Tag: chastity

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When the means become the end

Belle’s last orgasm was Sunday night, so I’m not supposed to be expecting anything until Wednesday night at the earliest. However, the continuing unlocked status of the cock has left me more focused on it than usual. Last night, as Belle was drowsily watching the football game, I was snuggled up against her and slowly dry-humping her leg. Based on a strict reading of the law, I may have been crossing a line, but I was careful to keep my hands off restricted body parts. She was clearly unimpressed with my efforts, however, and it was obvious I wasn’t going to get anything from her.

“Can I mess around with it?” I asked hopefully. Meaning, of course, could I play with her cock.

“Well…be quiet about it.”

Shortly afterward, she was out like a light, but I was on. Tenting the covers over my crotch, I jacked off for 45 minutes by the glow of the TV. I edged myself again and again, though never spilled a drop. Perhaps assisting in this remarkable conservation was the stretchy silicone cock ring I was wearing. It certainly contributed to the erection. After three quarters of an hour of near non-stop stroking, my balls felt twice their normal size and my epididymides were pronounced and swollen (presumably caused by the constriction of the ring). The act of masturbating, once a necessary means to achieve the desired end, is now an end unto itself. Physically, I had the urge to come many times. I felt all the internal mechanisms prime for launch, only for liftoff to be scrubbed again and again. Mentally, though, I was reveling in that space I formerly tried to pass through as quickly as possible. I don’t know that I’ve ever jacked off nearly continuously for 45 minutes (absent any porn) in my life, but I do know that doing so has become just as seductive and habit-forming as when it always ended in a gooey mess. Also, being able to do it with such abandon and in such close proximity to Belle somehow made me feel closer to her and contributed to an overall happy disposition.

This morning, Belle’s Outlook alert box popped up with her day’s meetings and to-do items. Included in that list was a reminder consisting of a single letter – my first initial. Saturday is my next day to orgasm, as chosen by me blindly and randomly. New-found love of endless masturbation aside, I am very excited for the weekend.

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A year of piercedness

Subtitle: In which Thumper overshares regarding his penile piercing.

Susan’s Pet left this in the comments recently:

I just want to remind you that your anniversary of your PA piercing is coming up. I am not saying what you should do, but, you know, giving thanks where thanks are due would be all right.

First things first. How thoughtful of you, remembering like that! It totally would have gone over my head you not said something. Second, I’m not sure where thanks are due (other than to the skilled professional that punched a hole in my urethra to begin with and Belle for being OK with letting it happen), but sure, I’m giving them.

I suppose it’s not a bad time to stop and elaborate a bit on what living with a Prince Albert piercing it like. However, I think it’s also worth noting that the one attached to me is not your typical pierced cock. Most notably, of course, is the fact that (especially recently) it’s been safely ensconced in some kind of chastity device for the majority of the time. I suspect normal guys would have slightly different experiences.

So here’s the good stuff.

  • It’s really hot.
  • It’s a beautiful thing.
  • Under the right conditions, it allows for a more secure enforced chastity experience.

 
Of course, the first two points are totally subjective. I think a cock with a thick stainless hoop through the end is incredi-fucking-sexy. Belle, apparently, is OK with it but hasn’t ever let on that she’s as enamored of it as I am. As for the chastity security, as I’ve written fairly extensively, it doesn’t work for me the same way it works for most people (that is, with a cable strung though the hoop outside the tube and affixed by the device’s lock). When the Steelheart comes back with its custom PA fixing, I believe security will be pretty near perfect, but it’s taken me a year of trial and error to figure that out.

Now, the negatives.

  • Peeing is not as straightforward as before. I used to be able to pee through the CB6K at a urinal with a high degree of success, but the extra hole in the dick and the disruption of the stream by the jewelry has forever removed that option. Even when not locked, extra care has to be taken to ensure that the piss doesn’t splash back onto my pants or that a second stream doesn’t get started spraying in an odd direction. The funny thing about piss is, since it’s at your body temperature, you can’t always be sure where it’s going without keeping an eye on it. I’ve become fairly adept at successfully using a urinal (while unlocked, of course), but, just like border patrolling, the order of the day is “constant vigilance”. While we’re on the subject, I can also report that another quirky aspect of peeing while pierced is that separate streams can form from each hole (mostly through the natural one, of course) and the new hole is positioned perfectly to douse my scrotum when I’m sitting down. The way to avoid that is pretty much the same thing I do when standing up. By placing my finger behind the hole and pushing a bit of foreskin against the piercing, it will usually block the hole enough to make the stream just a steady drip. Now you know more than you ever wanted about the urination habits of Prince Albert.
  • On the relatively rare occasions I’ve had to masturbate with the ring in, I’ve found that it’s pretty easy to aggravate the tissue around and inside the urethra. For a long time, I assumed that this would go away in time as the flesh toughened up, but as Belle’s aggressive milking demonstrated just the other night, it appears to be a permanent risk. It’s entirely possible, I suppose, that a guy with a more normal masturbation schedule (or, for that matter, more plentiful opportunities to use his cock in any number of ways I can’t) would find the discomfort subsiding eventually, but that guy’s not me by a long shot. I find that if I leave my pointer finger more relaxed while masturbating and let it pass over or just graze the ring that the sensation is even more enjoyable than before I was pierced, but if I attempt to jack off the old fashioned way (all five fingers evenly grasping), I’m asking for trouble. Since the piercing healed, I haven’t experienced any discomfort from fucking, but then again, I also can’t say being pierced has significantly improved that sensation.

 
Currently, I mostly wear a 4ga trapped-ball ring. I started out at 8ga, slipped back to 10ga due to an unfortunate accident, then clicked up to 6ga for quite a while. I don’t think I’ll go above 4ga. I think anything bigger would look out of proportion. The thickness of 4ga is just about perfect, IMO.

After ten HNThumpers, I’ve never actually shown “the full monty”, as it were. I’ve shown the 6ga ring in detail, I’ve shown the cock obscured and distorted and secured (twice), but in trying to respect the “half nekkid” part of the HNT, I’ve never shown you the entire package in a straightforward way. Until today. I figure, after writing in nearly 900 words about my PA piercing, it’s only fair to let you take a peek. So here you go. Obviously, NSFW.

In balance, I have to say after my first year of piercedness that I’m happy I did it. It can be a bit of a pain causing complications and discomfort, but at the end of the day, I find it so hot that it’s totally worth living with the negative consequences.

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I am not dead!

Anyone who’s read this blog for a while knows that extended periods of quiet are signs of alarm. Not unlike a collie bursting into the room and barking like mad (which might lead you to look around for young Timmy, whose absence would then cause you to run off to check the local well/abandoned mine). In any event, I haven’t posted because a) there wasn’t all that much to talk about for a bit, and b) there were, in fact, issues.

The issues are basically the same we’ve gone over before and involve the fact that my internal submission engine requires a certain level of sexual frustration to remain engaged. Belle left for NYC immediately following my last post, which was fine because our sex the night before was outstandingly frustrating. However, for a variety of reasons, we didn’t do much of anything sexual from the time she got back through the next weekend. In addition, she wasn’t giving me any tasks to perform or otherwise flexing her domination over me (and, in fact, did several things I told her I’d be happy to do for her). By the time Sunday night rolled around and she fell asleep while watching the Vikings collapse in front of a national audience, my tank was full of fumes.

I laid there, listening to her sleep, and calmly thought through where we were. I, certainly, was not feeling it. She, it appeared, wasn’t feeling it. Not only that, she didn’t seem to have any desire to bring it back (and, of course, by “it” I mean our D/s dynamic). I wasn’t really mad or full of despair or anything like that. It seemed normal that after a year or so of messing around with this and after a several month period where she left me locked in a chastity device pretty much 24/7 that maybe the one or both of us would get our fill. I really wanted out of the CB6K. Once I felt I wasn’t being denied as much as detained, the bloom was off. Also, since living with the Steelheart for a while and even the chrome CB6K, the old clear CB6K is only barely erotic for me (and her, I think).

So, long story kinda but not really short, I decided to propose a break the next day. By “break” I meant no device, I can come whenever I want, I’m not submissive. At least for a while. Until we both wanted it back. That was the idea, anyway. Turns out, when I said it, she took it pretty hard. What seemed to me a logical extension of how we were living, to her, was a rebuke of sorts. I didn’t mean it that way and didn’t expect her to take it the way she did, but there it was. She gave me the key on Monday morning but was also obviously distressed to do so, so I gave it back to her and said we’d discuss it that night when we had a chance to talk.

Monday night came around and she removed the lock. I was very happy to be facing the prospect of taking it off, but it was still obvious to me that she was unhappy about it. She said it made her feel like she didn’t own the cock anymore. That wasn’t my intention. Really, all I wanted to do was take it out for a spin. Laying there, device still on but unlocked, and against what I wanted, I suggested she put the lock back on. She declined. I offered again. She declined again. Soon, I was practically begging her to put the lock back on. The deliciousness of the situation (me, begging to be relocked even though I really wanted out) was not lost on me and I found myself forcibly holding the device together as it strained against my erection. I finally told her to replace the lock just for the night. Whatever she wanted to do the next day, we’d do. Obviously, the device and the control it represents has developed into a potent symbol between us.

Next day, she let me out. Her period had just started, so she said we’d do the opposite of what’s normal and I’d be unlocked until she was done bleeding. However, we were not going to be on a full break. I was not allowed to come without her permission. I really did want an orgasm (more to the point, I wanted a whole fucking lot of them), but wanting out wasn’t the same as wanting to be out from under her control. Feeling full and unencumbered erections was, I admit, glorious. I also admit to doing what came naturally with those erections, though I never went all the way to the logical conclusion.

Last night, Belle started giving the cock some pleasant attention (mixed in with occasional and random strikes to the balls). It got hard again, really hard, and I wasn’t sure which I wanted more: the nice cock contact or the ball hitting. I rolled over and got onto all fours and she started to milk me like a cow. I closed my eyes and zoned out on the sensation of her hand moving over the hard cock. It didn’t take too long for me to start feeling the tickle of an orgasm bubbling up. I warned her, asking if she wanted me to come. She said I could.

Because I’m me, I didn’t think, “Oh, fuck, YES!” I thought, “Oh shit, not on the sheets!” I cupped my hand under the end of the cock just in time to catch the spurts, but doing so took my eye off the ball just long enough that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the orgasm. Regardless, I really liked it. I wiped my hand off on my balled-up underwear, curled into her, and almost immediately fell deeply asleep, heavy scent of ejaculate hanging over the bed.

This morning, the PA piercing kinda hurts. She was pretty rough on the cock and the ring flopped around with a lot of force. I’m totally feeling it today, along with the normal post-orgasmic rush of additional horniness. One orgasm never seems to get it all out.

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New rule

Belle’s instituted a new rule. Turns out, she occasionally wants me to be more sexually assertive than the personage respecting protocols allow. I have tried to contain my urges to jump her bones out of deference to her position but apparently a girl likes to be a little more aggressively pursued. Unless she doesn’t. Since my mind-reading powers leave a lot to be desired, she’s created some guidelines for me to follow.

  • I am not allowed to come on to her within 72 hours of her last orgasm. She, of course, is still free to instigate something, but I’m to respect her personage for at least three days after she comes.
  • On the third night, I can try to seduce her (including putting my hands in places they aren’t normally allowed to go), but if she tells me she’s not interested I need to withdraw immediately and wait until the next day to make another move (or however long she prefers).

 
We started the first 72 hour clock that night. Contrary to popular opinion, people do have sex on Thanksgiving. As we went to bed, Belle brought out the key and let me out. It had been a long time since she had made use her cock, but I was oddly confident that I wouldn’t ruin the event with an unauthorized release. Since she was so hot for it, the whole adventure was over in about ten minutes. I never got close to coming, even though she was talking filth towards the end and that’s usually a sure-fire way to push me over the edge. Instead of baseball, I focused on work. Decidedly unsexy. In any event, she had a terrific time. Afterward, she allowed me to enter her and I did the old-fashioned “me on top” routine. Just like the old days, except I didn’t come of course. She allowed me to stay unlocked for the rest of the weekend, as long as I promised to behave (which, more or less, I did).

Last night, the 72 hour window opened. Combined with her leaving this morning for another work trip (this time only four days and only as far as NYC), I was highly expectational of getting the meat wet again before seeing it relocked for her absence. As soon as the TV went off and I turned to face her, I knew she wasn’t in the mood to fuck me. There was zero angst on my part and I would have been perfectly happy to simply roll over and go to sleep if that’s what she wanted, but I offered up Pink, her favorite vibrator, as an alternative. Turns out, she did want that, so I hopped out of bed, unwanted boner bobbing before me, to get her little plastic friend.

I started to prep her in the usual manner (licking her nipples, fingering her clit, etc.) and ruminated over the fact that my unlocked, rock hard, 100% available member was being neglected in favor of a this remarkable piece of technology. In the past, I might have been miffed, but the entire point of this exercise was her pleasure and the tool she preferred that night happened not to be the biocock. She knew I wanted her to fuck me, but she also knew what she wanted. I can’t say how happy it makes me that she picked it over me.

As usual, the little vibe that could brought her to a shuddering orgasm (repleat with rapid-fire exclamations of “Oh, fuck!”). As she basked, I was torn by the desire to feel myself inside her again and letting her continue to drive the event.

Eventually, I whispered tentatively into her ear, “Can I go inside you?”

I felt very much like I was intruding into her moment and I half expected her to say no. In retrospect, maybe she should have. But she didn’t. After a few more glowing moments, I climbed up and entered her hot wetness.

I quickly found myself within a hair’s breadth of coming. I looked into her eyes, deeply beseeching. I wanted to come so, so bad. Had she given me the word, it only would have taken another half stroke to pass the point of no return. But the word never came. She looked back at me and smiled.

“I’m very close to coming,” I admitted.

“Then you need to get out,” she calmly replied. It tore at me to do so, but I slowly withdrew and, on my knees between her legs, laid my head on her stomach, supplicating my desire to continue before her feminine will.

I rolled over onto my back next to her, panting, wet cock standing straight out. It throbbed with aching desire and, against any logic, I flexed it in an attempt to gain just a little more sensation. After a few moments, though, it started to lower, even as I tried to will it into continued erection. The heavy PA ring pulled the head down against my body and the rest of the shaft pulsed just a little lower with each beat of my heart. Eventually, it was still plump with blood but had lost its stiffness. The buzzing, conflicting desire racing through me started to subside. Impossibly, considering the intensity of my feelings just a few minutes before, I started to feel an almost post-orgasmic serenity descend over me. I was horny as hell, but started to feel sleepy. Content.

Facing her, I said, “Thank you so much. Thank you for letting me bring you to orgasm, thank you for letting me fuck you. Thank you for stopping me. Thank you so much.” My heart was brimming with devotion, affection, and love for her.

Then, we slept.

This morning, she put me back in the old CB6K. It’s a good thing, too, because I know I’m weak and, in my current condition, the temptation to play with her cock would be all-consuming. I am exactly as I should be. Totally and completely under her control.

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Moving right along

I’ve exchanged a few emails with Dietmar at Steelworxx. Not only is he making me a new and smaller A-ring, but he’s also working up a custom PA fixing. It’s similar to the regular one, except mine will run continuously from one post to the other (in a long U-shape) and be open on top (so it can be run through the PA ring). It won’t maintain the PA ring’s position at the bottom of the tube, but it will make it impossible (with the right ring) to fully remove the cock from the tube. It’s the same idea as the PA wire I fixed up a little while back, except in steel. It’ll look a little less MacGyver, a little more Cyberman.

I told Belle last night that, except for a day or two here and there to heal, she’s had me locked up almost continuously for a month (in three different devices, no less). She didn’t seem to think that was very interesting. Before our Mexico trip, I was locked up for a similar amount of time (though there was a 10 day to 2 week break around the trip, I think). I haven’t counted up the days with any specificity, but it seems like my default condition now is to be locked up with only special occasions where she lets me out. This is a fairly significant escalation over previous months where I’d be secured 50% of the time (or less). It would be 100% now, except for the occasional injuries.

This increased frequency is entirely attributable to Belle. There have been several times recently where, had I been able to choose, I would have stayed out but she was determined to put me in. I now believe she prefers to leave me locked up. All residual guilt or worry or insecurity seems to be gone. A year ago, I would have wanted nothing more. Now that it’s transpired, I have decidedly mixed feelings about it. It’s all good, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I now realize that 1) I really don’t have any control over wearing a device, and 2) it’s left the realm of über hawt fantasy and entered the more mundane world of the every day.

I said yesterday that I was “fully accepting that we’ll only have sex according to her needs.” This, too, is slightly different than my previous outlook. Before, I’d say something like I was “fully accepting that she controls our sex” and that’d be true, but adding the nuance that not only was she controlling it, but that it was only happening when she needed it is a new way of looking at it for me. Maybe I’ve talked around this before without knowing it or maybe it’s been assumed by my readers, but saying to one’s self that “I want sexual relief, but she’s not letting me have it” is very different than “I want sexual relief, but she doesn’t, so I’m not getting any.” A lot of this wraps back into the idea that my sexuality has been subsumed into hers, I guess. I’m sure I’m not saying it very well, but I think it’s amazing that even after more than year of playing around with this that it continues to evolve.

Last night, we tossed and turned quite a bit. She was dealing with jet lag while I was dealing with arousal. At one point, I wanted to wrap around her and feel the hard plastic press into her ass, but she was facing me and spooning a pillow. I couldn’t get a good vector and eventually rolled over to face the other direction. The cock was really hard, not because of any routine physiological reason, but because I was fucking horny. I wanted her so bad, but what “want” means I cannot say. My stifled needs and desires burned in my chest. And, I have to admit, it felt good.

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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!

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Pictures don’t lie

Attached, please find photographic evidence that, following a brief recuperative period, I have reestablished the secured state required by my Belle Fille prior to her leaving for the other side of the world.

Security was reestablished at approximately 7:00 PM CST, November 20, 2009.

That is all.

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Technical difficulties

Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
Benjamin: Just how do you mean that, sir?

The past few days, I’ve been having issues. Specifically, odd feelings from inside the tube of the chrome CB6K. Pinching, sensitivity, soreness, etc. Belle had left the key in the house, but hidden, so I couldn’t really see what the deal was (the tube being all metallically reflective and all), but I felt I had the situation in hand (so to speak).

Early this morning, I awoke to an intense itchiness. It was driving me up the fucking wall. Down on the right side of the shaft, just above the head, it itched like a motherfucker. I’ve had the occasional isolated itch before, but nothing like this. Had the Geneva Convention considered enforced male chastity, itchiness of this magnitude would have been banned by all civilized nations.

I sent an email to Belle who I figured might be getting ready for bed on her side of the planet saying, in short, I need that key. Every day so far that she’s been gone, she’s called at about 7:00 AM while the kids were getting ready for school, but not today. Of course, not today. And no response to my email. I proceeded to turn the house over looking for that key. Good news, I suppose, is she didn’t leave it in any of her previous hiding places. Regardless, after a short while, I lucked-out and found the key inside a thing in a drawer in the kitchen. As quickly as possible, I was in her bedroom, pulling the device from my body.

Besides the itchy patch, I can see at least three other spots where the skin has been irritated and rubbed raw. In addition, there’s another of those weird little penis pimple things forming on the glans. Basically, the inside of the chrome tube is just not finished very well. There’s apparent overspray from the painting process that, as I mentioned right after I got it, leaves the interior unacceptably rough for long-term wear. A day or three doesn’t seem to be an issue, but I’m going on a week and a half now and the damage has been done. Besides the roughness, it also continues to rub color onto my skin turning it black in spots (and, apparently, causing penis pimples).

Yeah, real fucking sexy.

Were I not damaged, I’d put the old clear tube back on and try to forget about the key. The Steelheart is winging its way back to the Fatherland for a smaller ring, so it’s no help. In any event, I’m in no condition to be packing plastic at the moment. Maybe in a few days, but not now. Funny thing is, I may as well still be locked up since, in its current state, playing with the damned thing would be too painful.

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Calibrating

Reader BT left the following thoughtful comment to my last post:

The malaise is a normal part of the progression of a real Female Dominated relationship. We males are always “on” when it comes to sex. Always the reaction is “Why not?” when the possibility of sexual activity comes along. Women are generally “off.” Their reaction is generally “Why now?” when faced with sexual possibility. By handing over the control of the sexual activity in your relationship to your wife you are naturally going to find yourself subjected to periods of “drought.” It’s a female thing.

But as it turns out that you can find that you actually can enjoy some aspects of it. It is during the times when the focus isn’t on the sexual in your relationship that it can be on deeper personal attachments between the two of you. More on your devotion and trust and caring and mutual support of one another. And that can be very fulfilling and satisfying. That probably doesn’t seem like crazy-talk to the gals reading this comment, but it might seem like it to the guys.

In addition, after having your wife in control of sex for awhile your body learns to react in new ways. There will be times when your “big” brain is saying “Man is she looking hot. I really want to have some sort of sexual contact with her!” while your other “brain” seems to know that there is no possibility of that occurring and so doesn’t bother to rise to the occasion.

Don’t sweat it. (the malaise and the slight ED) It is all part of the process and a good sign that you are happily progressing along this path together. At times like these concentrate on trying to do considerate and thoughtful and romantic things for the one you love. You don’t realize it yet, but you have been emancipated from the chains of always seeing everything through the lense of sexuality, and because of that you are free to enjoy pure romance and love in ways you probably never have experienced before.

Go Thumper, GO!

While formulating my response, I realized it might go on for a while and figured a full-blown post would be more appropriate (because maybe everyone doesn’t read comments). Also, Belle told me in an email from Hong Kong that she “really liked” what BT said, so it’s relative importance has been elevated.

First, I will pick a nit with something BT said regarding how I’ve given Belle control over sexual activity in our relationship. In fact, she always had control over sexual activity in our relationship, from the first time we did it straight on through to the wedding night until today. The only real change in the last year is that I can no longer guilt her into giving me some. She pretty much does exactly what she wants when she wants, as is her right as outlined in our Covenant.

What I’ve actually given over to her is the cock. She now controls what I do with it at all times, not just when we’re having sex. When I can touch it, when I can see it, and of course when it gets to come. The net result of this is that our sexualities have melded – mine into hers. I no longer have the ability to achieve any kind of sexual release on my own. Everything has to go through her.

I’ve struggled with that because I feel as though my sexual identity disappeared into her somewhere. We still inhabit two bodies, but sexually we are one – and not the one who wants to do it all the time. Maybe I’m mourning the end of my separate, distinctly male sexuality. Maybe I’m having a hard time fitting her female sexual motor onto my male engine mounts. Maybe, as she’s suggested, I’m just feeling sorry for myself.

The upshot of this, though, is that a great deal of the tension between what I want and what I get went away. That tension powers all the other stuff, to a certain extent. I agree with BT that I should focus on being considerate and romantic during these slow periods, but at least for the past month or so, I only felt the wind flutter out of my sails. I lost my sexual North and she didn’t really give me a new one to replace it – a point to sail towards.

The bright spot in all this is I don’t feel any resentment or anger. I did feel that when we started down this path (a hang-over from feeling it for the better part of the last ten years), but not recently. Not really at all. Angst, sure. But that’s very different than stewing over her perceived neglect. I completely accept her control over my sex and really don’t want things to be any other way (and neither does she). So maybe BT’s right and this is all just “part of the process”. If so, I’d like to move on to the next part, please.

And maybe I already have. I don’t feel at all like I did before she left. I’m actually kind of horny again and feeling the familiar tremulous anticipation of something I’m not going to get. I can’t say I understand all the levers or that living as the s to her D has been easy, but I can say we’re both in this for the long haul. We’re going to make it work.

Practice makes perfect.

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Still alive

While I can’t say the malaise has been shaken off, it has been given a good kick. Yesterday, the last full day before Belle went away for a week to Asia, I asked for an orgasm. It’s not that I especially wanted one, but I was at a loss with regard to my continued apathy and saw her impending departure as yet another seven days of sexual vacuum.

As I requested it, I imagined doing myself since she’s on the rag, but as the evening came alone, her fingers found the opening in my pajama bottoms and started to caress the flaccid cock. She did this for quite some time and the damned thing barely twitched. It’d been 23 days since the last orgasm and there she was paying it the most attention it’d seen in two weeks and all it did was lay there. I told her I was worried that I had somehow broken it.

I eventually closed my eyes and really concentrated on the feeling of her fingers on my skin. After a good ten minutes of this, there was life. A few minutes after that, there was a firm plumpness. Then, an honest to god hard-on. Finally.

Her grip was an odd one with most of the stroking being applied to the sides of the erection. She worked on it for what seemed like quite a while and I wondered if she’d ever get me off that way or if all she’d do was get me really, really turned on (and then if that wasn’t just as good as getting off) when I felt the tell-tale tingling and gurgling of the plumbing, deep down inside, rattling and clanging to life. Shortly thereafter, I was coming into her hand in great squirts. My entire consciousness had become that orgasm and as I felt the crest of it wash over me and the spasms start to subside I willed them to continue. Now that I was doing it – finally – I wanted it to go on and on and on. I never wanted to stop.

Today, as she busied herself around the house, I half hoped (OK, more than half) that she’d forget to tell me to get back into the device. She left me out on Friday which was why the meat was so readily available the night before. But, less than a half hour before she left, she told me to get it on. I actually begged to be left out, but she was firm. I was to be locked up. And so I am. I will have been locked into one device or another for all but two days of the previous month by the time she comes back from Asia. At least, as she clicked the lock shut, she thanked me for giving her control over it.

The truth is, I wish it was off. I wish I could be stroking myself right now and I wish I could come. I have a great desire to come. Had she left me out, I’m not sure what I’d have done. Part of me rationalizes that what I need to get my mojo back is a lot of coming. Lots and lots. I need a reset. A reminder of what I’ve been missing. Proof that I still can and still want to. Then again, as I sit and type this, it occurs to me that this desire, the thing I’ve been missing for weeks and weeks, may be my absent mojo after all. Perhaps wanting to come but not being able to marks the beginning of the end of my funk.

Maybe. I suppose only time will tell.