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Eminent domain

In the beginning, I gave Belle the cock. Not only the cock, but everything associated with it including my balls, all the fluids they produced, and any opportunity to use those things to achieve sexual pleasure. So, it made some sense that she’d then – just last week – claim control over my ass. It is, after all, how I gain access to my prostate which is yet another part of the system I had already given to her. No, I hadn’t specifically given her that very special gland, but it is an integral part of the rest and so closely related to the production of the system’s output and my sexual pleasure, that I’m sure any court would have agreed and said she was well within her rights to regulate my access to it.

But how can I square all that with her latest land grab? Last night, she told me I wasn’t allowed to play with my nipples without her permission (where, of course, “play with” means “torture”, “abuse”, and “reduce to quivering puddles of painful pleasure”). So yeah, what’s up with that? They’re, like, two feet (or something) from the cock and not physically connected in any way. Well, except for how what happens to them directly affects the status of the cock and how much of the tube’s interior volume it’s trying to occupy. And how the pain stimulus feeds some kind of direct endorphine-like current deep into my brain in such a way as to make my mouth go slack and my eyes defocus. And how, even as the most intensely torturous, twisty, biting and burning abuse I think the plump pink meat can stand before ripping right off my body is inflicted upon them, not only is the sensation immediately converted to raw pleasure but I’m driven to stretch their tender and bruised little beings right back into the waiting jaws of the vicious little clamps I got from fucking Old Navy, of all places, and…and…*GASP!*

Yeah. OK. I can see her point. She’s not just in control of the cock or the ass or the nipples or, in fact, any one physical aspect of my body. She’s claiming control over every expression of my sexuality. And yes, as she points out, this is the logical extension of what I wanted when I first gave her the cock. What else should I expect? If she’s going to do it, she may as well do it right.

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Exhibitionist

Back in March, I posted HNThumper XV to the portfolio. Since then, it’s been reblogged by five six people and liked by six others. Certainly, as Tumblr porn goes, those numbers are quite modest but I find it interesting that it seems as though the guys reblogging it don’t get that that’s not me filling out my jeans in such an impressive manner. One guy added the comment, “Damn this is too hot for words!” I don’t necessarily disagree with him. I also find it very hot. But, that ain’t no cock behind the demin.

That particular picture is a worst case scenario with regard to how the device looks under pants. I guess, looking at it out of context, it does look like a big fat penis. Since I know what it is (in fact, am what it is), it’s hard for me to see it as anything other than a big steel tube. While I have more or less gotten over worrying what people think when they catch a glimpse of the occasional bulge in my crotch, it’s comforting to know that, at least sometimes, they’re just assuming I have a really big dick. I suppose that’s because the truth is so far outside most people’s experience that they can’t imagine it’s anything else (plus, you know, who doesn’t want a really big dick?).

In related exhibitionist news, this site’s been getting a record amount of traffic in the past month or so. I can’t tell how I compare to others in the blogosphere, but the numbers are getting big enough that it’s making me pause to gape at them. Back in the day, I’d get a few hundred views a day and just be happy I wasn’t talking into an empty box. Now, I can tell there a number of people are reading the entire blog every day (I assume they’re new to the site) and July’s traffic will be higher than any month before.

I don’t say this to brag or anything. There’s a part of me that would rather those numbers stop growing because the more people who discover this little corner of depravity the higher the likelihood, while still very small, that someone I know will figure out it’s me. If that ever happens, my only wish would be for the discoverer to tell me they know. I don’t actually like having this alter ego and secrets I need to protect. I’d rather be open and honest, though not to the point that I’ll volunteer details of my sexual proclivities for no reason.

There’s also nagging in the back of my mind the fact that I’m playing to an audience now. At what point do I stop being a person on a virtual soapbox saying whatever comes to mind to whoever happens to stop to listen and start being aware of all your eyeballs looking back? Yeah, of course, I always knew you were lurking out there, but for some reason there’s a difference between 100, 500, 1,000, and 25,000. I only wish I had something more profound to share with all you peepers (which is not a passive-aggressive prompt for you to comment how profound you think my blather is).

In assturbation news, Belle’s allowed me to purchase an njoy Pure Wand (see what I did there?). I had previously purchased a G-Force for p-spot play, but have found its floppy tendencies somewhat annoying. I have been able to use it with some success, but, since it’s made of silicone, it’s sometimes hard to practice any kind of precision. The Pure Wand, being solidly made of my favorite material, should prove to be much easier to control and a more productive prostate juicer.

 

Even though it’s not really a fucking tool, Belle says I still need to ask her permission before I get to use it. I had thought she only wanted me to tell her when I was craving a healthy reaming and that something like the G-Force, or soon the Pure Wand, would be allowable under the “clinical” definition she has established, but it now appears as though I’ll need ask permission before I shove anything up my ass at any time for any reason.

The occasions when that happened used to be private, of course. I admit there’s an amount of embarrassment I feel in needing to go to her for permission beforehand, but there’s also a lovely warm feeling of being that much more controlled by her. Bonus points that it was entirely her idea. It’s yet another aspect of my previously personal sex life that’s been exposed to and is now “managed” by her.

In short, I’d say things are going swimmingly for us at the moment. I fell asleep last night with my head on her stomach and my arm wrapped around her waist while she caressed my back and watched TV. It was a simple moment and, to an outsider, a fairly innocent position to be in, but it made my inner sub hum with satisfaction. I know there will be good times and bad and that now is just an exceptionally good one, but I’m not sure she could make me any happier than I was as I dozed there.

It’s good to be Belle’s Thumper.

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An admission

Belle has instructed me to come here and admit to you all that, while she has given me permission to milk myself when I feel the need, my little solo session with the dildo wasn’t about that. Yes, I did end up expressing seminal fluid, but my motivations had nothing to do with prostate maintenance and everything to do with my being a horny little slut who wanted his hole fucked out. I have a special dildo for prostate massage that’s to be used in what Belle describes as  “clinical” milking which is very different from the penis dildo with balls and throbbing veins I wore myself out with the other day. From now on, if I feel the need to be fucked, I am to ask Belle for permission before doing so.

Also, before she let me give her a very nice orgasm last night using her vibrator, she said she may leave me in the device until our anniversary in mid-October. I’m not entirely sure if she was serious (I doubt she can live without her cock that long). I think the longest I’ve been locked up was 4-5 weeks (and that was in the CB6K). So, assuming no physical damage forces me out and assuming she’s serious and assuming she can stand not fucking her cock for three months, that would be something over 100 days in lock-up and even more without orgasm (assuming, when she lets me out, I get to come). That’s a lot of assuming.

Regardless, I’m terribly lucky to have Belle Fille in my life. Lucky and grateful. She makes me very happy and I love her so much.

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Abuse for one

Since coming home, I’ve been hopelessly, desperately horny. It’s not the slow burn kind of horny, either, but the insistent resonating kind that sits up in my chest and makes my arms feel light. I’m pretty much all over Belle whenever I have a chance and I find myself following her around from room to room. I fall asleep clutching her and whenever I stir at night it’s to find her body next to mine and curl into it again. All this latent sexual static hanging around is like shoveling coal into my subbie furnace. I am so feeling it.

In short, fucking awesome.

I was home alone for most of yesterday. Originally, I wasn’t sure which day I’d get back from my trip so I scheduled it off just in case. In any event, hours of alone time would usually mean at least one jack-off session back when such things were among my options. Had I been unlocked, I’m quite sure I would have been edging myself non-stop. However, I am locked and therefore any such behavior is impossible. But still. Damn. I’m horny.

I decided to make due with what I had available.

A couple of years ago, I bought some pants or something from Old Navy that had two clippy things connected by a shoelace. I have no idea what they were supposed to do, but I have three of them (for a total of six clips). I should post a picture of the things. They don’t fit together like a clothespin (where one side presses against the other). Instead, their ends interlock and form a circle when closed. Plus, their springs are more than a little tight. The end result is an absolutely wicked bite that’s far more intense than any device I’ve bought designed for nipple torture.

So yeah, I put them on. My nipple meat twisted between the pinchers and the pain was like twin lasers of pleasure shooting into my brain. A benefit of their clampiness and the way their ends fit together is that they grip incredibly well. I was able to pull them hard – much harder than even the Japanese butterfly clamps – before they’d finally come free. Of course, it’s no secret that the more stimulated one is, the more pain they’re able to tolerate. In the case of yesterday, I simply could not find my limit. These things are friggin’ medieval and pulling on the twisted pink meat caused a lot of pain, but all I could do was hurt myself more. There are few times I’ve felt like that.

It wasn’t enough, though. I needed something more.

Belle has long ago given me permission to milk myself as needed, so solo anal play is a permanent option for me. Thing is, even though I like taking it up the ass as well as the next boy, it’s not a pleasure in which I often partake. Not only is it a bit of a hassle (props, lube, clean-up, etc.), but I find that I have to be in a very particular frame of mind to kick it off. Yesterday, I was in that frame of mind. Fuck, I would have done anything.

I busted out a moderately-sized latex suction cup dildo I bought a few years back. It’s bigger than most men, but not ridiculously so. I find it fairly easy to accommodate while still providing a satisfying sensation. I wasn’t interested in demonstrating any amazing feats; I just wanted to get fucked.

I really don’t understand guys who won’t at least try taking it up the ass. Men are designed to experience intense pleasure that way though the conveniently-placed prostate. Of course, it’s all mental. Worries about cleanliness, whether or not it makes you gay, etc. Bullshit. It can be pure awesome when done right. I did it right.

I’m not sure if the denial makes the prostate more sensitive to stimulation, but there are times when it felt like a fucking supernova was up inside my colon. Being locked allows me to experience levels of stimulation I’ve never been able to before. I would have shot my load way before feeling what I get to feel now. It gets to the point where the penetration and the friction over the radiating prostate consumes everything and I simultaneously want it to go on forever but stop immediately before my head explodes.

Of course, the milking was successful. Like never before, actually. Early on, as the muscles in the region contracted involuntarily, I squeezed out several shots of clear precum. Then, milky white juices started to leak from the tube. Not in a big shot or a steady stream, but slowly and in little dribbles. Even hours later, I was finding a slick mess at the end of the tube. I have no idea how much came out, but it was substantial.

But even then, I wanted more. When Belle came home, I asked her to abuse my nipples when we went to bed. They were still sore from the earlier torture when she placed the chrome clothespins on them and then left them there. Again, it was nothing but liquid pleasure. She left them on for maybe ten minutes, during which time little moans and groans escaped from my throat and my ass squirmed into the bed. She wouldn’t let me mess with her, though, so I went to bed cruising though a mass of abject desire.

This morning, my nipples feel plump and tender, the large muscles in my thighs ache, and I can still feel the assault on my sphincter. Even so, I know for a fact I’d be doing it all over again today if I had the chance.

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Redwoods

I’m back from the woods and am happy to say I was able to keep the device on the entire time.

There was a moment, about half way through, where I forgot to lube up before bed and the nocturnal pressure caused a slightly sore spot under my left testicle. I worried it would escalate, as they sometimes do, into something that would drive me out. Every time I even considered breaking the lock’s seal, and then thought about what it would be like to come home with either the device or the opened keysafe in my hand…I just couldn’t. I wanted to show her I was committed to her challenge.

Practically, it was really only an issue in the morning, when I had to clean it, and every time I had to pee. I’d sidle off and find a slightly more remote tree or bush than most of the other guys (we don’t camp in campgrounds so even pit toilets were not an option). Cleaning was relatively easy since the shell on my truck, where I was sleeping, concealed both the vision of me in the act and the sound of the soapy water squishing around in the tube as I agitated its contents. Had I been in a tent, I would have had to have been pretty far away from everyone else since, as you’d know if you’ve spent time in one, it’s easy to hear whatever’s happening in a tent.

After swishing the tube clean, I’d lift up the flap door to the shell and dump the tray full of soapy water out the back. Nobody saw me do that, but there were at least two times I caught someone stealing a glance at the odd bulge in my pants as I sat down or got up from the camp chairs. Nothing was said.

This past camping trip, like last year’s, included The Other Woman.

For those not entirely up to speed, about two years ago I had a brief affair with TOW. I told Belle shortly afterward and that sent us along a path that eventually finds us here today. Go read the blog from the beginning for the entire story.

The irony of being in close proximity to her with me wearing such a mechanism made its original purpose as a chastity device stand out in sharp relief. Of course, I didn’t need to be wearing it for that purpose, but still.

Like last time, Belle knew she’d be there, but unlike last time, Belle had a hard time with it upon my return. We had a good talk about it and Belle cried a lot more than makes me comfortable (which, in case you’re wondering, is anything above no crying). The difference this time was someone posted pictures to Facebook of some of us there and she and I were in a few. The pictures were not damning or anything, but they removed the event and my proximity to TOW from the abstract to the actual. And it was hard for Belle. I understand.

Even more so than last time I was around TOW, I found myself very much attracted to her. I suppose the five or six weeks denied had something to do with it, but I also found that the more I was attracted to TOW the more I was enamored of Belle. It was like the one feeling fed the other. During our talk, I told Belle that. I have feelings for both of them, but they’re so different. Belle is the love of my life. I can’t imagine not being in our house, by her side, with our family. On the other hand, I have a certain affection for TOW. And I really want to fuck her. Just that. Affection and a desire for sex.

My analogy was this: Imagine a big redwood tree. Easy for me since I was just around them. Anyway, my feelings for TOW would allow that redwood’s roots to go down about three inches and then stop. With Belle, those roots go down. All the way down. I feel like I’m one with Belle. TOW notwithstanding, Belle is my mate. But, being a guy (and a fucking horny one at that), I’d be OK with three inch deep roots. For at least an afternoon or so.

We ended the talk in a good place. There was laughing and snuggling and, even though I was expressing to her my desire to have sex with someone else, I felt we moved closer emotionally. I found that, once the crying was over, each time I said I wanted to fuck TOW to Belle, it sent a signal directly to the tube’s contents plumping them out. Not with the thought of doing it, but because I was telling Belle. All that honesty was seriously turning me on.

“God,” I said at one point, getting up on all fours and enveloping her body, “I want to fuck you so bad right now.” I know, not the most romantic, but it was the hormones talking.

“There’s no way I’m letting you out of that,” she replied.

I sank back down, even harder than before.

She was emotionally spent and needed sleep. I was dog tired, too, but even as we laid there entwined, I could feel the grip of the device diligently embracing my nascent erection. I never would have thought, back in the day, that I’d be able to fall asleep with a hard on like that. But I did. And it was good.

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And I’m off…

Leaving for the cross-country camping trip today. I hate, I hate, I hate, I HATE leaving my family. I miss them, I miss the familiar routine, and I just hate saying goodbye. I know I’ll have fun on this trip, but that doesn’t stop me from getting all weepy at the last moment. Anyway…

Good news is I’ve settled right in to the Steelheart again. Seems as though whenever I’m out for a bit, like I just was, reentry is a little bumpy. I get chaffed and irritated in spots and it always seems to be in the wrong spot or pinching funny or whatever. Eventually, the skin gets used to it again and the sore spots go away. Then, through some trick of the mind, over the course of the week or so I’ve been in, the difference between the cock and the device narrows. Eventually, it feels as though the device and I are the same thing. It’s an extension of me. The physical sensation of wearing it starts to overwrite the physical memory of being free. It’s at just this moment, when the steel’s slipstreamed into my consciousness, that I start to get the idea I could wear this thing forever.

Belle very kindly shared one of her orgasms with me last night. I say “kindly” because she was pretty tired and, had it been any other night, she probably would have just gone to sleep. But she didn’t and Pink and I were allowed to get her off. I tried to make it last as long as possible without abusing her gift. There were no heroics involved, but I lingered as long as possible on her nipples and especially on the soft, wet folds of her pussy. It seems a logical extension, since I don’t have a functioning cock any more, that her sex and orgasm replace mine.

Of course, there’s no way I could know what a woman’s orgasm feels like, but I think I’m as close to knowing as any guy ever will be. I know when it’s starting to build, I can feel it start to crest, and I sense it’s surge of power as it jumps from her skin to mine. It leaves me in a very excited state, but also with a sense of accomplishment and contentedness. It’s how things should be.

Afterward, as I turned over at some point, the motion contracted some internal muscle and I felt a couple squirts of precum ooze out into the tube. I don’t seem to be making as much of that as I used to. I remember one day, about a year back or so, standing in the bathroom following an evening of similar activity and feeling it running down my leg in a long, sticky rope. I suppose it’s just another of the ways my body adjusts to the new reality. Occasionally, I can feel my prostate sitting full and juicy down under the locked cock. I’ve never been one to have wet dreams or anything, but it’s been two or three weeks since anything came out of me. I’d imagine that sooner of later it’ll take care of itself somehow.

The only real issue I’m having is in regard to sleep. It’s the same old story. She comes, falls asleep, and I start to fall asleep only to jolt back awake until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, I get board and find myself on the internet, reading some blogs, checking out a few stories, tending the portfolio. If I’m lucky, sometime between 1:00 and 3:00 I’ll finally drift off, some sexually charged fantasy dancing in my head. I’ll be interesting to see how that goes on the trip. For most of it, I won’t have any internet and therefore only my fetid imagination to keep me company.

So, with that, I’ll take my leave for the moment. I may find my way back here sometime over the next week and a half, but there’s no telling. I already have an HNT offering lined up for tomorrow, so there’s at least that. Maybe I’ll get another in the chute for next week.

See ya!