New shiny

Belle gets home today. She’s currently over the north North Pacific on a beeline for San Francisco, completing the second to last leg of a four-flight journey back to me. She’s been in China, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Vietnam on this trip. Obviously, I’m very excited for her to get home. It’s been a long couple of weeks.

While she was gone, I picked up a new shiny piece of steel, though not one I wear between my legs. In this case, it was a stainless cuff from House of Collars by Dom Wolf. I’ve been looking at them for years and almost bought one on several occasions. I finally pulled the trigger. It locks on using itty bitty headless torx screws. Here’s what it looks like on yours truly.

There’s lots of reasons I love this thing. First, it’s stainless. I have a real thing for shiny steel. It’s nicely made yet still a bit rough around the margins as something befitting a slave should be (though that’s not really me, is it?). Also, it’s a piece of genuine bondage equipment I can wear 24/7, out in public, that’s practically invisible as such to 99% of those who see it. Over the course of the week or so I’ve had it on, only one person said anything about it but didn’t seem to recognize it as anything other than a chunky bracelet. And it is pretty substantial. It’s not simple jewelry. It feels like a handcuff on my wrist.

Which, of course, turns me the fuck on. After putting it on for the first time, every time I felt its heft shift on my wrist, I thought what it’d feel like to have one on both wrists and on my ankles and even around my neck and the tube contents would swell. I imagine the cuffs around my wrist being locked to the ones around my ankles, a chain attached to the collar, tube dripping…*shudder*.

Anyway, it’s a nice feeling having a little sliver of what’s going on in my pants out there on my arm for the world to see. I didn’t talk to Belle before getting it so it’s not like I’m wearing it for any other reason except that I want to and I like it, but it represents more than just a chunky bracelet. It represents the enforced restraint and lack of control that turns my crank so lustily.

If you’re in the market for such a thing, I highly recommend Wolf’s work.

Hotel

I apologize in advance for the extreme length of today’s missive. I didn’t intend for it to go on and on like this, but there was too much to say!

As I mentioned the other day, Belle and I had a kid-free few days this past weekend. We celebrated by spending Friday night at a luxe downtown hotel with an on-premises spa.

We checked in and decided to grab a light dinner downstairs before retiring for the night. I had brought along a number of toys and accoutrement, but wasn’t too sure what would happen. I was locked in the Steelheart and Belle had just come the night before, so if it were any other run of the mill Friday night, nothing would have happened. I braced myself for that eventuality and had an alternate checklist of activities if she happened to fall asleep or something. I didn’t wonder if she was going to let me out because it’s a given that my normal condition is to be exactly as I was.

Back in the room, she wanted to lay on the bed and talk which was great because I like talking to her. She allowed me to go naked since it’s the state I prefer to be in when it’s an option. So there I was, naked with a big shiny thing where the dick usually is, with her snuggled under the covers in her jammies. And we talked.

At some point – and I’ll tell you right now that most of this evening is something of a blur for me so what you’re reading is my best approximation of the events – she mentioned that she planned on letting me out that night. She had already told me I would be out for the massage the next day, but as I said, I didn’t expect to be released before morning. Once she said it I knew I really wanted out. You just don’t say no to these kinds of opportunities. I expect I was not unlike an excited puppy from the time she mentioned it to the moment she let me out.

Back on the bed, now totally naked, she made it clear that I wasn’t to touch the merchandise. It was at this point that I started to get the idea that something was going to happen, though I had no idea what. She had previously said I wouldn’t come until the end of the year, but there’s a ton of stuff you can do besides that with a hard cock if you’re imaginative enough.

“What did you bring?” she asked.

I told her: the flogger, the bondage straps, nipple clamps, my collar, handcuffs (but not the key) and Mr. Darcy with his harness.

“Not Pink?” she asked, meaning her favorite vibrator.

“No, I couldn’t find it. I assumed you brought it.” It hadn’t been in it’s normal positon in my nightstand (handy for when she wants it), nor was it in hers.

I didn’t bring it,” she said. Come to think of it, we need to figure out where that went. Anyway…

“Get the clamps and your collar.” A thrill of excitement when through me. She hardly ever collars me. “And the cuffs.”

I brought the collar over to her side of the bed and kneeled and dropped my head so she could buckle it behind my neck. A low subbie thrum started inside me.

Back in bed next to her, I asked if she had ever wanted to try the nipple clamps.

“No, I don’t like pain.”

“How do you know until you try?” I asked, “Maybe you could try it just for a second on one nipple.”

She pulled her top down so her right breast was exposed and she placed the clamp gingerly onto her plump, succulent nipple.

“OWW!!!!” she said. So much for that idea.

She griped about it for another five minutes or so before attaching a clip to my left nipple. Then she strung the other through the ring on my collar and clipped it onto my right nipple. Then she pulled. And pulled and pulled. And the cock rose accordingly.

“You are so weird,” she said.

“I know,” I replied as the cock twitched and surged.

She snapped the handcuffs around my left wrist.

“You have the keys, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You sure? Because this’ll be hard to explain during the massage tomorrow.”

She got up and got the keys to the handcuffs, showed them to me, and then placed them on her nightstand before closing the cuffs around my right wrist. They were tight, digging into me. Every movement caused them to bite harder.

Collared, clamped, and cuffed. I slipped a little deeper into my headspace. She teased me by running her fingers around the throbbing cock, over my balls (slapping them lightly) and back up to the chain connecting the clips. Pulling. I groaned. The cock flexed.

“Please touch it,” I begged.

“No.”

Whimper. Whine. I moved to kiss her, but she pulled her head away.

“Please let me kiss you. I want to kiss you.”

She moved her head back down, just close enough for my lips to graze hers, but not close enough for a real kiss.

“Please…”

She kissed me, full on the mouth, but just once and she didn’t linger, then she got up from the bed and started to rummage through my bag. She brought out the bondage stuff and strapped my ankles to each of the king-sized bed’s feet. I retained some movement, but couldn’t close my legs. Next, she started looking around the room as if she had misplaced something. She grabbed a cloth napkin from the bar and tied it over my eyes like a blindfold. I couldn’t see a thing. Then she made a little happy sound like she had discovered something she had lost. That was followed by a few metallic sounds. CLAMP CLAMP!

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Maybe I should go down to the bar and have a drink. Leave you like this to stew.”

Groan. I think she considered it. Really was thinking about it, but then I felt her get back into bed with me. She continued the teasing from before. My cock was desperate for real touching, preferably stroking, and I moved my hands down as if to oblige but she jerked them back over my head.

“No touching!”

They weren’t tied that way, but it was clear she wanted my hands up over my head or near my face.

“Please,” I begged again, “please touch it.”

“If I do, then what? What’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, please, just touch it!

“OK…”

I felt something cold and sharp on the hard shaft. It clamped down on either side of the cock and moved up and down, slowly.

“How does that feel?”

“Ungh! It hurts!”

“Hurts bad or hurts good?”

“Both!” I writhed.

I could feel the metal bite the smooth, silky skin of the shaft but also feel the internal stimulation of being stroked. I needed this so bad. Craved it. Two months since I last came, and she was jacking me off with some kind of sharp, painful metal device.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I paused. It hurt. But it also felt good. Really good.

“No.” I said quietly, then moved my hips closed to her, arching my back so she could get a better angle on the meat. What felt like sharp little teeth were biting into the stiff shaft and it hurt, but I couldn’t imagine it stopping. I was getting more than enough jacking off stimulation to hold my attention.

Occasionally, she stop the stroking and I’d feel her use whatever it was on my nuts. She’d clamp the sharp teeth round one of my nuts and squeeze. Then the other. Then back to the shaft. I could actually feel the rumblings of an orgasm, even against the pain of the metal.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yes? Want me to stop now?”

“Oh FUCK, no. Don’t stop. Please.”

“Does it hurt?”

“YES! But I like it. I want you to jack me off.”

“You. Are. So weird.”

“I know,” I said softly, moving closer to her.

“And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

More stroking. More biting. More feeling the need to come, though I realized it was never going to get there with the level of stimulation I was getting from whatever it was she was stroking me with.

“What is that thing?”

She pulled the blind from my eyes and held the ice tongs in front of my face, snapping their little teeth together.

“Jesus Christ!”

She moved it back down to the cock and grabbed it with the little teeth.

“I thought you liked it,” she said.

“Ungh,” I replied as she stroked me some more.

She put the tongs aside and pulled off her shirt. I tried to kiss them, get my mouth on her nipples. She pushed me away.

“Not yet.”

Then she started to flog the cock and my balls. Gently, but then with some force. Not enough to damage me, but enough to get my attention. She’d slowly drag the suede lashes over the straining and, now thanks to the ice tongs, stinging meat. Then flick them across the shaft. Then the balls. Then dragging them again, seductively. Lovingly. Again and again.

“Please, will you fuck me?”

“No.”

Whine.

“Not yet, anyway.”

More flogging. More pulling on the clamps which had, by this time been on me for much longer than usual.

“I really should just leave you like this all night long. Tied up, nipples clamped.” I whined again.

“Please. Please fuck me. I don’t need to come. I just want to feel you. It’s been so long. Two months.”

“I know,” she said cooly, “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

“Please…” was all I could muster. I wanted it so bad. Was so horny. She had played me perfectly all night, leaving me right on the edge of where pain turns to pleasure, but not going too far. I needed to feel something soft and hot and wet on her cock. I wanted her.

She took the cock in her hand. I moaned deeply. This wasn’t her pussy, it was pretty good.

“It stings.”

“Really?” and she stroked me harder.

The cock stiffened. I could feel my balls drawing up. I was getting close…

Then she stopped, leaving me bobbing in the air.

“Oh God!”

She waited, perhaps counting the beat of my heart by the bounce of the cock in midair. Then she grabbed it again and resumed the stroking.

“You want me to fuck you?” she asked.

“Oh, Jesus, yes! Please fuck me!”

“And…what’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.” And I meant it.

She made herself completely naked and climbed on top of me. She straddled my hips and moved the abused, desperate cock in position against her pussy’s lips. Then she plunged down onto it. I lost my breath, unable to breath. It felt so good. So amazing. Hot. Everything I needed it to be.

Her breasts were in my face and I tried to get her nipples in my mouth, but her motion as she fucked her cock made them hard targets.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, “Good Thumper. You know what you’re supposed to do…”

But it was too hard. I couldn’t keep hold of them. Eventually, she moved off and I slipped out with a wet smack against my stomach. She removed the clips from my nipples and twin lasers of intense pain seared into me. Unmoved, she pulled them out of my collar and tossed them aside. She picked the keys to the cuffs up off the nightstand but didn’t have a good handle on them and they fell into the hot wax of the candle.

“Fuck!” she said. Then she got the tongs and used them to fish the keys out.

Clamps and cuffs off, she put her hand over the cock again.

“Oh good, you’re still ready,” but she stroked it a few times for good measure before mounting me again.

She fucked me slowly as I sucked her tits. Her eyes closed, she was enjoying it at least as well as I was. After the initial shock, I settled in to as useful a position as possible. She may have given me what I was begging for, but now it was for her.

Best intentions aside, I said, “I’m getting close.” She slowed down. I could see her working it out in her head. Would I come or not? It had “only” been two months. After a smal rest, she’d pick up her rhythm again. I’d focus on a place far, far away, but it was so hard. The two months and the stroking, both with her hand and the ice tongs, conspired against me.

“I’m close,” I said again. What would happen? Would she roll off of me? Make me finish her in the normal way?

“Go ahead,” she said, and started to fuck me faster.

“Really?”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

And I did. I fucked her as hard and as fast as I could. Moments later, I felt it. From somewhere deep, deep inside the orgasm started to build and grow and rush forward before exploding out of me and into her. Three, four, five giant loads of semen surged out of me. I cried out at the intensity. The entire world had gone away and all there was was this feeling. My orgasm.

It finally subsided and I was left a gibbering, gooey mess. She rolled off of me and I felt two months of pent up desire ebb from my pores. Fuck, that was awesome. Even as the cock was laying against me, fat and happy, it continued to ooze its payload. Now, of course, I was repulsed by it. The slippery, foul smelling paste. While she attended to herself, I got some tissues and wiped as much of it as I could from my skin.

She got back into bed and I cleaved onto her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Awesome. Thank you so much for that. It was so great.”

“I haven’t come yet.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

I started in again on her nipples and fingering her pussy. It was super slick with my ejaculate and felt wider than usual. Well-fucked. She seemed to enjoy what I was doing, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“I want you to eat me out.”

Oh, fuck. I cringed. I whimpered again. “Really?”

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked that.”

“I do, but…” I just came in there!

“Well, you should have brought Pink. Come on, cowboy, get to it,” she said as she spread her legs wide. “You said I could have anything.”

Busted. I was groaning the whole way down. I could smell it. I had already felt it. I knew it was in there still. There had been so much.

I closed my eyes figuring it’d be easier if I couldn’t see anything. Don’t get me wrong, I love pussy, but I’ve never found it to be the most appealing thing immediately after an orgasm. Regardless, I figured the band-aid approach was best. Just get it over with.

My tongue stared to lap at her clit. That would be the area of least contamination, I thought, but she liked how it felt and started to move her pussy around, guiding my licking.

“That’s a good boy,” she purred. I licked. Oh, god. I licked and lapped and reached up to her nipples, hoping she’d come so I could stop.

“Can you taste yourself?” she asked.

I grunted noncommittally. Of course I could. Fucking hell.

When she finally came, she pushed my face into her and my tongue deeper into her pussy. She clamped her legs around my head. There was no getting away. Her orgasm spasmed across my tongue and she squeezed more of my seed into my mouth on onto my face.

When she unclamped, I moved out as quickly as possible, wiping my face with my hands.

“Good job, Thumper.”

Next morning, before we went to get our 80 minute deep tissue massages (can you imagine?), she allowed me to jack off one more time and finish with an orgasm. She was in the bathroom getting ready and would occasionally look in my direction, a look of bemusement on her face.

“What?! You said I could!”

“I know…”

I tried to draw it out as long as possible. To savor the rare moment of self gratification. I came again and, just like before, it was copious. Great globs of it oozed out of me. The orgasm was half as intense as the night before, but even then, was ten times better than I used to have when they were mine.

Later, after the rubbing and the fragrant oil and the fruit juice, as we were leaving the spa, she asked if I was relaxed.

“Oh yes,” I replied, “In more ways than one.”

In thinking about this after the fact, I can easily say that night in the nice hotel when Belle Fille abused me and then fucked me and then made me eat my own seed from her was one of the top five sexual experiences of my life. I’m so, so lucky to be married to such a wonderful and caring woman.

Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.

Really bad, then really good

Saturday, Belle told me at some point that Sunday morning she was going to beat me. It’s been so long since she beat me. Yeah, she’s done little things here and there to hurt me (mostly nipple twisting and some ball slapping) which were all very nice and appreciated, but I’ve been feeling the need for a good whippin’ for quite a while now.

So, Sunday morning comes around and there’s no beating. We hang out in bed, she’s reading the paper and sipping the coffee I made her, and then…nothing. She gets up. I don’t say anything since Sunday’s a whole 24 hours long, but the little nagging feeling starts to creep into the back of my mind. She’s not into this. She doesn’t want to do it. She’s avoiding it. I stuff that back into the dark place it came from and go about my business.

At dinner, she tells me that tonight’s the night. She’s going to beat me before Mad Men (which she’s very excited about watching) so she can be asleep by 10:00 (her bedtime is very important to her). Swell, I think. That’s two whole hours away. She can leisurely whip me. The last time we tried this (which ended in disaster) she started out too hard too fast and I was not at all aroused. So, I figure, we have all the time in the world tonight. We can go slowly and do it right. It’s going to be awesome.

She gave me the task she wanted me to perform before the beating and I went off to do it. She had a little work to finish up and was apparently shopping for back-to-school clothes, but still, we were over 90 minutes from Mad Men. About 20 minutes later, I had finished my task (laundry folding) and was laying in bed, naked, watching the TV just waiting for her to finish whatever she needed to do. I finally heard her stir from her perch on the couch. Then I herd her cleaning the kitchen. Thoroughly. Then I heard her make her coffee for the morning. That’s my job. Why is she doing that? It’s OK, though, because we have more than hour still before Mad Men (though I’m starting to worry).

Next, I heard her take out the trash. All the way to curb. The garage door went up and she hauled the garbage can and recycling down the driveway. I could have done this had I known she wanted it done at that moment. Then I heard her take the dog outside. Again, something I could have done. Basically, everything she did (besides the work) I could have done if she had told me she wanted it done.

Finally, with just less than a half hour before Mad Men, she comes into the room. The feeling from the morning had come back and, far from being little now, had plopped it’s big ass down in a Lazy-E-Boy in my head. To me, she was obviously avoiding this task. I was deeply disappointed as we no longer had time to take it slowly. We’ve got less than 30 minutes. Now, there was stress. Now, the clock was going to be the third in our scene.

The window was closed.

So, as calmly and with as little accusatory tone as possible, I told her we didn’t have to do it. We could put it off (to god knows when). We don’t have time, I said.

“KNOCK IT OFF, THUMPER!” she yells at me, “DON’T START THIS CRAP! I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DO THIS!” I’m frankly taken aback by the sudden ferocity of her position. She’s yelling at me while I’m feeling vulnerable and disappointed and hurt. This is turning into a disaster.

“Look,” I say, trying to stay calm, “It’s not a problem. It doesn’t have to happen right now…”

And it just gets worse. She yells at me, and then I’m yelling back, defending my right to feel how I feel and denying the charge that I’m somehow the problem and that, really, we don’t have to do it right then.

She basically orders me into my collar, but she makes me put it on. Wrong. It feels wrong. I’m starting to crumble inside. She puts me in handcuffs, one side of which is affixed to the D-ring on my collar. The cuffs are biting into my wrists. They feel wrong. I try to say something, but she orders me onto the bed.

“Bend over, face in the pillow,” she barks.

WHACK! Jesusmotherfucking, that hurts. I close my eyes and try to hang onto the wispy feelings of sub energy that I’m feeling, but they’re not enough. Not nearly.

WHACK!! I sit up.

“Can I kiss you?” I need to get this anger out of me, this feeling that she’s angry. She kisses me, but not lovingly. My ass goes back up in the air.

WHACK!!! Fuck this.

I sit up again and say, “This isn’t right. It’s not working.” And then I break. Fury wells up from within me. My face contorts and I silently cry out and feel such pain and disappointment and the feeling that everything is wrong as my face heats up and the tears flow freely down my face. This is not working. She doesn’t want to do it and I’m a fucking freak for asking her to. And this was it, the only night this was going to work with the kids out of the house. It would be weeks before we could try again. And now, I wasn’t even sure I wanted it. Ever. Nothing that made me feel that bad could be worth doing. It was never going to work. I was angry, but not really at her. I was angry at the world for making me like this and putting me in this situation. All my fear and vulnerabilities reared up like dragons in my mind. I felt embarrassment at being naked, embarrassment at being collared, embarrassment for asking her to hit me.

The conversation that followed was predictable because we’ve had it before. Basically, I accused her of not wanting to hit me and not admitting it to me (or maybe herself). She said she wanted it to be perfect and I said that’s crazy because nothing ever is perfect. We both admitted to having no idea how to do what we’re trying to do. I said I need her to stop treating these sessions like another chore, the thing she does after the dog’s been out and the trash is on the curb. It’s not a fucking chore. It’s an emotional and physical need that I, her husband, has and, if we’re going to do it, it has to feel like an act of making love because, as hard as it is for her to understand, that’s what it is to me. Yet again, I suggested we stop trying to do it. All of it. It’s just too hard. She said nothing in return.

It was horrible. Just horrible. I suppose we said many things we needed to say, but I was left emotionally wrecked. She rolled over and asked me to hold her, but I couldn’t do it. I just felt too raw. Too many things we’re still unresolved. She fell asleep and I got up to read a book.

Out on the couch in the living room, I couldn’t follow the words I was reading. Being a male, soon my hand was in my underwear and I was absentmindedly playing with myself. The cock being a cock, it responded and I found myself holding a stiff hard-on. I started to stroke it. I didn’t want to come, but I wanted the sensation. I wanted to feel something good that night. I kept going and the words we said earlier rang in my head and I became emotional again. I kept stroking. Why even bother anymore? Why keep making her do what she finds so hard? I kept stroking. I don’t know what the solution is, but it’s not worth the pain. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s supposed to be fun. I kept stroking. Then, I felt the point of no return rushing up. And I kept going. I let go and I came. Huge globs of it. God, it had been so long since I saw or felt or smelt that all by myself. I felt the waves of post-orgasmic pleasure wash up and down me, by myself, shirt pulled up, underwear down. Alone.

I didn’t feel guilty, but I felt very sad. I cleaned myself up, turned off the light, and went to bed.

The next day, I wanted to be with her. It was Monday, so that was a problem, but all day I thought about her and the night before and the yelling and the crying and I just wanted to be with her. On the way home, I picked up her favorite flowers (alstroemeria) and had them nicely displayed on the dining room table.

She got home and I was drawn to her. I held her and kissed her and found myself getting really turned on. Our status was ambiguous since the idea of not doing the D/s thing was never really resolved and the thought of just bedding her like in the old days, maybe even right there in the kitchen, really appealed to me. Just fucking. With two orgasms. Like other people do it. I could like that. Hell, I did like that for years and years.

Back in our bedroom, I laid her down with the intention of having some pretty swell make-up sex. She told me she really wasn’t much in the mood (or something to that effect) but that she did want to try slapping me around again.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Twice we had tried this and twice it had turned out badly. It felt too soon after the previous evening’s event to try again. But I was in the mood for it. And we were in a good place. I agreed to give it a try, as long as we started slowly.

I stripping my clothes off and, with her under me, she slapped my nuts around a little. Nothing too extreme, but the pain seemed to warm me up inside – clear out the receptors. Then she got up and left me on the bed, ass up and head down, while she got the flogger.

She ran it’s thin rubber tendrils over and around me – starting with my ass, going over my back, ending up on my balls. It felt heavenly. I love this feeling. The sweet stuff before she gets rough. Then she started to hit me. Not too hard. It felt good. I felt myself raising my ass up to meet the flogger sooner. This was good. It felt right.

Even though I was making copious happy noises in the back of my throat, she stopped to make sure I was OK. That made me all warm inside. This time, I felt the love with every blow. As she made them harder and the sting grew more intense, I could feel her love and her desire to make me happy and I loved her back and felt incredibly grateful to her. At some point, I felt myself slip past the point where the pain loses its sharp edge. It still hurts, but becomes something else. Something better. Something I crave.

Then, in a particularly cruel blow to my reddened ass, the flogger broke. The head of it flew acorss the room. It was just a cheap little thing she picked up somewhere, so no surprise, but yeah, that’s how hard she was hitting me with it. With the thin rubber tongues gone, it ends in a plastic cup into which they were glued. She tried whacking me with that and the pain was entirely different. It was more a like a crop now. I liked that. Mentally, I was already shopping for new implements of torture.

She picked up a flexible plastic ruler and started to use that on me. Intense pain. I found myself rolling over on my back and she started to (gently) strike my balls with it. My eyes rolled back in my head and I opened my legs to her blows. Heaven. The ruler was more stingy that I like on my balls, so I asked her to use her hands. Rapid slapping blows to my nuts sent me high up into the clouds. I love love love love love how that can feel.

By the end, I felt wonderful bliss. My ass hurt like hell, but it was all the right kind of hurt. I nuzzled into her, so grateful, so happy. Sitting here writing about it I can still feel some stinging, though I’m not sure it it’s really there or if I’m just remembering it. In any event, I love it and want more of it. We need to do something about our batting average (one successful attempt out of three will never do), but I know that it’s possible. I know she can do it and still make me feel loved and cared for. I’m just so incredibly happy that I have her and that she’s willing to try to do the things I need, even when she doesn’t really understand why.

Obviously, we have more to talk about. We’re not there yet. But we both need to remember, as we keep trying, that we can do this. We can make it work, and when it does, it’s amazing.

I want

We leave today for our three-day, two-night, adults-only trip to the charming B&B next to a river in the boonies somewhere. Apparently, there are things to do around the B&B, but I don’t care. If it were up to me, we’d never leave the room and stay naked the entire time. It would be hour after hour of debauchery and dirty, nasty sex punctuated with occasional beatings (and maybe some sleep).

Belle has been keeping me on a pretty short leash. It’s been days since I’ve been allowed to have sexual contact and last night she told me that was on purpose. She says I need to become stronger. More motivated to see to her pleasure. That’s why she only let me massage her feet, even though she had made enough comments during the day as to my obviously desperate state to lead me to hope I’d get some action (which, of course, is code for “she gets some action”). I rubbed with abandon. At one point, I was practically masturbating her feet.

I feel as though the cock’s hard all the time now. I’m so desperate for any kind of sexual or even sensual contact and she knows it and does nothing about it. I can’t give her just a peck. When she’s near me, I want to give her deep, reaching soul kisses and I find my hands on her tits and migrating south to rub her mound through her clothes. I can feel the static sexual charge crackling up and down my spine.

This afternoon, when we’re in the room, I’d want her to tie me up and hit me. Besides the sex, I’m craving pain. I want to be tied up, hit with various objects, have my nipples clamped cruelly, the cock slapped, my balls squeezed and crushed. Oh, Jesus, I almost want to be hurt more than I want the sex. It’s been so long. I want to be tortured and used and abused. I want her to tie me up and then sit on my face until she comes. I want her to ride her cock to orgasm, but every time I get close to coming, I want her to slap my face or reach back and crush my balls. I want her to cuff me and leave me that way all night. I want to be collared. Oh god, do I want to be collared.

Then, of course, there’s my ass. Whenever I’m like this and locked-up for a while, my ass (which, for me, is a valid and available sexual organ) beckons – “Always open!” it says helpfully. She’d never do it, but I’d also like her to violate my ass while I’m tied to the bed. If we had a gag, I’d want her to put it on me so I couldn’t complain or tell her to stop (note to self: get gag). I want my ass pounded, fast – really fast – and hard until my prostate sings and my entire body burns with the feeling of it.

Can you tell? Can you tell how surreally horny I am?

But, when it’s over, when all the reservoirs of frustration are drained and I come off my hormonal high and back to earth, I just want to fuck her. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck her in the sweetest way. I want to be in her body like when we first started to date. And then I want to take a week off from all this. I want to be able to come on to her like any other man can with his wife. I want to have normal, vanilla sex a half dozen times just so the sturm und drang of denial leaves the memory of my body and my Belle gets to be just my wife for a little while.

And once that’s done, I want her to tie me, beat me, and lock me because where I am right now – seathing in my own sex – really isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

Wired

A while back, I got a PA security cable from Kept For Her. As I said at the time, I couldn’t wear it due to the stress it put on my piercing by keeping the cock fully extended to the end of the CB6K’s tube. However, the thought of finding a way to make my incarceration undefeatable has stuck with me. Actually, it’s less of a thought and more of an obsession.

But why? I’ve taken umbrage against those who feel the need to have a perfectly secure way to lock up cocks. I’ve said, and still feel, the number one most effective security device when it comes to controlling the orgasms of any man in between his ears. Everything else is just window dressing. I don’t need my chastity device to keep from coming, but I like wearing it for other reasons (mostly having to do with my bondage kink). So no, I haven’t remained obsessed with higher security chastity because I can’t be controlled, but because I find it incredibly fucking hot.

As I mentioned, the biggest problem I found with KFH’s cable is that it held my captive ball ring in place way down at the end of the CB6K, even when the cock it was pierced through wanted to move up and down the tube. Normal penis movement is managed through the contraction and release of a ligament, so it can really start to pull and get very uncomfortable. Any man who’s been in a CB-X000 device knows his meat shortens and lengthens leaving the tube sometimes full (even without an erection) and sometimes only half-full (or even less).

So I wondered what would happen if the cable used to secure the ring were longer and could withdraw into the tube as the penis it was tending pulled back. Since the KFH’s cable is too thick to bend, I, in my very best imitation of Tom Allen, took off to my local Home Depot.

Man, how many pictures are you trying to hang, anyway?
Man, how many pictures are you trying to hang, anyway?

I procured two options, both in the picture hanging section. The first is called “invisible wire” and is basically a thick plastic filament. The other is 30 lbs. coated picture wire. I was unwilling to open either package in the store to find out their bendability, so decided to buy them both. Upon opening the invisible wire, I found it to be very stiff – even stiffer than than the KFH cable. There’s no way it would be able to go up the tube. The coated picture wire, though, was very bendable. Not so flexible that it would, all by itself, bend through the CB6K’s slot as the penis pulled it back, but it’s very good at holding a bend and isn’t too thick to fit inside the slot.

ferrule

The other thingamajig I picked up were aluminum ferrules to secure the loops on each end that hook on to the padlock. The KFH cable uses thinner brass ferrules to secure their loops, but I couldn’t find those at Home Depot. I would have preferred them since they’re quite a bit thinner than the aluminum ones I got, but the Home Depot version isn’t so much bigger that it makes much difference.

The KFH cable, it turns out, is about the right length for what I wanted. At first, I assumed I’d need something longer, but all that extra cable just gets caught and otherwise in the way. My second attempt was almost exactly the same length as KPH’s design. I threaded the cable through the ferrules, and then back through them again to make a loop, crimped them shut with Vice Grips, and cut off the excess. When inserted through my PA’s 6ga segment ring and bent around the ring so it’s able to enter the slot and extend into the tube by about half an inch, it’s just about perfect. When the dick moves down or I’m hard, the cable slides out. When the dick retracts, the cable slides in. I hardly know it’s there. Total cost, less than $5.

Now, the CB6K is absolutely secure. There’s no way whatsoever for me to defeat it, short of cutting the wire and then pulling out. Since I’m only at day two of my current stint, I haven’t felt that urge to claw at the device yet, but I can already feel little electric thrills run through me when I stop and consider there’s no way to get it off.

Yeah, that’s hot.

Montreal, Part II

Here’s what I think about porn (at least, the porn I like): It’s fantasy. An escape. Total unreality. Just enough basis in real life so that it’s not outrageous and unbelievable (it needs to be just believable), but honestly not so far removed from a cartoon. Porn is not about the mundane mechanics of how sex should or does work, it’s about turning people on. Porn is not a guide to sex any more than The Lion King is a guide to wildlife. It should be reasonably well-written with all the words spelled correctly and with acceptable grammar. Basically, it shouldn’t look like it was pecked out with one hand (if you know what I mean). That is the standard I have tried to follow as I’ve continued this story.

Please note that the events I’ve depicted here have no basis in any personal experiences, except that Belle and I did once spend a very nice (very vanilla) weekend in Montreal in a room not unlike the one I describe in the story. I am not representing real life here and I am also very clearly not trying to describe some kind of ideal life through fiction. I would not want what happens to the guy in this story to happen to me (not all of it, anyway). Life is life, porn is porn. They are not the same.

Anyway, with that outrageously long preamble out of the way, let’s continue. Last we saw our protagonist, he was bound to a chair, a red dildo up his ass, on display in front of the windows of the hotel room he shared with his wife. Night was beginning to fall. Soon, it would be hard for anyone to miss him…

Continue reading “Montreal, Part II”