The hard part

Friday morning, Belle wanted some. I was still in my funky mood and not entirely interested in giving it up, but damn if my hormones didn’t betray me. All she had to do was put her hands in the right places and show me her tits and I was all over her.

She came with my face planted firmly against her snatch, my tongue pressed hard against her clit. I rolled over next to her, hand grasping the hard steel tube between my legs, seething.

“How do you feel?” she asked, knowing I had not been myself lately.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” was all I could say. It was true. The cock was throbbing in its prison. It had been nearly six weeks with only a brief trip out when I was sick. I wanted to feel her hot pussy envelope her hard cock. Really. Bad.

“Well, you’re still going to have to wait,” she said. I’m only half way to my next orgasm, sometime around the end of December. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you in for a little bit so you can remember what it felt like, but not right now.”

The thought of being let out and allowed to fuck her, even without coming, has been with me ever since. Countless times each day, hand on my crotch, thinking of being free and balls deep, hot and wet. I really can’t stop thinking about it.

Tonight, as we went to bed, she knew I wanted it and I had a pretty good idea something was going to happen. Once the kids were asleep, she told me to get naked and I plastered myself against her, slowly grinding the steel into her leg, my lips against her chin and throat.

“Do you deserve it?” she asked, knowing clearly what was on my mind.

“What?” I stumbled. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve it. But I want it. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“That’s not the same.”

I continued to nuzzle her and kiss her and wait out her judgment. I wanted the steel off. I wanted to be inside her.

“You don’t deserve it,” she finally said. I whimpered and the cock surged. She told me I hadn’t been keeping up with my duties lately, which is true, and that I needed to shape up before she let me fuck her, even without coming. I lobbied back, reminding her of all the things I had done in the previous 48 hours, desperate for credit. Desperate to salvage the opportunity.

“Don’t whine,” she said firmly. “You told me to make it hard. This is the hard part. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you out. In the mean time, I’ll let you give me an orgasm.”

It’s true, I had told her it had to be hard or it wouldn’t feel real. But fucking hell, all I wanted was a few minutes out. Just a little fuck with nothing to show for it afterward but a hard, wet dick. But no. I could feel the desire within me that had been building and feeding itself for days buckle and snap under the finality of her position. The door had closed. I would have to try harder to make her happy.

A few minutes later, I had Mr. Darcy out, but not in the harness. I was fucking her alright, but with the life-like, Thumper-sized dildo in my right hand. I pushed it home, all the way to the base and flicked my index finger over her clit. She started to writhe and squirm and I could imagine how hard she was clamping on the dildo deep inside her while the real cock, her other cock, pouted in its tube. She came with her ass off the bed, head back, hand clutching mine hard, silent scream contorting her face.

After a little glow time, I pulled Darcy out, sucked him off, and placed him back in the nightstand. She fell asleep, sated. I wrote this, still hot, still horny as all fuck.

Good night.

Thumper’s night

Yes, she let me come on Saturday.

The whole thing was wonderful. Before we got down to business, she told me to undress and get into bed. I did, on my knees, burrowing my face into her, kneeling and demonstrating my willingness to submit. She ran her hand up my naked back and caressed my skin with her nails. I hadn’t been feeling super submissive up to that point, but the weight of the event was starting to dawn on me. I was going to have an orgasm. An orgasm I really wanted and was only going to get because she was allowing it to happen. I got under the covers and laid next to her, opening myself to more of her caressing.

She ran her hands all over me except on the aching part that wanted it the most. I shifted around trying to help her find what she was obviously avoiding.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please touch it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied calmly. She’s always calm in bed. I get so turned on and fight for control and she stays cool and collected.

“I want it so bad.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she finally found her cock. I gasped. Even though I had been unlocked for weeks and had plenty of opportunity to feel a hand on my erections, this was altogether different. This was her hand.

“How many times did you play with this while I left you unlocked?” She asked. I avoided her eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I felt guilty. “How many times?” she repeated. Not angrily, but firmly.

“I don’t know…” I said sheepishly. I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You don’t know,” she repeated.

“No, I don’t,” I said. Then, eventually, “Lots. More than I should have.”

“Uh huh.”

“You said I could that one time,” I said, gamely groping for an out.

She grabbed my nuts and squeezed. The pain was instant and severe. I gasped as her griped tightened and I felt one testicle slowly and uncomfortably grind against the other. She let go and I collapsed against her, panting. The pain throbbed dully and the cock was harder than before.

After a few moments of relief, she quickly grasped my testes in her hand again, squeezing even harder than before. The pain seared up and out of my groin and spread throughout my body. Her nails began to dig into the soft scrotum skin. I realized I was being punished for playing with her cock.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasped and she released me.

I nuzzled into her and apologized again.

“You’re weak,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I’ve been far too indulgent with you,” she said. “I’m going to lock you back up tomorrow. You need to focus more on me.”

“Yes, Belle Fille,” I whispered. Her attitude was unexpected, as was the intensity of her punishment. She had quickly driven me deeply into subspace.

A short while later, she allowed me to begin bringing her to orgasm. I pulled up her top and started suckling her nipples, feeling them stiffen in response. I brought my hand down between her legs and felt the glowing heat coming through the material of her pajama bottoms. I pulled them down and felt her slick wetness under my fingers.

“I want your tongue in my pussy,” she said bluntly. “I want you to eat me out.”

I moaned and quickly moved between her legs, planting my mouth on her wet snatch. I absolutely reveled in her juices, slurping them down as the soft folds of her flesh responded to my insistent tongue. I reached up and played with her nipple. Soon, she was breathing hard and gasping “oh, fuck” repeatedly. She came really hard and I laid my face against her wet heat, rhythmically grinding the hard cock pressing into the mattress.

After basking for a few minutes, she brought me back up and indicated it was time for me to go. I easily slid the cock into her pussy, loosely relaxed and supremely wet as it always is post-cunnilingus. I quickly got up to speed, wanting to enjoy the feeling of purposeful fucking but also wanting to feel the orgasm I knew I’d have. I held her head with one hand, the other on her hip, and kissed her face. I felt such love and affection for her. Felt so grateful to her. So connected to her.

All too soon, I felt the orgasm lock and load. I was still pumping, but beyond the point of no return. It started to well up inside me from great depths. I gasped, “This is yours,” and shot my load inside her. Again and again the cock flexed and more of my seed surged into her. I was grunting and gasping and just fucking coming like a feral pig. I had been so horny – wound up so tight in anticipation – and all of it was swirling away inside as the pent-up energy drained out with the orgasm like water down a drain.

Immediately afterward, I was spent. Totally spent. Exhaustion came over me like a heavy blanket. I felt contentment unlike any I’ve felt in quite a while. This was no half orgasm. There was no restraint on my part. It was my night and I came completely. In no time, I was out. Deeply asleep. Content.

Belle’s back

I neglected to change into my acrylic PA ring before locking the old CB6K on. Truth is, I really like how the big steel ring looks and, since it’s visible now, I wanted to keep it in. Pure vanity. However, this means I’m no longer operating in stealth mode. Unless the cock is feeling a little porky and is pushing the ring down and holding it against the tube, the ring knocks around a bit. It’s not consistent and some times are worse than others, but there’s almost always some kind of sound being made.

I walked around most of the day yesterday with change in the pocket of my sweats to help cover the sound. This morning, I’m in jeans and can still hear it in there. Truth is, I kinda like that I’m making an odd sound. While I’d rather be quiet around the house, out in the wild it’s like I’m making a coded declaration of my position. It’s not like anyone who happens to pick up on the sound will think, “Is that a 4 ga captive ball ring I hear knocking around the inside of CB-6000 male chastity device!?” In fact, it’s not so obvious that anyone will think anything, but I can hear it and, occasionally, so with they and that, I must admit, gives me a perverse satisfaction.

Ironically enough, after I wrote those first two paragraphs, I had to leave my desk for several hours and locked my laptop’s screen using my screen saver. Upon returning, I found that the last person to unlock the screen was a user called “admin”. Not me. My office is on the small side, so I know exactly who “admin” is, though I’m not entirely sure why he’d need to access my computer. In any event, this post was up and visible to him as soon as the screen saver went away. I can only assume that he’s now wise to my little secret. For a moment there, I felt somewhat violated and pissed, but not right now. If my cover’s been blown, it’s not because I was being overt or obvious or anything. I trust he’d be discrete and not tell the world, but even if he did, I guess I really don’t care. It also helps that I can fire him if I want to.

In any event, Belle arrived home yesterday as previously reported. One small hiccup, though, in that I thought she was landing in the early afternoon when in reality she landed late morning. I was planning on using those hours to finish the laundry and clean up the whole house, so when she got there, everything would be perfect. Instead, the laundry was not folded and the sheets on her bed were still in the dryer and the kid’s playroom was a disaster. Regardless, it was really very nice having her back and there were many moments when we stopped and hugged and kissed and exchanged little bites on the neck for the rest of the day.

As we went to bed, the jet lag was hitting her kinda hard so I wasn’t expecting much beyond more kissing. Expecting, no, hoping, hell yeah. I’m back in the “proper” mindset now and fully accepting that we’ll only have sex according to her needs, so I would not have been disappointed had she wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep it off. Turns out, though, she wanted to come.

Hearing her say the words, I felt like a greyhound jumping after the fake rabbit at a dog race. I quite literally leapt into action. I immediately started to run my hands over her body, especially those areas I’m not normally allowed to touch. She was immediately responsive and it wasn’t long before she asked me to go down on her.

Asked me, mind you! Like there was ever a question. Fucking hell, YES, I wanted to go down on her. I think it took about 4.5 seconds for me to get my tongue in her snatch. She maneuvered me into a position where I was able to eat her out while simultaneously reaching up to play with her nipples. That required me to lay on my stomach with the device (and it’s fully engorged contents) painfully pressed into the mattress, but the payoff was enormous. I could not get enough of her. It was all I could do to focus on the task at hand and not rub my face into her soft wetness. I had the palpable urge to mark myself with her scent. Even after she came (all too quickly), I laid with my face pressed against her. If I could have, I would have crawled up inside.

That power her pussy has over me – the way it consumes my thoughts – is completely a byproduct of the denial. Of course, I was always a fan, but now, I’m in fucking awe of it. Its taste and its smell and its heat – everything. It’s the embodiment of her power over me. It radiates her feminine will over my actions and I’m left able to do little more than worship it when given the chance.

This morning, I asked her if she let me pleasure her because I was so apparently desirous to do so. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” I did that to her because that’s what she wanted. Plus, she felt I deserved a reward for maintaining the house so well while she was gone.

Hooray for rewards!

Sunday funk

Sunday night, as we got into bed and I was prepping for some foot rubbing and Mad Men watching, Belle was in a funk. She wasn’t too enthused about watching TV and she had a lingering resentment towards me and a silly household squabble that had transpired an hour or so earlier. I thought she was being a more than a little over the top with her reaction, so I ended up on the other side of the bed for 45 minutes while the TV show washed over us. The foot rubbing never happened, either.

Earlier in the day and over the course of the entire weekend, I was trying to be the best guysub I could. She had made me a list of items she wanted accomplished and I did nearly all of them. In addition, I made dinner twice (something she made a point of commenting on – she’s very happy that I do this now). After dinner on Sunday night, she said she’d clean up if I got the kids going downstairs with the Wii, but changed her mind and told me I’d clean up while she relaxed and watched them bowl. She continues to have a freer hand when it comes to giving me extra tasks to perform and that makes me happy.

Anyway, once I cleaned up the kitchen and set up her coffee for the morning, we settled in to watch a family movie with the kids. It was during the movie that the ridiculous household squabble took place (the kind only someone who’s lived with someone else for a long time can really appreciate). Long story short, there wasn’t any toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. She got really pissed (really) and that’s what was hanging over the bed when the lights went out.

After the show was over, she told me to get naked and snuggle into her. I did so, but she was still simmering and pissy, so I eventually moved away from her. I wasn’t mad, but I also wasn’t feeling compelled to be all subbie while she was in that mood and, I thought, berating me for one simple thing while ignoring my effort all weekend to provide the best service I could.

Somehow, this ended up putting Belle in a self-doubting funk. She was worried that I wasn’t happy and that she was doing the domme thing wrong. This, too, kind of pissed me off because, in fact, I am not unhappy and did and said nothing to indicate that I was. I haven’t criticized her, haven’t shown any displeasure with her (that I know of), haven’t become annoyingly insistent with my sexual frustration, and I wasn’t even arguing with her over the toilet paper. I tried to contain my annoyance, though, since she was in a vulnerable place.

I told her she was doing it right because she was doing it the way she wanted it done. I have long since realized that my preconception of how she’d dominate me is useless and I should be (and am) happy simply with her continued commitment to the paradigm. I also reassured her that I am happy. I can’t say there aren’t things I’d like to see change, but that’s to be expected in any relationship of any kind (yes, even the lowercase side of a D/s relationship can wish for some things to be different).

The thing that worries me the most about where we are now is the amount of sex we have. It’s hard for me to express this since, of course, I’m not supposed to be in control of when or how often I get sex, but this issue is the longstanding bugaboo in our relationship. And the fact is, over time recently – and especially since I’ve taken a literal “hands-off” approach to her body – the amount of sex we’ve have has declined. She used to let me pleasure her 3-4 times a week. Then it settled down to about twice a week, supplemented with other kinds of body service like the foot massages. Now, I’d say it’s about once a week with an even greater ratio of non-sexual services. As I said, this has happened at the same time I’ve stopped actively coming on to her but has also coincided with a marked increase in the frequency in which I’ve been locked up.

If you’re currently cooking up a response to this along the lines of, “Just be happy she controls you, locks you up, etc.” or to accuse me of topping from the bottom, or, my personal favorite, “This is why you should be careful what you wish for,” or some other formulaic thing, please keep it to yourself. I think this is more complicated. Even in a D/s relationship, there’s an implicit responsibility on both partners to satisfy the needs of the other. Submissiveness does not equal an abdication of all sexual satisfaction (though I do admit my “satisfaction” has become much more complicated). I’d also like to point out that I’m not saying we have a huge problem here. Only that it’s a potential problem with a significant history in our relationship.

I asked if she wanted to continue with the D/s or take a break. She said she wanted to continue. I then asked if she wanted me to continue with my program of (as much as possible) total non-aggression with regard to initiating sex or if she wants me to go back to being a partner who has some right to try to get something going (while still respecting her right to ultimately decide). There are pitfalls for her in both approaches. If I remain non-aggressive, we will have less sex and she will feel guilty (as she did Sunday) because of it. If I’m allowed to come on to her, she will feel guilty for turning me down (as she will fairly often). The key to happiness here is for her to try not feeling guilty because I’m happy either way. Really. My ability to become non-expectational has improved remarkably. Even though she had intimated earlier in the day on Sunday that she’d allow me a chance to pleasure her, it wasn’t forthcoming and I felt no anger or resentment whatsoever. For me, that’s a huge accomplishment. It didn’t really matter, though, because she was still upset.

She has no answer to my aggressiveness question. She can’t tell me which approach she wants me to take. This is frustrating to me, but I’m trying to be patient. I have unilaterally implemented the non-aggression approach, so I suppose I could always start being more forward, but I feel I need to wait and follow her lead. I do want more sex (and by “sex”, I mean opportunities to share her orgasm and more teasing and denial), but I am conflicted with regard to how much I should expect or how far I should take this need. When you’ve signed up for denial and frustration, where’s the line? How far and in what way can a submissive such as myself try to change the dynamic?

At the end of the day, if what she really wants is one orgasm a week with four foot massages in between (and as long as she occasionally maintains my desire), I can be satisfied. Honestly. And I want her to know that.

Updates of a random nature

I was away from Belle for two nights, so I was very happy to see her yesterday. Also happy that she let me massage her feet for 45 minutes and rub a kink out of her back, all while watching Mad Men. Before that, I made everyone dinner and cleaned up. It felt good being back and doing things for her.

The comments and pingbacks I got from my post from last Friday helped a lot. I’ve come to find myself agreeing with All For Her completely. My issue was having expectations of sex. I decided, somehow, that she was likely to want it, so when she didn’t I was upset. I can’t not want sex, of course, but expecting it is a bad idea. If you read the few posts I wrote prior to Friday’s, you’ll see a much more contented bunny and it’s all got to do with what my expectations were at the time. So yeah, All For Her nailed it.

I also think pasterychef touched on a good point. Regardless of whether or not we have sex, it’s very important to my mental well-being that Belle acknowledge my condition and position. As has been pointed out many times before, there’s a difference between denial and neglect. It’s a fine line that anyone doing the denial could find themselves crossing without even know it if they didn’t pay attention to their sub. I’m not saying that’s what Belle did in this case, but it’s worth mentioning.

Last night was an example of the right way to do this. As we watched Mad Men and the end of the Dallas/Giants game1, Belle had me get naked and lay next to her. She rested her head against my chest and gently touched me around the device and along my inner thigh and told me how much she liked the look of its shiny newness and how she enjoyed leaving me locked up in it. She’d also occasionally slap my nuts rapidly which, while not causing very much pain, was uncomfortable while she was doing it. The combination of all this drove me into very deep subspace and left me feeling as though I was entirely hers, to do with whatever she liked. I was kept by her. If she wanted to be gentle, she was gentle. If she wanted to be rough, she was rough. I just writhed in the light of the candles and football, my body very obviously desirous of sex and ready, but totally unneeded since she wasn’t interested. These feelings in me were accentuated by a comment she made earlier that suggested she did want an orgasm, but in the fullness of time and after the foot and back massage and drama and football, was something in which she was no longer interested. I went to sleep feeling very much loved.

This morning, she let me out of the device. I had developed a raw spot under the right side of the ring on my scrotum. I get this, to one degree or another, almost every time I get locked up, but usually at the beginning of the period, not after a couple weeks. Since she was going to let me out in the next few days anyway, she unlocked me so I could recover more quickly. Once out, I found a few more surprises from the new device. Turns out, the inside of the tube is not finished as well as the outside. I don’t know how they apply the silver coating, but it appears to be sprayed on and not very well deep inside the tube. Down there, the coating actually has a rougher texture than the regular, clear tube. Once out of it this morning, I found a black residue on the lower two-thirds of the shaft of the cock. Even in the shower, the color was hard to remove (kinda like permanent marker, but not as dark).

My other surprise was a little sore on the corona of the glans. I could feel it last night, so I just got it, but I suspect it’s there due to the rougher texture within the tube thanks to the unfinished paint job.2 The fact that it’s there means I’m going to have to inspect the meat every two or three days when it’s in that device. Perhaps, as the extra paint wears away, it’ll become smoother, but in the mean time, it’s an issue.

1 A game in which I would have liked seeing both teams lose somehow.

2 This mean, of course, that Tom was right.

Labor Day weekend

I didn’t get to see Belle until Saturday morning. This weekend saw the final fling of the summer up at the family north woods compound. She left Friday morning with her sister while I came up after the kids got of school. It wasn’t until 10:30 or so until I got up there and she was already fast asleep.

The next morning, she told me she had drifted off to sleep happy with the thought that I was locked under her key, unable to touch myself in any satisfactory way. She said she enjoys having that kind of control over me. I, not unexpectedly, revelled in her saying this. The familiar warm pulse of submission welled up within me. It’s still somewhat novel for me to think that I wear the device because she wants me to. It was my idea to introduce it, but now it’s all hers (as is the thing it contains). Pure awesome.

Saturday night, after a one of the finest late summer days I’ve seen at the cabin, she had me laying naked next to her in bed. Still locked up, she gently petted my balls until we both fell asleep. The next morning, now about two weeks since I last came, I was petting her back, hands roaming all across her body, except those places I’m not allowed to touch without permission.

“I’m being good,” I observed.

“You don’t have to be good,” she replied.

With that, I attempted to bring her to orgasm, but could feel in her a tension that left me wondering if we’d get there. When she’s in the mood, there’s a certain amount of time it should take me to get her off. As we passed that point, I maintained the ministrations of my mouth and fingers, but could sense it wasn’t going to happen. She eventually told me to stop, but said it wasn’t my fault she didn’t come. There was just too much activity in the cabin full of family for her to relax. I felt bad for her – for both of us, I guess, since her orgasm is our orgasm – but I didn’t dwell on it.

Sunday night, after a fine meal at the only nice restaurant within an hour’s drive of the cabin, we found ourselves alone with the kids asleep downstairs. As I walked into our room, she was sorting through her change purse looking for something. Funnily enough, she desired the use of her cock but had accidentally left the key to the lock at home. We both had a pretty good laugh at that. She didn’t want me to try bringing her orgasm again and instead repeated the previous evening’s gentle stroking of the stretched scrotum, intermingled with lingering tracing of my perineum and the occasional whack at my nuts. Lovely.

Throughout the weekend, and really into last week, I have to say that I’ve been plenty horny and desirous of sexual contact with her, but I’ve also felt myself resist taking any overt action based on those feelings. Previously, I’d have probably been all over her and pressuring her in several ways, but at least for now, I don’t feel the need. I’m very comfortable with my position as her sexual subordinate. When she wants it, she’ll ask for it. Until then, I’ll find some other way to make her happy. I guess you could say that it appears as though I’ve learned to be patient. The chastity device helps, of course.

Last night, I offered to give her a foot massage while we caught up on Mad Men. Just as before, I felt a great deal of satisfaction from the activity knowing that it was giving her pleasure and making her relaxed. After I finished (and the show was over), she produced her key. I was somewhat surprised as being unlocked wasn’t even on my mind, but I assumed she wanted to use her cock in the way she had not been able to the night before. After she let me out, I went off to ensure I was nice and clean.

Back in the bedroom, she had me strip and lay back on the bed. She rubbed and massaged the cock and my balls until I was sporting a very stiff erection. I flexed it several times, feeling it surge with blood and filling out to its most engorged state, just for the satisfaction of the sensation. It had only been a week or so in the device, but nothing beats the feeling of a nice hard cock.

She again smacked my nuts around, though with more force than before when the plastic was in the way. A couple of times, she actually balled up her fist and thudded into my right testicle, but not as forcefully as she could have. Lovely, exquisite pain radiated up and into my guts which, unless it’s your thing, you’d never really understand or appreciate.

Then she started to stroke me. Gently and slowly at first, but then with more speed. It felt simply glorious. I moaned and writhed and felt the tickling tell-tale signs of orgasm deep under the stiff root of the cock. I wasn’t sure if she meant to get me off, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

And then she stopped. I moaned deeply. The absence of her touch reverberated in me and the bubbling optimism of my coming orgasm quickly receded. Then she started to stroke me again. This time, I swung my leg over hers to more fully open myself to her and pressed into her body. My entire being was being consumed by the sensation of her masturbating me. Shortly, I again felt the tingling of a nascent orgasm beginning to coalesce and again she let go, leaving the hard meat bobbing in her wake.

This time, the absence of her attention tore through me. I moaned even more loudly and my breathing was in ragged pants as I struggled to process my desire for her to keep going, but knowing I couldn’t ask for it. I kissed her chin and jaw and pressed my face into her breasts trying to find the outline of her nipples with my lips, but she pushed me away.

Her hand was back on the rigid, straining cock, moving up and down. I wanted it so badly, this sensation. More, I wanted to shoot my wad. I wanted the two weeks worth of spunk I had been carrying around with me to unload all over her hand and my chest. I wanted to come. I resolved to do what I could to hide any sign of an impending orgasm. I willed the internal process along hoping to take her by surprise.

Is that wrong? Was I betraying my oath of submission and the power I had investing in her over my release? I don’t know. I can’t say. All I do know is the urge to come had overtaken any other imperative. All there was in the world was her hand and the hard cock within it and the wonderful orgasm she was soon to bring into the world.

And it was right there. I could feel it starting to march up the ladder, yearning for daylight. I was about to come…until she stopped again. My moan was more a cry of anguish. It was over, this time for good, and the juices never flowed. The cock bobbed rhythmically as I flexed and pumped it as though doing so would cause the orgasm to spontaneously come into being, but I got nothing. Not even a meager dribble. Apparently, not as close as I thought.

Shortly afterward, the candles were snuffed and she was rolled over and going to sleep. I pressed the still hard meat into her as we spooned, careful not to grind it. I was horny beyond comprehension, but at the same time happy and satisfied, after a fashion.

My Belle played me very well all weekend long. I have not seen her more confident and comfortable in her role. Right now, things are going well. Very, very well.

Rika arrives

I finally got around to ordering Uniquely Rika the other day and it showed up last night. I’ve seen it talked up on other sites and, after finding myself again on her old website (now defunct, but still available if you know how to use the Internet Archive), I decided to pop the $30 and get the book. I’ve purchased books like this in the past (specifically, about female dominance), but I can’t say they’ve been particularly helpful. On the one hand, it has been hard picturing either Belle or me living the lives they describe (though, to be fair, the life we are leading is evolving at a fairly rapid rate – there are things I embrace now that I eschewed six months ago). On the other hand, I was the one reading the books, not Belle (for the most part – we did read parts of one or two together). I really don’t consider me to be the target audience for these. Belle is.

So, after leafing though it last night and seeing that Rika isn’t batshit crazy or anything, and after recognizing that the majority of the book consists of Rika speaking to the F in the FLR, I decided to basically ignore it. It’s Belle’s to read. If there are sections within that she thinks I should look at, then I’ll be more than happy to do so, but otherwise, its secrets will be hers. And really, they should be. If I’m to truly submit to her, then she needs to craft a flavor of dominance she’s comfortable with all on her own. She needs to own it and let me live within it. It can’t really be community property. I’m not saying I need to sublimate all my needs and emotions or anything like that, but in whatever way we’re able to practice D/s, she needs to bring the D and I need to bring the s. It seems to me, the less I think about how she should or should not practice domination, the more confident she’ll be in how she approaches it and the more energy I can expend being a better submissive. That’s the idea, anyway. She agrees the book is for her, not me, and started to read it last night. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

While she was reading it, I was giving her a foot massage. It felt really, really good for me since it’s been somewhat busy around the house over the past week and my opportunities to service her have been few and far between. I have been able to cook the dinners and clean up and such, but that just kind of feels like my job now and not so much a chance to make her especially happy. So, while she filled out the questionnaire, I spent 30 minutes lovingly caressing her feet.

Afterward, she asked for me to continue on her shoulders and neck, which I gratefully did. That kind of massage is fundamentally more intimate since she’s typically topless and I usually get more contact with her body since I straddle her legs while doing it.

At one point, I was kneeling just below her ass and laying over her to get a better angle on her shoulder muscles.

“That feels nice,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“The way you’re thrusting into me like that.”

I hadn’t even realized I was, but once she mentioned it, I saw that my motions were causing the CB6K to rhythmically grind into her ass. Had I not been wearing it, and had we both been completely naked, it wasn’t very dissimilar from a position I’d use to penetrate her from behind. After all this clicked into place in my head, I felt the pressure build in the device and the nature of my position – the denied, chastised male dedicated to her pleasure – fall upon me in full weight. I was already sporting a healthy subbie buzz, but this sent it flying.

“Maybe we should try this position sometime,” she continued, suggesting I could fuck her from behind while massaging her shoulders. Whether or not that’s even possible, the idea of trying it, and her talking about sex while I was physically incapable of it, caused me to breath very heavily as my face hovered above her bare skin. It was wonderfully tormenting.

Finally, after the massage was over, she produced Pink, her little vibe. Even though she’s still on her period, she wanted me to get her off. I very happily complied, especially when she told me to get naked. She came quickly and intensely.

This morning, she was lazy in bed because she had the day off. While snuggling and spooning, she started to touch me. While chastised, I find myself especially sensitive to her touch all over my body. I’m not the first person to observe that locking away the primary male erogenous zone causes the remainder of the body to pick up the slack. She can touch me anywhere and set me off. In this case, it was my chest. Gently, she ran her fingers through my chest hair and down along my ribs. I felt myself melt. She traced down my side, over the top of my thigh, and found my balls. She may have also been touching the cock in its plastic case, but there’s no way I can feel that. As her fingers lightly caressed me, I felt my normal morning thickness try to grow against its encasement. The device, along with its contents, pulled up and away from my body. Laying on my back was intolerable. I turned over and got up on my hands and knees. Suspended from above, the straining package was more comfortable, but she continued to trace the contours of my stretched scrotum and I felt the tube of the CB6K throb as the meat it secured became more engorged.

“God, it’s so tight,” I gasped.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked while not stopping.


Finally, “No. Don’t ever stop.”

Free ride

“What, exactly, are your intentions?” Belle asked as I laid next to her, naked, running my hand up and down her inner thighs, careful to avoid touching the area in between them as I had not been given permission to do so.

It was late (for Belle), around 10:45 or so. She had just finished up some work after entertaining a girlfriend at our house for 3 or 4 hours. She and her friend sat in the living room (after having been driven inside by desperate late-Summer mosquitoes) sipping their wine and talking about people they used to work with while I cleaned up the kitchen, set up her coffee for the morning, attended to the dog, etc. It felt nice being a service to her, letting her focus all her energy on her friend, removing any stress she might have with regard to the messy kitchen. I felt…in my place. Happy. In a routine.

“I have no intentions,” I replied, “I’m just doing this because it feels good for you and makes me happy. I expect nothing.”

“Well, aren’t you being the good sub tonight,” she purred, “I just wanted to know if you had an objective.”

“I always have an objective,” I admitted, “But I also know my place. If you want an orgasm, I’d be very happy to give you one. But it’s your call, not mine.”

“Hmmm,” she said in her lazy, getting ready to sleep voice, “Someone must have slipped you some truth serum or something, because you’re speaking the truth.”

*Ache.* I love it when she talks like that. I felt the cock start to respond in it’s expected manner. I felt warm inside and kept stroking her legs.

“OK,” she said with some finality.

“Time for bed?” I asked, “Want me off?”

“No, I want an orgasm.” Hooray! “But nothing dramatic. Just a nice little ten minute deal because I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”

“OK, I’ll send the circus monkeys home.”

She exposed her breasts to me and I clamped on while rubbing her mound under its thin fabric, feeling her heat already starting to build.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Being in this position – servicing her desire while mine is left to grow unattended – feels so right and good now. It is as things should be. This is how we make love. Her orgasm is our orgasm. I crave hers more than my own.

After about five minutes of action, she was wet and moaning in encouraging ways. We were headed in the right direction and I knew I’d be bringing her to orgasm well within her ten minute requirement.

“How’s my cock?” she asked.

“Hmrph?” I asked, mouth full of nipple.

“How’s my cock?” she asked more insistently.

“Um, kinda hard,” I replied. Truth is, I was thinking more about getting her home than the condition of the penis.

“Hard enough for me to ride?” I reached down and felt the erection. Not stone-hard, kinda squishy on the outside but with a nice solid core.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m going to ride it,” she declared.

I rolled over on my back and she climbed on top of me, took the cock in her hand and guided it smoothly into her. I took advantage of my ready access to both nipples and continued to lick, suck, and tease them with my tongue and fingers. I flexed my hips to create a counter rhythm to hers until I felt our skin was sliding freely and she used her legs to adjust the position of mine, pushing them further apart. After she had established her rhythm, moving up and down at whatever speed and depth worked best for her, I stopped moving in an attempt to extend my resistance.

As usual, my mind went to baseball. No idea what I’m going to do when the season’s over, but thoughts of player slumps and team standings were enough to distract me from her increasing speed and rising passion.

After a respectable period of time, she came. Really, really came. Her biocock never twitched. She was able to ride me as long and as passionately as she wanted with no distracting orgasm of my own. She collapsed on top of me, panting and glowing, basking like crazy while I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

“Good job, Thumper,” she exhaled.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.”

Lippy rabbit

Sometimes, I forget why I’m doing this.

Tonight, Belle got home later than usual following another happy hour. They seem to have at least one a week where she works. No big deal for me since the kids are off with the in-laws for a whole week. I worked out, showered, and then started watching TV waiting for her to get home. She pulled into the garage at about 9:30.

In general, I’m pretty excited about this week alone since we should get plenty of personal time together. I’ve been locked up for eight of the last nine days and haven’t come since Saturday. Not a huge period of denial by any stretch of the imagination, but tonight I’m particularly pretty horny what with the “adults only” vibe and the slowly building hormone levels. Typically, she comes home from these happy hours in a pretty good mood and she’ll let me pleasure her. When she finally got home tonight, I was horny and expecting some action.

She wasn’t thinking the same way. She snuggled up against me and we watched some TV together but I was jumpy with desire. I felt down around the opening of the CB6K’s tube and found it slick with precum. I was dripping with anticipation and all she was doing was stroking my ribs while she watch Everybody Loves Raymond. Once Ray was over, I started in with my nuzzly, kissy stuff hoping to coax her into something, but she as already getting sleepy. At least she recognized my state.

“I like it when you’re like this,” she said, “Right here on the edge. I’m going to leave you there tonight.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked hopefully.

“You can rub my feet.”

“Is that all you want rubbed?”

And then we exchanged words regarding my poor attitude. She was right. In retrospect, I acknowledge I was being lippy. She actually raised her voice with me and then accused me of being defensive. I probably was being that way. I shouldn’t have been. But god, I’m so horny.

I rubbed her feet with the lotion and, as I expected, she fell asleep half way through. I felt disappointment. I felt a little resentment (we haven’t had sex since Sunday). I was kinda mad at her. Oh, and I felt very horny.

Then I remembered what she said. I like it when you’re like this. I was so interested in getting her to let me get her off that the words rolled right off me. I was thinking too much about my own needs again. I laid there and pondered my predicament as I fingered the little brass lock with the sharp edges. She was asleep, feet massaged, perfectly content while I laid next to her, horny as hell, cock locked in plastic, wide awake and buzzing. And she likes it when I’m like this. Warm pulses of energy filled my chest as I lowered into my submission. If only I had been focusing less on my own desire and more on hers, I could have felt that earlier with her. She was holding up her part of the deal while I was being selfish and petulant.

I can do better than that.

Punishment and the reluctant rabbit

Lately, I’ve felt a little off. Off in the sense that, outside the bedroom, I haven’t felt overly submissive or the need to provide service to Belle Fille that I’ve enjoyed in the past. I have my theories (which we’ll get into), but it all came home to roost yesterday.

Belle was in one of her cyclonic home organization phases. I’m not sure she stopped for more than 15 minutes yesterday from doing something – cleaning and organizing the garage, laundry room, downstairs bathroom, her closet, etc. Typically, I’ve learned to just stay out of her way when she’s like this as there’s no way to get her to relax until she collapses at the end of the day. The end of the day when we had previously said (or rather, she had previously said) we need some “special time”.

“Special time” because we’ve settled into this rhythm with regard to sex. It’s pretty much exclusively about her while I’m left to stew after she falls asleep. I have nothing particularly against this type of encounter, but it’s all we’ve been doing lately. It’s what I call “passive” denial in that I get turned-on and such, but she’s not doing anything to enhance my arousal. When she deliberately does things to bring me into a high state of frothiness (jacking me off, letting me jack myself off, making me fuck her – all without orgasm), that’s “active” denial. I need that. Plus, I’ve been feeling the urge to get back to that wonderfully spacey place she took me last time she beat me. In fact, we sat together after lunch and calmly discussed which way she’d abuse me later in the day. Wooden spoon? Last time, she didn’t like that because it made too much noise. Spatula? Ditto. Flogger? So anyway, you can see the general outline of what I thought “special time” would be. Her slapping me around, making me all hard and drippy, then letting me get her off. Preferably, over the course of an hour or more. Nice, leisurely lovemaking (as we’ve been able to redefine it).

So problem number one with this great plan was that I went on a 13 mile bike ride yesterday. That’s not outrageously long, but it’s been a while since I went that far and I’m not in peak physical condition at the moment. By the end of the day, I was feeling tired and had developed a headache (probably from my allergies which suck donkey right now). By the time we were in bed and the kids were sleeping, etc., I wasn’t in the mood for a whippin’. I still wanted the other part of our “special time” very much, but just as easily I could have gone to sleep.

First lesson: I should have said something. I didn’t tell her how I felt. She instructed me to strip and brought out the flogger. Her, clothed, standing next to the bed and holding the flogger. Me, naked and laying on the bed, looking up at her. I knew I wasn’t really up for the hitting part, but the subspace brought on by our relative physical positions fought my urge to say something. As she started to whack at me, I found myself unable to stay still. I bounced around the bed, up on my knees, on all fours, laying down. She had to circle the bed to maintain a good vector on my ass. As she was hitting me, she berated me for my unacceptable service lately. She called me out on laundry I had fallen behind in and generally criticized my lack of focus on her. In between whacks, she said she had grown accustomed to my service and felt it should resume. So, as opposed to the way I had been beaten in the past, this time we were cloaking the event in the cover of a punishment. My discomfort grew. I thought this should have been hot to me, but in combination with my headache and overall tiredness and previous desire for a more loving encounter, it just made me feel worse.

Eventually, she ordered me to stay in one position. She sat down and fucking wailed on me a few times (at least, that’s how it felt – I’m not sure if she was hitting me hard or if my ability to take it was low). I kept getting up and she kept telling me to get down. I wanted to kiss her, but she wouldn’t let me. I told her I couldn’t take it anymore. She assumed it was part of the game and told me I could always safeword my way out. I did not want to do that. It wasn’t that she was hitting me harder than I could stand. It wasn’t physical pain I was struggling with. So she kept hitting me. Finally, I sat up and said I did not want to be hit anymore.

She realized something was amiss and asked me what was up. I told her I really couldn’t say, but I didn’t want to be hit. I worried that she’d assume it was something she did wrong and that she’d have a crisis of confidence, but she valiantly tried to maintain her end of the dynamic. She left the room momentarily and I curled up on the bed, desperate for some tenderness (aka, aftercare). She came back in, laid down, and I held onto her, but felt no sexual urges.

I can’t remember her exact words, but she accused me of only wanting to be hit when the manner in which it took place was one I was comfortable with. That’s a fairly sophisticated charge for her to throw at me. On the one hand, no, I don’t want to always be comfortable with the way she smacks me around. It’s entirely acceptable to make me uncomfortable. And no, I was not suggesting she should not be able to punish me. But, on the other hand, it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. I thought she’d hit me in a loving way, not a punitive way. I wasn’t trying to top her from below. I hadn’t pulled the plug in a state of pique over not appreciating her set-up of the scene. Not at all. I just hadn’t been capable of doing it.

I’m not sure she bought it. After our short conversation, she told me to get the lotion. She wanted a foot massage. Fuck, I thought. I really wasn’t in the mood for this, either. All I wanted to do now was go to sleep.

Laboriously, I dragged myself from the bed, retrieved the lotion and a towel from the bathroom, and began massaging her feet. The minutes dragged on. She had fallen into a light sleep during the massage, and while I still felt very shitty, I was at least relieved that when I finally finished the evening seemed to be coming to an end. I went around the room and extinguished all the candles. Getting back into bed woke her up and she told me to come to her. I inched over. She said, “Come here,” and I inched a little closer and put my arm over her in the most noncommittal manner possible.

“I want you to be inside me,” she said. The thoughtfulness of that nearly brought me to tears.

“I don’t think I can,” I said. I felt 500 miles away from an erection, let alone mustering the energy to fuck her.

“OK,” she said.

Then we fell asleep. But not before I moved away from her and turned over to face the other direction.

This morning, we were able to have a conversation about it (or, that is, three conversations since the kids kept acting like they were deserving of our attention all morning).

With regard to the mysterious inability to feel the need to do things for her, I think we’ve pinned that on the whole “active vs. passive” denial thing. Since I’m out of the device, I’ve been fulfilling my desire for desire myself. I’ve been stroking myself and letting myself get right up against an orgasm before backing down. No, I haven’t technically had permission to do this, but I somehow talked myself into it being OK. In my head, I had this imagined conversation with her where I ask permission and she, since she doesn’t want to have to deal with my neediness, gives it to me. In my hormonal state, I managed to turn that imagined permission into implicit permission. In effect, I’ve been masturbating, though not to the point of orgasm. Regardless, since I’ve transmuted sexual release with sexual arousal, what I’ve been doing is exactly the same as a man who jacks off to orgasm in the bathroom when he gets horny. I’ve replaced her as my sole source of sexual satisfaction. I am, of course, explicitly forbidden to do this now and she will become more active in ensuring my sexual frustration in the future.

As far as the punishment thing goes, I told her I constantly crave ramifications. Lacking any consequences for my actions/inactions, their motivations sometimes start to lose their meaning. Even if I had kept on edging myself, there should have been something focusing me on my duties. So, while it felt wrong to me last night, I really want her to punish me when necessary. This isn’t necessarily a masochistic desire of mine. The part of me who wants to feel pain is not the same part of me who wants to transfer control to her. They’re kissing cousins, to be sure, but they come from different places in my fetid psyche. Acknowledging that she has the right to administer corporal punishment to me is all about power exchange. Hot, sexy power exchange.

She says she’s pretty sure I didn’t like being spanked by her last night and she exactly right. I didn’t like it. I felt like a little boy suffering the consequences of doing something he knew was wrong. It was embarrassing and emotional. Yeah, the pain stung and I was in entirely the wrong mindset to deal with it, but that’s the point. One is not punished when one decides it’s time. It happens when the punisher decides to do it. And it’s not always the case that the one being punished knows it coming. Yes, I want her to whip my ass when I’m not being a good boy.

And since I’m me, I could see it all in my head moments after talking about it with her. On some random weeknight when I least suspect it, she tells me to pull down my pants and bed over the side of the bed. She tells me she going to punish me for [fill in the transgression] by caning my ass [n] times. I will be still during the caning and will count out each strike right after it lands. If I move excessively or fail to count out the number quickly enough, she will add an additional number of strikes (her discretion, of course). After she’s done with me, I pull my pants back up, say to her those words that codify our power exchange, and go about our lives, my face is as red as my ass.

To that end, I went to Home Depot this morning and picked up a couple of those plastic rods that you use to open and close mini blinds (one for regular use and one in case she breaks the first over my ass). Whenever she feels I need to be reminded of the arrangement I asked for or need to be refocused on what she thinks in important, I hope she’ll use it on me. Maybe eventually we’ll buy a proper cane.

All this talking seemed to do the trick with me. While I had gone to bed and woke up absent any sexual desire whatsoever, by the time we got to talking about her right to administer corporal punishment, I had a health erection (shocking). As I write this, she’s in her bed taking a nap and I’d like nothing better than to go back there and go down on her until I feel the pulse of her rapture beneath my tongue. I was nowhere near that kind of feeling last night or this morning. I’ll assume that’s a good thing.