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Changes

So a funny thing’s happened. Well, two things really and I’m not sure they’re all that funny (as in, haha kind of funny) but happened they have.

Faithful readers will know I’ve continued to have a serious thing for porn even though I’m now nearly continuously locked in a device and, even when I’m not, having an orgasm is not an option. Basically, I look at it (and read it and watch it and would roll around naked in it if I could) simply to feel the sensation of ever-escalating levels of arousal. However, as I said in my last post, even though Belle was out of town and that would normally leave me plenty of time to indulge my habit, it never really sparked for me. I did try by visiting the usual haunts, but even when I was sorting images for the Portfolio, I never really found myself getting overly hot and bothered. Whenever I started to move in that direction, I’d find myself not thinking, “Gee, I wish I could stroke myself right now,” and instead thought, “Gee, I wish I could be stroking Belle right now.” My urge to orgasm and masturbate and in any way experience pleasure while consuming the porn was all about her orgasm and masturbation and pleasure. Since I effectively no longer have a cock (at least as a pathway for sexual pleasure), those autonomic impulses have been rewired to focus on her sex organs and orgasm.

I did find myself pausing, slack-jawed, over images of big fat cocks with ejaculate running down their sides or other images of semen puddling on a woman’s stomach or of a woman’s hand wrapped around a cock as its payload was shooting out or of some guy’s face dripping with spunk, but I looked at them the same way I watch a show on the lifestyles of the rich and famous or when some dude in a really sweet classic Corvette drives by. I longed to be in their places, but in a detached “that could never happen to me” kind of way. I will never have that fabulous all-glass house overlooking the ocean and I will never drive the 1976 ‘Vette, but isn’t it fun to think about. Similarly, I will not be shooting my own copious load any time soon, but wow, look at what that guy did!

I told Belle about this shift in attitude the night she got home and, even though I wasn’t really trying for anything that very moment, she let me get her off. In short order, I found myself sucking on her clit, hard meat in the device painfully pressing into the bed, and an almost physical connection to her climax. I felt completely plugged-in to her pleasure. As she arched her back, I tensed and moaned right along with her. She came and I felt the release inside me. We enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm but without the distraction of my own getting in the way. I was still so, so fucking horny afterward and couldn’t take my hands off her or press myself close enough to her, but I was satisfied. In the only way I can be now. And it was fucking great.

The second thing that’s happened is I’ve almost totally lost my whole “service sub” vibe. Ever since we were in London and I was profoundly knocked out of my headspace, I have felt barely a quiver of interest in really serving Belle. I’ve been a bit lazier and more self-centered. The other night, I got home and she was pissed at me for not keeping the house in order while she was gone. It was, I thought, in pretty good shape, but it wasn’t up to her standards. Then last night, I totally spaced on making her coffee. Turns out, she’s not very pleased with me (told me I “wasn’t on her list of favorite people”). I don’t like her to be unhappy, but I’m very glad to see there is an element of our dynamic she really doesn’t want to live without. She’s grown to expect the service from me. You could read this as a failure on my part (and it surely is), but it’s also reassuring in that we have developed a symbiotic feedback loop and integrated it into our lives. This is really kinda cool.

Now if I could only get my vibe back, we’d both be happy. And she might even let me share another orgasm.

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Alchemy

Belle’s out of town again.

“But Thumper,” you say, “It sure does seem like she’s out of town a lot. Leaving you alone. All alone.”

Why yes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it? That’s very perceptive of you to notice. In reality, she’s been traveling a lot less over the past year or so, but it’s true that she does get away more often than others might. Well, more often than me. This time, she’s off visiting her best friend in San Francisco again. It’s her birthday present.

Back in the old days, every night of her absence would be a semen-drenched orgy of frenzied masturbation for me. I’d do all manner of unspeakable things to myself and wipe away copious amounts of sticky white goo. More recently, her trips have been defined by mass consumption of pornography resulting in little more than a painfully tight chastity tube, a swollen prostate (with occasional dribbling leaks), and sleeplessness. This trip, though, has been different. For the last two nights, I’ve just watched TV and then gone to sleep. I am horny and I do have all kinds of hormone-induced thoughts tripping through my head, but it’s manifesting differently this time. I’m not saying tonight won’t be the night I binge on porn, but the few times I’ve started I’ve lost interest fairly quickly. I’m still posting to the Portfolio and enjoying many of the images I’m sorting through, but that’s a different kind of activity with a different objective. Can’t say what’s behind the new behavior. Just observing.

The time out of the device on our trip and how that made me feel (resentful, annoyed), combined with being back in now (happy, contendly frustrated), has allowed to me appreciate exactly how much I feel it’s been integrated into my life and our relationship. It’s not just a sex toy anymore. Emotionally and physically, I feel as though this hunk of steel between my legs completes me. It’s a potent symbol of my connection to Belle and of her acceptance of (and even enthusiasm for) my sexuality. It represents our intimacy and the new dynamic that has permeated our life. It may not be trendy to invest it with such power, but it’s how I feel.

I feel so strongly about this that lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to wear it forever (except, of course, for those infrequent moments of inspection and hygiene and for those times Belle wanted to use its contents). I don’t really think of it as a separate thing anymore. I don’t consider the inconveniences it causes. This is just how I am. Feeling resentful of the device and its impact on my everyday life would be like feeling resentful for having to eat. Or breath. I honestly want it on me 99.95% of the time (which would leave me 4 and a third hours a year for maintenance and attention to Belle’s desire – plenty of time). I actually think that’s possible, assuming the Steelworxx is occasionally substituted for the CB6K when required by Federal law.

I’m also thinking about what an essentially orgasmless existence would be like. I’m over two months from my last orgasm and am doing fine, so in practice I’m already there. I’m conditioned now to be able to go a really long time. What if I only came two or three times a year? I could manage that. I almost have to if I want to feel truly denied. A couple weeks just doesn’t cut it anymore.

So now, I’m very horny (sometimes, suddenly and distractingly so). But I like that. I want both that and for it to continue indefinitely. It’s the chastity paradox. On the one hand, craving the device. The control. The craving itself. On the other, astonishingly clear fantasies of shooting hot, thick ropes of ejaculate up and onto my chest and stomach (and, if I’m very lucky, even my face). Feeling the draw of her pussy, like a glowing orb, as I’m laying next to her in the reflected afterglow of her orgasm. Feeling the phantom sensation of its warm wet folds grasping a free erection, beating and throbbing with my heart. But that’s not for me. While I want it badly, I don’t get it. Don’t really want it. The way I think of it, I want to come and to fuck and to jack-off but I need to be denied. To always feel her will over mine. To know I’m always in check.

I don’t pretend that the device itself is the source of these feelings. It’s a tool like any other. I have ascribed upon it a lot of emotional energy, but it’s nothing more than Belle’s implement. I can’t promise the same kinds of feelings will come over someone else. This entire situation is the result of how the device has interacted with Belle and I. It has worked its alchemy upon us, but in a way that’s unique to us because we’re unique.

I know I’m being insufferably romantic about this. There are clearer heads out there who see though all the wawa mysticism. But the wawa stuff is mine and I’m not letting go.

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It’s all you

The 2010 reader survey is history! Here are the results.

Gender: Not unlike last time, most of you are guys. Last year it was 70%, this year it’s 72%. That’s a whole lot of testosterone. Maybe I should start a Ladies Night or something.

Age: The biggest segment reported they were 36-45 (34%), 24-35 came in second (24%) and 46-55 was right behind that (23%). Last year, the 24-35 group was number one, 36-45 number two. I am apparently appealing more to an older demo nowadays. That’s not going to help the ad rates…

Kink: A full 56% identified as submissive and another 29% said they were switch. Only 10% said they were dominant. 2% said “other” (not sure what that means) and 3% said they weren’t kinky at all (o rly?).

Kinkiness: Last year the average kinkiness score (on a scale of 1 to 10) was 6.7. This year, it’s just about the same at 6.4. The most popular response was 7, followed very closely by last year’s most popular response of 8. Three people said they were tens (rwar!) and two said they were ones (queue sad trombone).

Gayness: Just as depressing as last year. With an average Kinsey score of 1.39, almost 71% of you score yourselves either zero or one. Only nine percent said they were five or six. I am a flaming homosexual compared to most of you. Elton-fucking-John, that’s me.

Chastity: This year, I asked readers if they or their partner have used or are using a chastity device. Just 52% said yes. I guess I thought this would be a higher number since it seems to be the primary reason for the blog. I also asked what kind of device they used. The vast, overwhelming majority said some flavor of the CB-x000 line (and most of those were CB-6000). Chastity Heaven was mentioned more than a few times as was the Fort and the Birdlock (though not as often as I thought it would be). There were just a handful who said they’ve used full Florentine-style belts. A couple more said Steelworxx or Lori’s tubes. A few people said they used no device at all (show offs).

About half the people who took the survey left a comment, most of which were of the “you’re great, keep it up” variety. I truly appreciate all the support and feel unworthy of the praise, but I thank you for it anyway. There were also a few with questions and more thought-provoking comments which I’ll save for future posts.

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Catching up

My balls are aching this morning. But I’ll get to that…

It’s been a weird couple of weeks. In London, I was only able to get Belle off once, though it was a very hot little experience. Then, it was lots of walking and lots of tiredness and very little sexy feelings all around. Plus, even though Belle had said she was going to keep me locked when we were over there, she actually didn’t (and didn’t communicate why very well). Two days before we came home, the hard drive on my laptop crashed and I’m still trying to recover that that. Then, after fighting off jet lag for a few days, I got sick. Like, sicker than I’ve been in years. So sick, I didn’t have an erection (not even a nocturnal one) in three days. That’s sick.

So, back to the beginning. Even though Belle said she was going to keep me locked in London, she didn’t. And as the days ticked by and I was still very unlocked, she either made noncommittal sounds about it or even just ignored it all together. Finally, by the fifth day or so, I asked what was up. She said she had decided to leave me out to make being there easier.

Technically, being locked up is easier than not because, with the PA piercing and the ring I wear for chastity security, peeing is a lot less complicated with the tube than without. But in any event, I don’t want things to be easy. I want to do hard things for her. I want to be inconvenienced and constantly reminded of my position. But whatever. The biggest issue I had with this is she didn’t say anything to me at all until I forced the issue. That kind of silence feeds into the fear I have that she’s only pretending to care about all this chastity and denial stuff as much as she does to humor me. It makes me feel insecure and ultimately angry since it’s not that hard to just say, “I changed my mind.”

In any event, on the second night there I decided to try to get a little action and take advantage of the free meat. Since we had a bedroom separate from the rest of the flat (and the kids), I suggested she let me get her off with the cock, but she said I couldn’t handle it. She would let me give her an orgasm, though. I got busy with my hands and mouth and, about half way through, she started talking. Maybe she would let me fuck her. Maybe she did want to feel her hard cock buried deep inside her. I kept working, moaning and throbbing hard, just waiting for the final go ahead so I could slide into the friendly confines of her hot, wet snatch.

And then she came. “Psych!” she whispered in my ear after a few seconds of recovery time. She fell asleep while I was left dry, hard and horny.

Then, as I said, there was essentially ten days of sexlessness brought on by exhaustion and illness, though Belle did lock me back up as soon as we got home.

Yesterday morning, as I started to write this post, I felt a cold trickle on my upper thigh. Reaching into my sweats, I felt slick, gooey semen oozing from the end of the steel tube. According to my little tracker, it’s been two months since my last pleasurable orgasm (and at least six weeks since any kind of emission). Belle won’t let me orgasm again until June 7th – still nearly two months away. I can’t even remember the last time I came.

Last night, the first night I was feeling more human than not, I really wanted to feel Belle come. She told me to get naked and I started to rub my face and hands all over her body. I kissed her face and neck and put my mouth on her nipples, taking my time and enjoying the moment. Her hands found the straining steel tube between my legs and the tight nutsack it was anchored to. While I sucked and licked her nipples, she started slapping my nuts. At one point, my reflexive response to a particularly well-placed smack caused a thick slug of precum to travel from my prostate all the way down the length of the trapped cock until it trickled out end of the tube.

“You can either stay where you are or put your fingers in my cunt, but either way, I’m going to come.”

My hand immediately moved into position over her hot wetness. As I massaged her pussy with two well-lubricated fingers, her legs opened like a flower. The steel ring around the root of the cock bit into my flesh a little harder with each beat of my heart and I moved my mouth down to her crotch and started sucking on her clit. She repositioned me so I could eat her out while still playing with her nipples and I buried my face in her snatch.

All too quickly, she started to come. I could feel her pleasure pulsing at the tip of my tongue and, even though the intensity of it was causing her pull away from me, I kept a consistent contact with her clit while wave after wave of the orgasm crashed over her.

She was instantly spent. It didn’t take long before she started to drift off to sleep while I was hotter and hornier than I’ve been in a long time. Slowly, my desire ebbed enough to allow me a fitful sleep, though each of the several times I woke up during the night, the tube was solid and dense.

So, like I said, this morning my balls are aching.

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What about you?

Since the blog will likely be “dark” until after Easter when we’re back from London, I thought this would be a great time to haul out the reader survey again. For those who were around about a year ago, this is where I, driven by an insatiable curiosity in all the invisible eyes that peer into my most private and personal life, ask you, the invisible peepers, a handful of questions. The only thing I do with the responses is report them back to you. Also, there’s a chance at the end of the survey for you to say or ask anything you want about the blog, me, Belle, health insurance reform, or your favorite peanut butter cookie recipe. Mmmm…peanut butter.

So what’s stopping you? Take the reader survey! (The survey is closed! Results soon…)

P.S. On second thought, keep your health insurance reform opinions to yourself.

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Imminent departure

I am feeling quite seriously horny.

I only mention this because it’s been on my mind a lot today. And yesterday. Oh, and the day before that. Wait…yeah, OK, so all this week. Belle was away from Sunday morning until basically Thursday (she got home in the middle of the night Wednesday). Absence makes the heart grow whatever the saying is and, trust me, when she’s gone my heart’s not the only thing trying to grow around here. With her moderating influence gone, I tend to only get hornier and hornier until I find myself tossing and turning all night long.

Tomorrow night, the entire family leaves on an international vacation. After an eight and a half hour overnight flight, we arrive in London at about noon local time for a week’s Brady Bunch-style romp (though I’ve already warned the kids about the tiki necklace issue). Last night, I asked Belle what her plans were with regard to her cock while we were away. Obviously, she can’t take it through airport security protected by the Steelheart. She declined the idea that I dust off the CB6K since, as I’ve mentioned before, she’s way too smitten with the steel now. I expected her to leave me out for the length of the trip (since I’ve already been in for a little over three weeks), but she says she plans on letting me out tomorrow only so she can pack the Steelheart. Then, once we’re over there and settled in to our hotel, she’s locking it back up again. With the exception of when we’re actually in transit to and from, she will be maintaining control over the cock, regardless of our vacation.

As soon as she told me this, I felt an unexpected surge of affection toward her that nearly brought tears to my eyes. I pulled her in for a deep kiss. Later that night, I thanked her for it. I’m not sure exactly what I was thanking her for except that I appreciated her desire to continue my enforced chastity, even while on a family vacation. I told her that it made me feel good inside. It maintains our intimate link. Makes me feel special. Like she really cares for me. Loved.

I’m hoping for some bunny-on-Belle action tonight since it’s been nearly a week and we’ll have few opportunities for anything beyond a quiet, undercover orgasm for her once we’re all sharing a hotel room. My expectations are probably too high, but it’d be nice to send us off with a really remarkable climax.

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Words about pictures

When I started my new little venture in porn distribution, I said I’d post “specifically the porn that, for whatever reason, speaks to me as a chastised submissive bisexual male.” I find that, even just a few days into it, that that’s not exactly how it’s unfolding.

There’s a difference, it turns out, between merely consuming porn and showing what you like to the rest of the world. Even though I’ve become fairly comfortable exposing myself (both physically and emotionally) here on the blog, there’s something different about showing everyone what turns your crank. It’s like the opposite of a Rorschach test where people get to see things in you based on the pictures rather than the other way around. In much the same way I made the decision long ago to draw a line between certain things that happen in my head or in my life (even if they’re germane to this blog’s purpose), I now find myself not posting all the images that move me.

What I’m doing now is more akin to curating than anything else. I look at the images with a  different eye. As opposed to just posting the “hot” ones, I feel the need to make sure they fit the image I want to project for my little collection (and, by extension, this blog and, by extension, me). After blogging for about a year and a half, it’s like I’ve developed something like a brand I want to nurture and protect. I suppose that kind of thinking is a byproduct of my professional life. I can’t help it.

In any event, what follows is a random set of observations regarding some things I’ve figured out now that I’m seeing the porn (rather than just looking at it) as well as what I’m looking for in an image before I post it.

The first and maybe most obvious thing is I’ve chosen not to post is images of women in obviously submissive poses or performing obviously submissive acts. This isn’t a political statement or anything, it’s just that there’s so goddamn much of it out there already. There seems to be, in particular, a fascination with close ups of women performing fellatio in the sample I’ve been perusing. Also, women being contorted into uncomfortable positions while being fucked.

An example of one such image is this one. I find it hot for a number of reasons, but for my collection, it’s inappropriate because of the relationship it suggests between the woman and the man’s cock (the man’s beautiful, beautiful cock). This is not to say, had the camera pulled out, that the larger scene wouldn’t have been much different, but for my purposes, I want to show images where the woman is minimally equal to the man and preferably superior. This is highly subjective and I think some of the pictures I’ve chosen (like this one) don’t suggest any kind of power dynamic. However, I bring my own perspective to the scene. Where someone might see two lovers in an embrace I will also add a dynamic or scenario that’s probably only in my head.

The images I especially like are those where the woman’s pleasure appears to be the focus of the sexual act (such as this or that). These are the minority of the images I’ve seen. While they also don’t necessarily suggest a power dynamic, they do illustrate something I’ve felt my entire life: the woman’s pleasure is just as, if not more, important than mine and should always come first.

The next kind I like are the “adoration” type images where the man is demonstrating how much he’s into the woman. I simple love these two.

Sliding down the D/s scale, you find things like this or this. I almost feel self-conscious posting those as they’re so obvious, but they’re also tripping enough of my triggers (as well as aligning well enough with the “brand”) that they get included. I have found myself being somewhat more discriminating when it comes to this kind (here’s a nice one).

I have been including pictures of solo people I find especially attractive, either in repose (example 1 and 2) or pleasuring themselves (3 and 4). Those are there only because I find them especially attractive (and I’m totally jealous of the guys).

The ones I’m most missing are images of men with other men. I have at least one that I’m very happy with, but pictures of guys being submissive or demonstrating adoration to other guys have so far been very rare. There’s a metric shit ton of generic guy on guy sex out there (some of it very attractive – hello Corbin Fisher) and quite a bit of hard core leather stuff, but what about the gay D/s that’s not studded and covered in body hair? If you have any sources, I’d love to see them.

So there you have it. Nearly 800 words about pictures. I’m sure there’s something I meant to mention but forgot and I’m also sure the collection will continue to evolve. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy it.

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Meat this!

Tom’s got another meaty one. (Perverts. Post. He’s got a meaty post.)

I’m going to start by highlighting the bit I especially loved.

[B]eing locked up does not make me feel less manly, less assertive, less randy, or less anything. It makes me feel … more.

Way. In my experience, denial is like turning the saturation way up on a TV. When it’s really humming, it makes all my senses crackle. It’s a beautiful thing. Regular readers will know that I don’t always feel this way and sometimes being denied does result in me feeling less, but I think that’s more a result of Belle and I still getting a hang of all the buttons and switches (overlaid with the normal ebbs and flows of the human psyche) than it is the fault of the denial.

And who in fuck’s name would want to feel less? Can that even be a thing? Getting off on feeling less? Anyway…

Tom goes on to say:

Personally, I’ve been reading so much about what people consider to be “submission” and “submissiveness” that I have decided to disassociate myself from the term altogether; virtually nothing of what I’ve been reading seems to apply to me, so instead of trying to defend my own submissiveness, or more correctly, those certain feelings that I get that I used to associate with submissiveness, I’m just going to move on to some other scale and call it something else. Or maybe I won’t call it anything; I’ll just feel them and describe what I can.

This really speaks to me, too. I mean, that’s kind of what this was all about, right?

The way my brain figures out new things is by looking at similar things to understand how they’re supposed to work. I suppose everyone does this to some extent, but I do it a lot. Pretty much to a fault. Sometimes, this is a really good strategy (like when learning language or how a logical system operates), but in the case of human sexuality, this is a really lame way to go about it. Coming to all this submissiveness stuff late in life, I did my usual thing and looked for analogs of what I thought I was. Tom was one of those as were a number of other bloggers (along, even, with some porn which, of course, is a Really Bad Idea™). Bottom line is I kept comparing myself to a bunch of “ideals” and coming up short. There are a few I feel I’m more like than others, but none of them fit. Obviously, this is because human sexuality is infinitely variable. It’s not an operating system or a machine (even though I used that metaphor above). It’s a messy tangle of crossed wires and gooey dark corners that’s always bubbling and morphing and slithering along in unexpected directions.

Long way around to say the obvious: labeling a human’s sexual quirks can be damaging. If Tom wants to shed his submissive cloak, more power to him. I think there are more ways for otherwise “submissive” men to be different than there are for them to be the same. Case in point is our views on service, but I’ll get to that later. First…

It’s amusing to see that the selling points for male chastity devices tend to focus on either making your man more “romantic”, or on making him do more household chores. … But is this actually true, or is it a stereotype that plays on the idea that sex is something that men want, and  women parcel out according to whim?

I have tried to run away from this stereotype and in doing so have beat myself up (only figuratively, alas) for not Doing It Right, but the thing is, yeah, being locked up and denied does tend to make me a better mate to Belle. I’m much more attentive to her, much more in tune with what she needs, and much more willing to sacrifice what I want in order to give her what she wants.

But for us, the device is only a catalyst. What it represents is a level of commitment on Belle’s part to our relationship that, frankly, I didn’t feel for years (and she didn’t feel it back from me, either). Now, because she locks up the cock, because she denies me orgasm, because she takes advantage of my desire to serve her, I am fully engaged with her and our relationship like I haven’t been for about a decade. Likewise, she sees a commitment from me though my dealing with the device, giving her the cock to control, and trying my hardest to be of service to her. Did the device do that? Or did I? I think it was both of us.

Too many people think chastity devices are like magical talismans that are good for whatever ails you. Like any tool, it’s how you use it that counts. Just because there’s a thing involved, people incorrectly assign the improvements in their relationship to the device when in fact they should be taking the credit themselves. Successfully integrating chastity is hard work that, when done correctly, bears a lot of fruit. But it’s the fact that they’re doing the work that makes it work, not whatever thing they’ve chosen to play with.

Never not once has any woodworker said, “Gee, that hammer really made a great bookcase!”

The last bit of Tom’s post I want to flog is the part about service. Or, more specifically, how the concept of being a service sub just isn’t lighting any fires over at the Allen Ranch. I tried to find that one salient blurb that fully captured his sentiment, but really, it’s the entire last four paragraphs of his post. If you haven’t already, go read it.

I’ll wait…

OK.

He does a pretty good job of knocking the whole service concept about the head and face, and I think that we probably have a fair bit of common ground around this, but I also think he’s missing some of the point.

I know (or, at least, I read) that some people actually get a sexual charge from performing service. I do not. He talks about how he doesn’t “drip with sexual excitement” when he brings Mrs. Edge a cup of coffee, and while I get Belle coffee all the time, it’s never caused me to drip anything (other than the occasional bit I’ve spilled). It isn’t the act of doing what she says that gets me off. In fact, it’s often a bit of a downer. I’d rather be updating my portfolio or playing on the PS3 or whatever. But, in a way I admit to not being fully able to put into coherent words yet, I love being her tool. I think of myself as her live-in manservant. Whatever she tells me to do, I will do, whether I want to or not, because that’s my position. I live to serve her. Even when I don’t want to, I want her to make me.

People have left comments here before about this and how it’s not really service and that all I’m doing is being a responsible partner in the marriage, yadda yadda. First of all, I think they’re underestimating the amount of work I do for her. I do 98% of all the laundry in our house of four people. I cook most of the meals. I make the beds, etc., etc. As Belle has said, she doesn’t really need to do much of anything around the house anymore. She will do things, but only because she wants to, not because she has to. Also, they miss what can’t be seen on the outside. It’s my intention to serve her. When I do it, I may not be enjoying the actual work, but I get a warmnfuzzy feeling inside. When she tells me I’m doing a good job, I similarly feel a warm flush. This isn’t necessarily sexual (though the context of when she says it makes a difference).

Here’s an example. As I said in my previous post (which, by the way, I’m really not that happy with – they can’t all be winners), Belle offered to let me out of the device so I could enjoy the cock being played with, but only if I got all the laundry done on Saturday. That was a lot of laundry. It took hours. But, when we were in bed and she had unlocked me and she was petting the cock and telling me what a good job I had done and how I had earned the time out…Jesus! I was over-the-moon kind of happy. Maybe one of the most satisfying few moments of our entire D/s adventure thus far. I felt totally beholden to her. I felt so happy that she appreciated my work. I felt totally and completely under her control. It was awesome.

Unlike Tom writing in general about service and not getting in the slightest turned on by it, my writing the previous paragraph has left me with a seriously full tube. So he doesn’t work that way. Whatever. Does that mean he’s not a “real” submissive? Fuck if I know. Honestly, who cares? I feel kind of the same way about the sissified guys out there who want to be put in panties and frilly little dresses as he does about service. Does that mean I’m not submissive? Or they’re not? Or they are, but too much?

As long as, at the end of the day, we’re all healthy and happy, then we’re Doing It Right. Call it whatever you want.

P.S. I apologize for the lame post title, but after all that, I couldn’t come up with anything pithy. It happens to all guys sooner or later…or so I’m told.