Tag: chastity devices

Posted on

Feeling good

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“Yeah?” We had just climbed into bed and were waiting for the offspring to go to sleep in their bedrooms.

“Sure,” I said, “What exactly are you asking when you ask how I’m feeling?”

“Well, you know, physically, emotionally. I want to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”

I told her that on a macro level, I was doing very well. I was quite happy with everything relationship-wise. I had few complaints. Yes, I was disappointed that we hadn’t been able to have sex over the weekend, but I was really very happy with the way she had handled me the night before. Maybe not so happy about it at the time, but in retrospect, I thought she had been great. I was quite pleased to see her not apparently bothered with any feelings of guilt with regard to ignoring my sexual desire. She admitted to still being torn around that. Lingering feelings that she was acting in a way she should not – that she was being a bad mate – still hung in the air at those moments when I’m at my most pathetic.

I told her I really didn’t want her to feel in any way guilty. I trust that she will provide me attention that’s all about me at some point. I do not feel ignored by her at all. It’s important, though, that she determine the timing of that. Everything has to be on her schedule. (She hadn’t yet read my post from yesterday when we had this conversation.) By asserting her control in that way and leaving me horny and desperate, she was filling a need within me just as much as when she will eventually tell me I can have an orgasm. Different needs, but needs just the same.

She told me, in reply, that she was really quite enjoying leaving me locked up now. A few times, she thought of letting me out so she could have her way with her cock, but had actually liked the idea of leaving it locked away, completely under her control, even better. The mind fuck, she said, was more appealing to her than the actual fuck. I, of course, melted inside and got all warm when I heard her say those things. I jokingly accused her of telling me that because she knew how much I wanted to hear it, but she said no, it was really what she was feeling. I made the mistake of asking her, in rapid succession, if she had thought about how long she was going to leave me in, would she make me wear it on a trip I’m going to take in a few weeks, and, lastly, when would she let me out? All, more or less, the same question. As soon as it was all done running out of my mouth, I told her not to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. She agreed, I shouldn’t have asked.

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Luckily, she wanted some attention from me. By this time, the kids were apparently asleep, so she told me I was going to make her come and then we were going to bed. I used my hand and mouth in the way proven to bring her to orgasm the quickest. Nothing unusual or particularly striking, except she was very sensitive to my touch after her longish orgasm drought. She came right on schedule.

Later, I was feeling decidedly non-eunuch-like. Whatever moment of zen had worked its way into me earlier had been blown away by feeling her pulsing contractions on my fingertips. I was really, really fucking horny and totally unable to sleep. I laid there for at least an hour and a half, visions of sex and fantastic scenarios flashing though my head, edited together like a music video. The cock swelled as much as it could and started to flex automatically in its confinement. But something felt…different.

I realized, after all this time, after maybe a year of complicated feelings regarding the act of orgasm, that right then (and, actually, right now), I wanted to come. I wanted to fuck and come and spew forth. Her recent confidence in dominating me coupled with her admission that she liked leaving me chastised and the aforementioned 20-some days without release all finally built up in me and I wanted to come. This was the feeling of being truly denied. Not humored. Not accommodated. Denied. It was a supremely frustrated feeling. It’s a very difficult feeling. But, I do admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Posted on

The hard part

I can’t even remember the last time Belle let me give her an orgasm. Seriously. Looking back at the blog, it may have been ten days ago. That’s a whole long time for a guy like me. I assumed I’d get to give her some homestyle bunny lovin’ this weekend, but she had a bunch of work to do and was too uptight about it all on Saturday and just wasn’t much in the mood Sunday. So, yeah, ten whole days. And counting.

Last night, laying next to her as she was trying to get to sleep, was maybe the hardest thing I’ve done since ceding complete control over our sex to her. I wanted it so bad. And by “it”, I mean her. I wanted to touch her and smell her and taste her and feel her pleasure radiate from my hands or mouth or her cock or whatever. But, you know, it’s not for me. It’s for her. She decides. She chooses when it happens. And I just wait until she’s ready.

Don’t misunderstand me. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I know how I’m supposed to act now. I can’t paw all over her, I’m not supposed to bring it up or try to force it on her, and above all, I am not to be moody or pissy or in any way express my dissatisfaction with the arrangement. That’s the deal. I am submissive to her. I know. I need to focus on those things I can do to make her happier, not the other way around. But damn, laying there stewing in my hormone encrusted state, naked except for the device, and not doing anything about it…geeze, they just don’t teach this stuff in school, you know?

On the positive side, while I wasn’t doing too good of a job hiding the state I was in (though the damned plastic did a fine job of concealing the erection), she didn’t seem at all perturbed by my condition. I think she may have acknowledged it in some small way, but she didn’t show any guilt or seem to feel any angst and, above all, made no move to resolve my issue. She was tired, I was horny – so what else is new?

And that was awesome. Just awesome. I really and truly felt my role. While in the past, my frustration led me to act out in ways inconsistent with our arrangement, I was somehow able to turn my frustration around and use it to feed my submission. I craved her attention so much it almost hurt, but, at the same time, I was able to identify that near-hurt as a direct byproduct of how I want us to be. I was not the injured, piqued, ignored husband stewing in resentment. I was the unused tool. The horse left in the stable. The locked-up, denied, sofuckinghorny guysub who knew his place and who bloody well kept his hands to himself and went to sleep like she told him to.

I am, in fact, just where I want to be and I’m glad to finally have the sense to recognize it.

Posted on

Birthday presents

Belle’s back and the world is right again. We were both pretty tired last night (she from getting up early for her flight, me from getting about seven hours of sleep since she left), so nothing of consequence happened other than I got to lay with her, spoon into her, be naked around her, etc. When you’re in my position, you glean what you can from what you get.

Even though I was totally exhausted and I felt the kind of contentment her presence always brings to me, I still had a hard time falling fully asleep. The weather is more humid and warm than it has been, and that contributed, but I just couldn’t get to the point where the buzzing in my head finally succumbed to the fuzzy blanket of sleep. I’m sure her hand resting on the top of my naked, uncovered ass had something to do with that. I was sort of half dozing for I don’t even know how long, well after she was totally out. The cock kept swelling up inside the device at random intervals and I once again experienced its autonomic rhythmic pulsing as though it was trying to pump out the contents of my swollen prostate.

For those of you keeping score at home, tomorrow will be three weeks since I last came.1 Three weeks where nary a drop has escaped me. Driving around today, I swear I can feel it in there. The pressure from sitting on the firm seat in my truck and the vibration from the engine and road worked together to pinpoint the area under my perineum that feels plump and overly sensitive. This morning, as I went about my business getting her coffee, bringing her the paper, etc., I found gobs of clear, sticky fluid leaking from the end of the tube.

The right tool for the jobWith that condition in mind, and also thinking about her statement that I would relive that pressure though milking rather than ruined orgasms (not that I could ruin an orgasm with this thing on me), I started to release some of the money I collected on my birthday and bought a specialty tool from Stockroom.com. It’s called the G-force and it’s a hard silicone dildo with a handle on one end and a bulbous knot on the other. It’s specifically designed for reaching those hard-to-get-to spots. I have a few different items (one, two) designed to stimulate the prostate, but I find they’re hard to manipulate in tight quarters. I like the look of the G-force’s Kung-Fu grip. Usually, I play with the toys I already have all alone, but I’m hoping that the G-force will prove easy and effective enough that Belle will use it on me. More and more lately, anything I do of a sexual nature by myself feels inappropriate with respect to our arrangement.

I picked up a few other things, too. One was a heavy steel ball stretcher that I’ve kinda sorta been obsessed with for a long time now. It comes in two halves which screw together with an allen wrench and pulls down on the testes with over a pound of weight. I’ve played around with suspending weight from by balls in the past, so I know I can take it for at least a little while. For me, this has been one of those objects I’ve just been unable to stop looking at. So, you know, perfect thing to blow some birthday money on. I also got a pair of black Japanese clover clamps, but they’re on back-order.

The other thing I got, even against the assuredly correct advice of Tom, is a replacement for the cracking and soon to fail CB6K we’ve had for almost a year now. I considered a stainless steel model, but eventually decided to go with another CB6K since doing so would leave me extra cash to blow on other objects of perversion. While I could have just replaced the tube, I instead went for the chrome-looking device. I like the shiny appearance, like the idea of it hiding the cock away from view, and I like that the other parts are black, not white. I’ve never been a huge fan of the clear and white parts. It’s makes the device look almost clinical or something.

With the exception of the nipple clamps, it should all arrive by Tuesday. Now I need to figure out what I’m going to tell people when they ask what I spent my birthday loot on.

—

1 When I mentioned to her that I up against three weeks (and my record, BTW), Belle would only say I had “a while to go yet” before I could come again. I have a feeling I’m not even half way there. ↩

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.

*whimper*

Finally, “No. Don’t ever stop.”

Posted on

Silent running

One of the unfortunate side-effects of having a PA piercing is that, when sporting the plastic chastity tube, the stainless steel jewelery I wear tends to knock around in there. The 6ga segment ring isn’t as bad as the curved barbell with the ball on the end. That combo acts like a bell with the ball on the barbell being the clapper. CLANKITY, CLANKITY, CLANKITY as I walk down the hall. As I said, the segment ring is better, but can still, depending on the condition of the little slab of meat it’s been punched through, make what can be a difficult to explain noise when padding around the house in one’s jammies.

With this in mind, I recently ordered an acrylic ball-enclosed ring. The idea was that the plastic wouldn’t resonate against the tube as noisily as the hard metal does. The ring itself it much lighter than the metal, unsurprisingly, and the ball pops in and out of the flexible ring easily making the ring feel not so much like jewelery as it does a piece from a LEGO model. Also, it doesn’t seem to want to move around easily through the piercing. The stainless usually glides smoothly through the hole while the plastic tends to move in fits and spurts and drags against my skin. In any event, this isn’t that big of a deal since, when worn within the CB6K, it has been practically silent. I haven’t heard any sound from down there whatsoever. The ball enclosure is too big to fit through the slot at the end of the tube, so when hard, there’s a definite “coach class” crowdedness in there, but nothing at all painful or especially problematic.

Also helping on the noise front is the black Master lock I’m wearing. Typically, I place a small felt self-adhesive pad on the back of my other metal locks to help keep down the clankiness, but the Master lock has a black plastic shell and seems to fit more snugly though the hole in the CB6K’s locking pin. Less movement combined with a deadened impact means even quieter operation.

Next time I’m tapped to sneak up on someone ninja-style, I will do so confidently knowing that my chastity device won’t unexpectedly clank and blow my cover.

Posted on

Eight

Belle and I headed north Friday to retrieve our children from their end-of-summer extended stay with the grandparents. The drive is about four hours and gave us a nice long time to chat. I pointed out to her that it was nearing a year since we started our little experiment and thought it a good time to discuss what’s going well and what we wish was better.

On the plus side, she said she’s happy overall with what we’ve done with our relationship. She likes that I’m more interested in doing things for her, likes that we’re having more sex, and likes locking me into chastity. Her reasons for liking the first two things are fairly straightforward. As for enforcing my chastity, she says she likes the sense of control it gives her. Likes knowing that my actions are limited – what I am (and am not) up to – when wearing it. This, of course, turns me the fuck on. I explained that doing something she tells me to do because she knows it’s what I want makes me feel good, but doing it because it’s something she wants makes it 50 times more exciting for me. I also reiterated to her that being locked up makes me feel cared for by her. Maintained. It demonstrates a willingness on her part to control me.

With regard to the service aspect, I like that she likes that, too. She and I were both turned on the other night when I cleaned the kitchen for her while she visited with her friend (which probably explains why she fucked me afterward). However, I told her I didn’t think I was providing very good service lately. I encouraged her to hold me to higher expectations. Also, there should be ramifications for not living up to those standards.

As for the sex part, I too am very happy with the frequency. On average, I’d say we have sex three or four times a week. A year ago, it was once every six weeks, so big improvement! She’s much more comfortable now being the only one of use who comes during these encounters than she was at the beginning, though she still occasionally struggles with it. I reiterated to her that I am very, very happy having fewer orgasms, but I know it sometimes puts pressure on her. In the past, not having sex led to issues in out marriage, and I think somewhere in the back of her head she still equates my sexual satisfaction with how much I ejaculate, but that’s got nothing to do with it. As I said, we’re having many times more sex now than a year ago, though I’m coming way, way less. Regardless, I’ve never been more satisfied sexually in my life. I’ll make sure to tell her happy I am more often.

The thing I told her I need more of (rather than orgasms) was teasing. She didn’t get what I was trying to say with that, and it occurred to me it is a rather vague term. I meant teasing as in “tease and denial”. Basically, turn me on and then leave me on. Make me hard, do things that might eventually cause me to orgasm, but then stop. She said she’d do more of that.

Finally, we got to the subject of my orgasms. Specifically, the frequency with which they occur. There is a significant amount of angst that builds up around this for both of us (probably more so for me). After talking about a few alternatives, we decided to try an approach that will allow a specific number over the next twelve months but at random intervals. I asked how many she though would be a reasonable amount and, after thinking about it for a while, said eight or nine. While she was thinking, I was too, and also came up with eight. So eight it is.

We’re going to toss into a hat the date of the next 52 Saturdays and I’ll draw eight, but won’t be told what they are. Those will be the dates (within a couple days in either direction) upon which I’ll be allowed to have orgasms. On the plus side, it removes the angst of deciding when I’ll come for both of us. On the minus side, it also removes a significant piece of her control over the spontaneity of those occasions. We’re going to give it a try and see how it goes. If she doesn’t like it, she can always change the rules again.

My only issue now is deciding what to do when I come by accident. It’s going to happen sooner or later. So far, she’s seemed reluctant to punish me (other than that one week when she took away my right to participate in her pleasure). We have a few homebrew crops she could use on me, but so far, she hasn’t. I’m not sure what’s holding her back from using punishment, but it seems to me to be an integral part of power exchange – that she has the right to punish me while I’ve little choice but to accept it. That really works for me, but maybe not so much for her.

So anyway, she started her period today, so that means I’m back in the device. We’ve fallen back to the black Master locks as the sharp little brass lock corroded last time I wore it. The Masters don’t seem prone to that. Too bad they’re so bulky and kinda ugly (and say “Master” on them – they’d be so much better if they said “Mistress”, don’t you think?).

Posted on

Out for the weekend

Saturday morning, Belle says to me, “We’re going to have sex in a few minutes after I have a little more coffee.”

“And what do you mean when you say ‘sex’?” At that point, I was wearing a chastity device still brimming with morning enthusiasm.

“The normal kind. I’m going to unlock you because I want to have my cock.”

“OK,” I replied. Sounds good to me, I thought.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked. I guess we’re still in communication mode following last weekend’s issues.

“I’m fine with it. Do you want me to come?”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you come.”

Silence.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means, given a choice, I’d rather you have a point of view on the matter. Even if you don’t, I’d like you to say you do. It doesn’t really work for me if you don’t care one way or the other.”

We’ve had this conversation before, but apparently she forgot. She decided I would not get to come. I offered to go clean up from my week or so’s imprisonment and she got the key while I pulled down the covers and exposed the device. She fiddled with it.

“It won’t go in,” she said.

“What do you mean it won’t go in?”

“The key. It won’t go in.”

“Are they the right keys?”

“They’re the only little keys I have.”

“Here, let me try,” I offered.

I took the little key and lined it up with the keyhole. It wouldn’t go in. I turned the key around. No dice. They were the right keys, but for some reason, they weren’t fitting into the lock. A mild wave of panic came over me.

I tried forcing the key, but it’s just a little wisp of a thing and I was afraid of breaking it in the keyhole. After some consistent pressure, it slowly slid into place and, begrudgingly, turned. The lock popped open. The little brass lock with the sharp edges – the lock that originally came with the CB6K – had corroded.

With the lock open, I went and removed all the polycarbonate from her cock, cleaned it up, and shaved off the stray little hairs I couldn’t get to with the device in place. I walked back into her bedroom.

“Wow,” she laughed, “it looks so different like that!”

She wanted “normal” sex meaning I got on top and fucked her. I spent some time working her with my fingers hoping to get the ball rolling a little before I was expected to give her an orgasm with the cock that wasn’t allowed to come. She was good and wet by the time I put the cock in her, but I kept my mind on other things and my tongue on her nipples, trying not to hear the sounds of ecstasy she was making as I stroked in and out of her. As I pondered the Dodger’s playoff chances and whether or not it would be better for them to be playing as the division leaders or from the wild card spot, I noticed her breathing and sounds of pleasure begin to indicate she was getting closer to our objective.

“Deep, Thumper!” she yelled, “Deeper!”

Obediently, I fucked her more deeply, driving the cock all the way in as far as I could. Her approaching orgasm was the freight train while mine was the little roadster racing for the railroad crossing. Either she was going to cross first, sending me smashing into oblivion, or I’d get there first and sneak one in right in front of her. I was rooting for her.

She started to come and, as soon as I knew she was well over the falls, stopped all motion hoping and holding my breath against the orgasm I knew was astonishingly close. Regardless, I felt the cock start to pump its payload into her, but without the motion, missed the full sensation of a normal orgasm. Laying next to her afterward, I felt myself somewhere in between a real orgasm and a ruined one. I sort of half came.

A little while later, I was at my workbench putting several drops of 3-In-One into the keyhole. When it leaked back out, it was brown with rust. I put more oil in it and worked the lock until it felt smooth and easy. That oil came back out clear.

The rest of the day found us shopping, going to a movie and then to dinner, enjoying our time without kids (they’re with the in-laws all week up north). Our plan was to watch another movie at home, but soon after we got in the house, she informed me we were going to have sex again.

In bed and naked, I started to rub my face against her body through her pajamas. I worked my way down until my face was between her legs, kissing and biting with my lips the soft warmth of her pussy behind the thin fabric. I buried my nose in her, deeply inhaling her essence and felt the cock harder than it had been in a long time. I pulled her bottoms down and started to devour her, licking and sucking at her clit, rubbing my nose and face in her juices. I may have “half come” earlier in the day, but it had done little to lessen my arousal.

I changed my position so that I could reach up with both hands and play with her nipples, leaving my face deeply planted in her snatch and the hard cock grinding into the mattress. I was hungry for her pussy and it, apparently, was hungry for my tongue as her hips were bucking and her juices were flowing freely, running down my chin. Her eventual orgasm seemed much more powerful than the one from the morning and she clamped onto my head with her thigh muscles, forcing my nose and mouth into her and cutting off my oxygen. She was coming hard, so I kept my tongue in motion as her legs painfully pressed against the sides of my head.

I couldn’t breath, my tongue was cramping in effort, and sharp pains were shooting through my jaws as she squeezed me, but the orgasm was remarkable. I could feel it. Its energy radiated out of her pussy and into me, filling every corner of my body with its power. Her orgasm was our orgasm, and it felt deeply satisfying.

She finally released me and I laid with my head on her inner thigh, face still close to her pussy, panting and feeling her orgasm ringing within me. This feeling of attachment to her pleasure is one of the most satisfying side-effects of orgasm denial. Somehow, her sexual satisfaction can transfer to me leaving me feeling a kind of post-orgasmic high, though doing nothing to diminish my arousal.

I moved back up towards her face wanting to be closer while we basked in the afterglow. I was careful to move the cock so it pointed down and lay against her labia instead of accidentally entering her. After a few moments, she told me I could go inside her, though not come, of course. I hadn’t expected this and wasn’t prepared. The cock was already losing its stiffness in the aftermath of the orgasm she had just had, but I ran its head up and down her outer lips and it was ready for action after just a few seconds.

And then I fucked her. I fucked her and fucked her. Like an animal. All there was in the entire world was her pussy and the cock that was plowing it and I wanted to keep doing it forever. I started to grunt with every downstroke and felt myself nearly get lost in the action. A thin tendril of control was all I had to pull myself back from the edge, just a few strokes short of orgasm. I slowed, but tried not to stop. I felt the orgasm retreat, but not my desire to fuck her into a quivering puddle. The driving male need to fuck fought with me. I withdrew from her, placing me face against her stomach, and I felt the power of my desire buckle under the weight of her absolute control. The animal within howled in protest and I moved back up, trying to get back inside her.

“That’s all you get, Thumper,” she said. From deep inside, I started a low, long moan of anguish. Not in protest of her decision, but from the agony of my internal conflict. I would not feel her heat wrap around me again.

Later, I laid with my face against her chest and fell asleep with remarkable ease. Happy, horny, and satisfied.