropped below orange. I had a hard time following along in meetings and, in between, I’d pop over to Tumblr and look at the bodies. The images of men fucking women were especially transfixing. I had the feeling all day of wanting to share news with friends at work before remembering they likely wouldn’t appreciate it. It felt not too dissimilar from what I remember on that day following the first time Belle didn’t let me come during sex. Energized. Horny. Alive. 

I have so many things I want to ask Belle. So many more details I crave. I loved hearing her be so frank about the apparent differences between TOG and me. Her expectations and hopes. How she didn’t hide her anticipation. Hopefully I won’t bug her too much. Hopefully I won’t combust every time the topic comes up. Hopefully I’ll get more than a few hours sleep each night between now and her trip to meet him.

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The other guy

A couple of months ago on a Saturday or Sunday morning, Belle laughed and told me she had received a random friend request from some guy in England. They had no mutual friends and she had no idea who he was but, on a lark, she accepted the request. Shortly thereafter, they struck up a conversation along the lines of, “Who’s this?” and “I dunno, who’s this?” He said he didn’t remember requesting to be her friend and maybe meant to friend someone else with the same last name (her maiden name) and he had been at the pub and, well, you know how things happen. 

Their exchange continued beyond that day. He told her he thought she was hot. Things got more flirty from there. At some point, he sent her a picture of himself naked but with his hand covering his junk. I really don’t know the sequence of events since I was in my funk and not really picking up the little hints she was dropping, but I totally picked up the hints tonight. And then I carted them off with a wheelbarrow.

We were in bed and I asked her what was up with this guy. She said he was going to be in the United States this summer and she was planning on meeting him in NYC in August and maybe again in September. This made me squirm into her. I have been unbelievably, surreally horny all day and all I could think about even before having this conversation was her pussy and making it come. I reached my hand into her pajamas and slipped a finger into her ready wetness.

She told me he’s twenty-seven. She told him she’s in an open relationship. He told her he’s got thick 7.5″ cock. What she called a “proper cock.” She told me he likes to talk dirty. That he’s confident. That he intends to fuck her with that cock in New York. He described the ways and the positions in which he intends to fuck her silly. He says he will give her the fuck of her life. The kind of fuck she’s never had from me. The kind she can’t get from me. He says it’s his goal for her to prefer him to me in bed. All he knows about me, besides that I’m married to her, is that he’s much bigger than me. That’s it. But he’s naturally assumed a position over me even before meeting her. He may not know the word or understand the dynamic, but he’s already made me a cuckold.

All the time she was saying these things to me, my finger slipped in and out and over her slick clit. The penis was pushing against the Looker 02 as strongly as I’ve ever felt it. Choking on the device’s insert. It was painful. She got wetter and wetter telling me how he was equipped to give her a real fuck and that he’d undoubtedly last much longer than me and fill her in ways I couldn’t and that yes indeed she expected he could deliver on his promise all I could do was whine and finger her pussy and think how it would feel after he was done with her. How it would feel to her as it stretched her open like I can’t and touched her in places I’ll never reach. How he’d be able to go again and again and never get caught up in his own head and just fuck. And how badly — how honestly achingly badly — I want that for her. 

Equal parts of me are hopeful and afraid that he will do what he says and deliver on his promises. That she will be fucked like never before and that she’ll prefer him to me that way. It is both terrifying and exhilarating to comprehend. But more than anything, I want it for her. I want her to come home from her visit with him fucked so hard she couldn’t have sex with me even if she wanted to. For when the time comes that she’d let me touch her pussy again, or even enter it, I’d want to know that not only am I not the only one to enjoy it but that she enjoyed him more. Was craving to feel him there again, not me.

I cannot explain this. How it goes against everything we’re taught and conditioned to believe and expect in a relationship but how it absolutely fills me with ecstatic excitement, for her and me.

I can’t say I ever really believed something like this would happen. That she’d never really do anything with anyone else. And a lot can happen between now and summer. Who knows. Regardless, what I know now is that I’m not only not hurt or bothered by the prospect, I’m enthusiastically hopeful for her success. The only thing that makes me wary is I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be treated poorly. That’s my only concern. 

I also used I think that if something like this did eventually happen that I’d want to be part of it. But that doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I am part of it since she’s my wife and I’m her sub, but I won’t be physically part of it. Chances are I’ll never set eyes on this guy. If she sees him and fucks him it’ll be a thousand miles away, out of sight and entirely out of my control. And, it turns out, I’m really OK with that. What I want is for her to have a great time. I want her to feel free to do whatever she wants with him and enjoy the space she has to maximize her pleasure. To dote and spoil him and leave him wanting more. I realize that in that way, I’m not part of it. And I don’t need to be. 

As I sucked her tits and rubbed her snatch and felt her hips grind and heard the moans deep in her throat, I realized she probably wasn’t thinking about me. That she was already in some New York hotel room with the fat cock and her orgasm was already his. I wanted to fuck her so badly then. More than I have in I don’t know how long. But of course, no. No way. So my stifled erection was pinched and squeezed and choked and the device leaked useless natural lube while my heart pounded in my head. 

Oh, fucking hell.