Tag: cuckold

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Cluck cluck, cuck

There are a few basic facts that have led me to a place in my life where I want Belle to cuck me.

  1. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has kicked into hyperdrive my natural submissive nature of seeking sexual pleasure and satisfaction for Belle without regard to my own. Effectively, my pleasure and satisfaction has been replaced with hers.
  2. Belle likes to be fucked. And her preference regarding the cock that fucks her is one that’s thicker/bigger than the one I can offer when I’m not locked up.
  3. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has destroyed my sexual stamina. When I’m allowed to fuck her, I ejaculate in approximately 90 seconds.

Basically, she deserves to have the kind of sex she enjoys and I want her to have it. It’s as simple as that.

Or is it?

Thing is, there are other factors. Factors I’m sure any other guy with a cuck fantasy can relate to. I just cannot imagine anything hotter than the image of her getting fucked by another guy better than I can fuck her. Her enjoying the cock of another guy more than she enjoys mine. The other guy knowing she’s with him because I don’t measure up to her needs or exceptions like he does. The feelings imagining such an event are intensely, intoxicatingly, surreally potent to me. My ultimate sexual fantasy is, in essence, that my wife have the best fuck of her life and for it not to be from me.

And the reality of that comes into conflict with the first point above. Her pleasure and satisfaction is more important than mine. But in this case, my fantasy is so powerful that it clouds my judgment. Tricks me into thinking or behaving in ways that are actually about me and what I want instead of her and what she wants.

I mention this because the other day, when I was away on a work trip, Belle travelled to meet a guy she’s been communicating with for some time. There was the possibility that she’d fuck him and I had somehow found a way to kind of block the potentiality of that from my mind for the several months I’ve known about it. But then the fateful weekend came and it started to consume me. Pretty much every moment my thoughts weren’t engaged elsewhere, they went to what Belle was doing or about to do or had done. Images in my head of the things I want. And the constant tempering of those fantasies with the reality that she had told me nothing was for certain and that they may only hang out a bit and have a meal, etc.

The night of their meeting, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t contain my cuck anxiety. I kept looking at her location on my phone and trying to discern things from it. Was she moving? Was she someplace different than before? Was that where she said she was staying or was it somewhere else? I’d go from imagining all kinds of explicit things that made me tight as fuck to the exact opposite where they met and it went horribly for some reason. I found myself in a spot I have never been before. A position I can’t even think of a word for. I was worried about her encounter and wanted it to be as enjoyable as made sense for her with no negativity or downside but I was 100% unable to do a damned thing. Had no control or influence over it. She really was outside our dynamic as a couple and I couldn’t help at all, though I wanted to, badly.

When I first encountered the concept of being cuckolded online it was one of those things that scared me because of how powerfully my body reacted to the notion. And how taboo the idea was based on literally everything our culture beats into us from the moment of our birth regarding how loving relationships are supposed to work. And in those early days, when I fantasized about being a cuck, I was always somehow part of the action. Being made/allowed to watch or something. In reality, I find that my natural instinct is to stay away. To keep out of it. To give her space and room to explore and discover. It was a process to admit to myself that the reality is being cucked really has nothing to do with me at all. Like every other part of our sexual relationship (honestly, every aspect of my sexual activity), she’s in charge and I’m not. But beyond that, I can’t offer her much more than moral support.

Obviously, there are lots of way to cuck a guy. Some woman are just fine with their cucks being more active participants. Some, like Belle, aren’t. I didn’t even tweet about it until just the other day and almost didn’t because, in a way, it seemed like it may have been out of bounds for me to do so. Like, that guy is part of her life, not mine, and it felt like something of an invasion of her privacy to give it my usual infinite navel-gazing treatment here and on Twitter. But ultimately, I found myself needing some friendly back-up and had no one else to go to. I had to vent somewhere else I’d explode.

But for me, the instinct was to move away from Belle and her friend, not towards them. I assumed I’d want to be in the thick of it, but the reality turned out to be quite different. It wasn’t porn, it was real life and it was tentative and fragile like any other potential relationship and the last thing Belle needed was a horned up weirdo husband blundering about in the midst of it.

In the end, Belle had a lovely time with him without anything more than spending some pleasant time together. I had worked myself up into such a state that hearing she had a good time was a massive relief. It didn’t even occur to me to be disappointed that she didn’t fuck him. And I guess that’s progress. The idea of her doing that is as potent as ever, but skirting as closely as we did to it moving from concept to reality (however close it ended up being) changed how I feel about it. It want it for her just as badly as I ever have, but now I want it for her more than I want it for me.

I’m currently reading 150 Years Of Gynarchy by Viola Voltairine and I’m finding it to be nothing short of inspirational. As I was flying home to see Belle, I came across this passage that, in a lot of ways, speaks to me regarding this episode.

In a consensual long-term D/s dynamic you have both agreed that Her needs, Her wants and Her pleasure take absolute priority. That is the framework. This is for real. It’s not a game. Your thoughts should always be on how to best please Her, not how to get your fetishes serviced.

150 Years Of Gynarchy, by Viola Voltairine

“Not how to get your fetishes serviced.” 💯 Whatever Belle decides to do with her exclusive prerogative to find other guys to fuck is not, and never will be, about me. It’s about her. Her needs, wants, and pleasure. And however she chooses to share her experiences with me is also entirely up to her. It’s not material for my fetishes and fantasies. To behave otherwise is, IMO, insulting and violates my commitment to our dynamic. I can’t control how that causes my body to react, but I have quite a lot of experience now dealing with unrealized sexual energy so have no excuses to act otherwise.

She will decide what she wants to do and I’ll be grateful she continues to be my Domme and keyholder, no matter what.

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MSM cuckoldry

CNN just posted an interesting article on cuckolding to their website.

In our current political climate, the term “cuck” — short for “cuckservative” — has become an insult of the so-called alt-right, aimed at men they view as spineless and emasculated.

Since I don’t identify as a conservative, I’ve never been called a “cuck” but I think it would be one of these weird non-sexual things that occasionally crosses over to give me a little thrill.

Anyway…

According to a recent study by David Ley, Justin Lehmiller and the writer Dan Savage, acting on cuckolding fantasies can be a largely positive experience for many couples, and hardly a sign of weakness.

The paper Dan contributed to deals with cuckolding in gay male relationships. I follow a few tumblrs on that topic and have to admit it’s something that doesn’t really trigger any kind of significant sexual response. I can’t explain it, but for me, the formula that works is “woman + other guy – denied male partner.” In the best case, the husband is cucked against his wishes (but then comes around after the fact because, you know, it’s all fantasy anyway). For whatever reason, if she turns into a he, the helium totally escapes from the fantasy ballon. The paper also suggests the issue of interracial cuckolding isn’t prevalent with gay men as it is in straight couples. Again, for me, that’s not a critical element. I do respond to it, but it’s not an element in my relationship fantasies. The fantasy guy just needs to be one with a better tool.

The article quotes Lehmiller as saying…

We found several personality factors that predict more positive experiences acting on cuckolding fantasies. For those who have a lot of relationship anxiety or abandonment issues, who lack intimacy and communication, and who aren’t careful, detail-oriented planners, acting on a consensual non-monogamy fantasy could very well be a negative experience. In other words, not everyone who has a cuckolding fantasy should think about acting on it.

This makes so much sense to me. I’m no expert, but it seems perfectly logical as a person who is confident in the strength of his relationship that either of us going outside the marriage for sex simply doesn’t seem to bother or threaten me. Far from it.

Ley said…

For men and couples considering the issue of cuckolding, it’s important there be honesty, integrity, communication, mutuality and shared values. I’ve seen men who try to trick their wives into cuckolding them, and this never, ever ends up well.

Guys, DO NOT trick your wives into this. Come on. What a dick move. Otherwise, yes, honesty, communication, integrity. It’s not on his list, but also trust.

This really surprised me…

Lehmiller surveyed thousands of Americans and found that 58% of men and about a third of women had fantasized about cuckolding.

Holy shit. Most men!? And a third of women? That’s so many more than I would have guessed.

Part of what makes cuckolding arousing for heterosexual men is that they tend to view it as a taboo act.

I can remember my earliest reactions to the concept of cuckolding (helped by writing about it at the time). Not being an expert in human sexuality, I can’t say for certain how taboo influences what turns me on, but cuckolding for me seems just another expression of sexual inequality, domination, and denial. In that post I wrote nine years ago, it seemed clear to me even then, though I certainly would not have written it in the same way today. I have evolved.

Unlike then, the concept of inferiority is clearly motivational for me when it comes to the idea of being cuckolded. Of being inferior to the fantasy him. He’s got a cock more to Belle’s liking and can fuck for days (and he knows it) whereas I know I’m not as big as she would prefer and I can’t fuck for very long at all without needing to stop well before she’d like me to lest I orgasm. I still feel in most aspects of our life Belle and I are equals, but certainly not in our sexual relations and I’m clearly inferior to this fantasy sex partner of Belle’s.

It’s one of the things that has complicated the potential of being cucked in real life. The actual guy who might make it a reality is, it turns out, an emotionally stunted turd (IMO — she’s more charitable). Literally the only part of him that’s superior to me is his cock. He has and might again hurt Belle emotionally and so my dander is up in general. It’s an interesting situation to be in. On the one hand, the penis never strains against the steel more than when I’m thinking about him fucking Belle, but on the other, he bugs the shit out me for being such a putz. Belle might see him when she goes through London on this trip and, if she does, then something else might happen, too, but neither of us are counting our chickens just yet. And I’m more likely to want to go punch him for being a dick to her than I am wanting to stroke myself at the idea of him putting his dick in her.

In any event, it’s somewhat encouraging to see mainstream articles on non-monogamy. Gives me hope that what seems to be such a natural part of our sexuality won’t have to live in the closet forever.

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TOGgle switch: On

You remember TOG. No? He’s that British guy who’s been on-again, off-again sniffing around Belle for some time now. Search for “TOG” if you want the details. Long story short, it seemed like it was over but now it’s back on. For, like, the twelfth time or something.

Turns out, Belle’s been communicating with him quite a bit in the recent past without me knowing about it. At least, I wasn’t aware to what extent they’ve been talking. In a normal marriage, this would be a huge problem — a wife having an online assignation and planning a time and place for sex — but we don’t have a normal marriage in that I have no expectations that she needs to tell me some guy in Great Britain (or anywhere) is sending her pictures of his cock and telling her what he wants to do to her with it.

Regardless, once more, I find I have conflicted feelings. Again, not in the usual ways. I’m not jealous in the slightest. Zero percent jealously. Less than zero. In fact, Belle being fucked by another man (and one with a cock sized more to her preferences — TOG’s is claimed to be over 7″) is the single most potent fantasy I have. I get kind of weak in the everywheres thinking about it. Even just knowing she’s been having this virtual affair without telling me makes me sort of delirious.

Our text exchange from the other day…

B: Would you have any issue with me going to London in the Spring?
T: Besides being incredibly jealous? What’s in London? (See, I had no idea.)
B: You know.
T: (Zing!) Oh.
T: Of course I have no issue.
B: OK, I found a cheap ticket. I might end up regretting it but at the same time if I don’t try I think I would regret that too. And I’m prepared for that.
T: I understand.
B: I love you. Thanks, Thumpie.
T: I love you too.

So my initial take on this revelation was one of caution. I continue to be worried about what a flake this man has been over the time they’ve known one another and I’m worried he’ll flake out again once she’s there or before or he’ll meet her and chicken out or I don’t know what. Just something that will hurt her emotionally. That was and continues to be a real concern for me. I want to shield her from any pain.

But then, on my way home, I found I was incredibly horny. And at first, I had no idea why. The kind of horny where just shifting in my seat and causing the penis to move slightly in its confinement causes it to swell tightly. The kind of horny where a feeling of electric energy in my balls sparkles and buzzes and makes it hard to concentrate or follow conversations. Then, of course, it hit me. She might get fucked by this guy. Finally. The ultimate fantasy.

A lot of cuckold situations I read about online seem to have the cuck in a position of some control or participation. As in, he finds the men for his wife or is actively involved in the sex. To me, a purer form of cuckoldry is where the cuck has up to and including no role at all. In which the wife goes and has an entirely separate relationship that the cuck only hears about, and then only what his wife is willing to tell him. Of course, I want to hear everything. Of course, I want to see the dick pics he’s sent her. Of course, my imagination can come up with all kinds of fantastic, hot scenarios. But that’s all about me. I think cuckolding is for the one doing the cucking, not the cuck. So in that way, it’s a weirdly passive kind of sexual fantasy. And one that makes me, the wannabe cuck who sits at home locked in chastity and left only with his imagination, feeing even less in control than usual.

I’ve been so turned on by the prospect of TOG finally coming through that it’s been hard for me to keep my hands off Belle. I struggled to fall asleep the night she told me and was woken early the following morning by little else than sexual energy. When she started to stir, I was on her in a way that was supposed to show I was eager to pleasure her but not so eager that I wanted to annoy her. In any event, she let me get her off just as her alarm would have been waking her up.

That night, with fifteen minutes before I needed to leave to pick up our daughter at an evening class, I exposed her nipple and started sucking and licking it. Not so subtle this time. Then my hand was in her snatch and rubbing another orgasm out of her. Two in one day. That’s impressive for her. And I was still able to pick up the kid on time.

And here I sit, still finding thoughts of Belle and TOG floating through my mind unbidden. In meetings or while driving or anywhere really along with the commensurate tightness in the steel. Obviously, I can’t live like this for months and months. Or, maybe I can. Belle doesn’t really bring it up. I do. I keep it alive in conversation between us. Because I can’t stop obsessing over it. And that makes me feel somewhat guilty because, as I said, this is about her not me. A classic case of a denied male’s base, lizard brain in conflict with his higher, bunny one. You can imagine how pissed the lizard is since the idea of being turned on to distraction by the thought of another man fucking her isn’t even something that ever came into his reptile brain prior to the fucking bunny getting him this situation in the first place.

Breathe, rabbit. Breathe.

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Close your eyes and don’t think of England

Today, Belle didn’t want to come. She already has the past few days and has a refractory period more like a man in that she hardly ever comes more than once in a day and two or three days in a row wipe her out for a while. So yeah, she didn’t want to come even though it’s the last time we’ll be together for two weeks since I’m flying for work today and she’s leaving for Asia tomorrow morning. When I get home, she’ll be gone.

Even so, she did want to feel the hard penis inside her so that meant taking the Steelheart off. As I unlocked it and took all the bits and pieces off, she told me to stay out until after I went through security at the airport which was, like, a whole six hours off. I haven’t been out of chastity for more than two hours since the beginning of October.

Anyway, it didn’t take the penis long to achieve the proper configurataion and she didn’t waste any time telling me to get at it. Naturally, I didn’t last long, but not for the typical reason.

See, TOG is back again. For newbies, it starts here and is continued if you search for “TOG.” Stands for “the other guy” and, short story, he was this guy who came on strong, ghosted her, came back, went away again, blah blah, then sort of dissipated. But he’s back again. And now I’ve decided to call him “England” because I never liked “TOG.” Guess where he’s from.

So anyway, yeah, he’s back and Belle knows he’s a flight risk and honestly doesn’t have any expectations as to what will happen in the future, but she’s going to Paris in February for work (yeah, tough life she’s got — Asia, Europe, NYC, etc.) and he’s right across the Channel and they’re supposedly going to see one another while she’s there. Have I mentioned he’s a flake? So who knows. He’ll either not show up, show up and chicken out, or show up and fuck her.

This time, though, he’s sent her a dick pic. That didn’t happen before. So at least she knows he’s not lying when he claims to have what she calls a “proper cock” — thick, 7.5″, etc. I don’t know if the picture had anything for scale in it (say, a packet of jammie dodgers  for example) mostly because she hasn’t shown me the picture. Yes, I do want to see it. Very much. And she knows I do. But I won’t ask because that seems a line I don’t want to cross verbally. And she is hesitant to show me, partly because she thinks if she does it’ll jinx things.

So when I was going at it this morning and trying to find a place to put myself so I could keep it up for a little bit, the giant mystery cock fluttered into my mind. Or, perhaps I should say it thudded heavily into my mind. Next thing I know, I’m thinking of being inside her and how England has said he wants to be there, too, with his giant dick to give her the fuck of her life, better than I could, etc. (yes, he said this), and that was that. It’s just too potent an image for me to be able to keep things together.

At first, I slowed and the nice noises she was making took a slight turn to disappointment. But somehow, that only made things worse. He wouldn’t need to slow down. He’d be able to keep going.

So I had to slam on the breaks. Squirt, squirt. Squirt. Squirrrrrt. Sqrt.

All done. No orgasm, but an ample ejaculation followed by the now-normal loss of the erection.

I’m sitting at E11 in MSP and waiting and thinking about how I won’t see her again for 14 days. I decided to wear the Halfshell on the trip mostly because it’s easier to deal with, but when I get back I’ll go into the Steelheart until she returns.

And now my work peeps are here. Time to go be an adult.

 

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Hell hath no fury

I experienced a whole new thing on Sunday. Belle and TOG had arranged a time to Skype and the time came and went with no word from him. She was disappointed and hurt, as anyone would be, and I was mad. 

Thing is, “mad” doesn’t really capture the emotion. I was really mad. Furious, but not letting it show to her. There’s a flavor of anger that is specific to someone wronging one of your own and that’s what I was feeling. It’s not a thing I’ve ever felt in that context. I was left to comfort her because this guy had flaked out on her, like you would a good friend except this good friend was my wife. The objective, Vulcan part of me has tried to understand what his POV might be and appreciate what he may be going through, but the rest of me gives not a shit about any of that and wants to hurt him.

They have exchanged communications since but I’m not privy to the convo because she’s decided not to tell me. All I know is she told him what she felt she needed to considering his behavior. No idea if this is the end or just a bump, but I’ve decided to stop writing about TOG for the time being either way. There may come a point when it makes sense again, but not now. Last night, Belle said to me, “Your readers are going to be so disappointed,” sort of in rueful jest. That punctuated the growing feeling I already had that spending so much time documenting them here was feeling way too invasive to her. The very last thing I want her thinking about is how her outside relationship is potential wank fodder for people who read me for the prurient details (and trust me, I’m very much pro-prurient details in other contexts), how they’d react if that doesn’t work out, what they would say in comments, etc. I have enough trouble with that.

So, if I talk about it, it’ll be in an abstract way and from the POV of a submissive in an open relationship (while the idea of calling myself a cuckold is dirty hot, I’m not sure I am once since I am also free to have outside sex…as long as it doesn’t involve the penis). For instance, having to console her drove any and all sexy thoughts from my head. It made this even more a Real Thing, not just because it affected her but how it affected me (the quiet rage thing). This is the part the hawt cuck porn doesn’t help you with and accentuates how real life is. You get all kinds of emotions and outcomes, not just the formulaic. I was part concerned husband, part submissive partner, part comforting friend who wanted to drive over to his house and kick his ass all at the same time. He wasn’t the potential bull for my hotwife, he was an emotionally immature idiot who didn’t know how to use his words. Maybe both at the same time, but the one eclipsed the other (and still does). 

Objectification issue: Resolved

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Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.

Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky. 

I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.

The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.

In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied. 

I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.

I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.

To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?

I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!

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Back off, rabbit

If I look back on my sexual history over the last decade or so, I’d say the one area that could use some improvement that consistently shows up is that I’m far too…um, enthusiastic. Which, in and of itself, is one thing but when you combine that with a larger than normal visibility due to a platform such as this blog where I get to prattle on in front of thousands of eyeballs, it all gets out of control. I just get carried away. Part of that is because I’m constantly stewing in my own frustration and that causes me to perhaps make less defendable choices, but part of it is just how I am.

After yesterday’s post about the Facebook messages between Belle and TOG and whether I should read them following Belle’s offer to let me do so, I started to feel like I was doing it again. Yes, I still really want to read those messages, but no, I’m not going to. Partly because I decided it was too intrusive to Belle and her potential relationship with TOG and partly because the ethics of doing so are a little shaky but mostly because Belle decided it was too much. TOG is a thing that is happening to her, not me. She needs to be able to maintain a sphere of privacy and freedom and giving me such an unfettered view into her interactions with TOG totally punctures that. So yeah, that offer is now off the table.

I’m also going to try and get myself under control with regards to how much I talk about she and he. To be sure, things are not settled there and anything can happen. They may decide the emotional risk is too great for him if they became involved. He may freak out and ghost her. Things might just peter out as they sometimes do between people. If I make too big of a deal here and, because the prospect of it leaves me so fucking exited, then it starts to kind of hang a cloud over the whole thing. Because I write about it and because there will be comments or whatever, me and my take on what’s happening become too important. The gravitational influence starts to change the natural trajectory of the thing. It’s unfair to Belle and, I guess, TOG (though he knows nothing about any of this kinky sex blog stuff). 

So, starting today, I won’t be asking Belle any specific questions about TOG and their conversations or plans. She will share with me whatever she wants or needs to. I have reserved the right to be able to talk about how being the husband of a proto-hotwife makes me feel, both with her and here, but she gets to veto anything she thinks crosses a line and I’ll be doing my best to keep my blogging about it to a reasonable level. It might be different if she didn’t read the blog, but she does and always has and always will, so that’s that. Also, my only other ask (I call it an ask because it seems weird that I can make rules for her) is that each and every time they are together physically (if and when that happens), I want to know how often his cock is involved. But she does not need to offer specifics. Like, she could say they fucked and how many times but I wouldn’t be able to ask what he said to her while doing it or what piece of furniture she was bent over at the time. I can ask general-type stuff (“How did it make you feel?”) but even then she can cut me off if she thinks it’s too intrusive. Basically, other than the fact it happened, all other info will be metered out as she see fit. I think this is important because it maintains an airspace between them and us that respects her prerogative as the dominent partner.

It should be noted that Belle doesn’t think I can keep to this arrangement. She thinks I’ll crack and start asking things I’m saying now I won’t. I do totally acknowledge that I am craving information and am dying to ask more questions, but I am doing my best not to. The way it makes me feel is really very similar to what it feels like to be denied. It is a form of denial. It’s an demonstration of my submission. So from a dynamic standpoint, my lack of insight into what’s happening is a source of energy for me. The subby rabbit in me feeds off the fury of my internal sex lizard as he goes crazy thinking about what he doesn’t know.

She made me figure out for her today how she can Skype him. I don’t know when and for what purpose they will be using it and I’m not going to ask. I may not be told when it happens. So we’re already operating under the new rules. 

Funny thing about all this is I have now been living with an indescribably powerful desire to fuck the taste out of her mouth for about 72 hours. Continuous, palpable, and often difficult to contain every time I see her or hear her voice. Well, “difficult to contain” except for that one part. This morning, since I knew I wasn’t coming out of the Steelheart, all I wanted to do was set up camp between her legs and plant my face in her pussy. I hope that later tonight she’ll let me do it again. The introduction of TOG has made her the most desirable object in the world to me. Funny how that works. Also funny to think that one way couples could reinvigorate their relationships would be to crack them open every once in a while and let someone else have a turn. 

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Possession is nine-tenths, etc.

Belle and I spent some time after the lights were out last night just talking. Talking about TOG specifically, marital openess in general, me, her, etc. (even Drew, but that’s for another post). It was wonderful. Even though the tone was far more tame than the night before (for example, my finger wasn’t in any of her hot, wet orifices), it still left me too hopped up to sleep (and now you’re like, oh fucking great I get to read about how the rabbit can’t sleep again).

Anyway, lots to write about there, but first this…

At some point, Belle offered to let me read the history of her messaging with TOG. Not like right then but sometime if I wanted to. Nothing to hide and all that. I am of two minds. On the one hand, it’s pretty personal and seems borderline intrusive. But, of course, she offered and it would save her having to answer my endlessly annoying questions. On the other hand, I think it’d be hot as hell. Anyway, I asked Twitter what they thought and DarqKnight offered the above.

I want to talk about possessiveness. Not because I think DarqKnight is wrong. This is not a case of right and wrong. But “possessive” seems analogous to “jealous” and jealousy is really interesting to me.

I skipped over it yesterday, but I think jealousy is, at least in part and in some people, driven by insecurity. Worry that one’s partner will choose someone else or prefer someone else. In my case, my particular blend of perversions are such that rather than making me jealous, these possibilities turn me on. Also, as I said, I’m confident in my position with Belle and don’t for a second (well, not for two seconds — more on that in a minute) think she would leave me for TOG. Once that’s out of the way, there’s room for compersion to set in. Plus, there’s a real benefit to me for her to be having this fling.

What I mean by that involves the concept of “new relationship energy.” NRE is described by Wikipedia as…

[A] state of mind experienced at the beginning of most significant sexual and romantic relationships, typically involving heightened emotional and sexual receptivity and excitement.

I mean, we’ve all been there. Belle is experiencing a healthy jolt of NRE along with all the associated benefits and in the same way sunlight reflects off the moon some of it’s bouncing off her and hitting me. She’s in a better, sexier mood and that’s good for me. She’s ridiculously attractive to me right now. She’s also more interested in her health and well-being and I’m happy about that, too. So beyond the compersionistic aspect (yeah, I may have just made up a word) of feeling happy for her because she’s enjoying what’s going on, I’m able to also benefit from the real impact it’s having on her in other ways.

Of course, there’s a second way “possessive” can be defined. If I had a nice car (and I do), I would be possessive of it (and I am) as a thing that belongs to me and is mine to enjoy (and it is). Of course, there is no “car owner relationship dynamic” but if one was a Dom one might consider thier sub as “theirs” and feel a similar exclusive right of use. Maybe that’s what DarqKnight meant. If so, of course, I don’t feel that for Belle. I’m fortunate she doesn’t feel that about me (except for the penis, of course).

So I said I don’t for a second think Belle would leave me, but that’s not entirely true. As we were talking last night, she told me that I was wrong when I said all TOG knew about me was the relative size of the penis. Early on, when describing to him the parameters of our open marriage, she told him that I’d not only be OK with her being with him but that one of my fantasies was to be cuckolded. That helps explain the aggressive tone of his “I want you to enjoy sex with me more than him” attitude. As we talked about that, I had a brief bolt of panic that flickered for just a second. The idea that this other man would be actively trying to woo my wife and would have unfettered access to her while doing so is, however remotely, risky. And, I have to tell you, risky is sexy. How we respond to risk is sexy. Why do we do risky things? Because they’re fun. Risk means the envelope is being pushed. It’s really only with sex that we seem to collectively frown at the idea of introducing risk of any kind. So yeah, there is somewhere in me a tiny piece of worry and it may grow as we get closer to the time Belle will meet him, but to me it feels roughly equivalent to what it would feel like to downhill ski or skydive. Maybe something catastrophic happens, but chances are it won’t. Skating that edge has its own excitement.

There’s a noticeable age difference between TOG and Belle. Had I been able to cast my perfect guy-on-the-side for her, I would have probably made him closer to our age, but this is what it is. Belle seems worried that a guy in his late 20’s may not be fully prepared for what a woman in her forties is like, but I counter with the fact that there are lots of things that make someone sexy and desirable along with their physical attributes. She’s confident and successful and experienced and married and any or all of those things might be firing in TOG’s head as he thinks about her. He and I are in agreement that the age difference is actually pretty fucking hot.

I said in my first post about TOG that the only real concern I had was that Belle would be hurt. She told me her worry was actually the other way around. Apparently, TOG is quite smitten with her and may end up being more attached to her than is practical considering the circumstances (married, other side of the Atlantic, etc.). She’s been clear that she thinks he should think of her as a fun port o’ call on his life cruise and not a destination. If there’re any clouds on the horizon of this little adventure, it’s that TOG might become overly invested in Belle emotionally.

I suppose it’s possible Belle could, too. That her fun and sexy feelings for him, once she actually gets to know him in person, may become more significant. The prospect of this doesn’t bother me. Like I said yesterday, I think I am fundamentally polyamorous and feel pretty confident I would be able to adjust to a reality in which Belle had another significant relationship along ours, but I’m not sure Belle’s wired that way (let alone TOG who I know no better than a hole in the ground).

Getting back to the offer of reading her messages with him, I’m totally going to take her up on that. I think the prospect and her instant willingness to let me see them says a lot about the fundamental strength of our bond. It occurred to me last night when we talked and I said something about writing here about stuff that I wasn’t entirely sure it was appropriate. This blog is about Belle and my relationship. TOG represents something related but really totally separate. It’s her relationship with someone other than me. Regardless, she’s cool with me going on about it so I will, I’m sure, at length.

So yeah, that’s where we are…

Is it August yet?

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Further TOG pondering

I wasn’t going to write my previous post last night for fear it would rev me up too much to sleep afterward but it was pretty clear I was already too revved up for that. Beyond just the normal excess RPMs spinning around after getting Belle off just before bed, the conversation about the other guy (now officially TOG) kept bouncing around in my head and I had to get it out. Reading it now, it seems a little rushed and messy, but it does a good job capturing my state of mind at the time. Actually, it’s still kind of my state of mind, though I have had some time to reflect. 

“Compersion” is a word that, essentially, means the opposite of jealousy. Instead of finding discomfort or anger or sadness when one’s partner has sex or finds love with someone else, you experience happiness and feel good for them. I am compersioned as fuck. During the night, I kept reaching over to her and holding her or just letting part of me touch her. This morning, I couldn’t just give her a quick morning peck. I need to kiss her full on the lips, open and wet. Hold her. Put my face in her neck and purr. I am completely and totally smitten by her.

The challenge I’ve had is remembering what this is about and who it’s about. If she ends up meeting TOG and getting fucked by him, that’s all her. Her choice, her pleasure. Not really about me at all. But excitement at the prospect of it almost forces my mind to race away and spin fantasy scenarios. I imagine how the prospect and reality of their sex would change how she treats me. What she needs and expects from me. I imagine someday meeting him and the things he’d say and ask. In relationships where denial or chastity are involved (any kind of femdom, really) it’s important for the man to give his partner as much room as possible to make for herself what the dynamic needs to be for her. In doing do, he’ll enjoy an authentic dynamic they both get something from even if it’s not the fantasy life he created in his head. That same approach needs to be taken here by me. Yes, I have vivid ideas about the hottest way possible for this next chapter to unfold, but those ideas aren’t as good as the real thing because it will be real so the real thing needs to develop. Too bad August is so far away. 

Also, I don’t want to create a situation where she needs to live up to my fantasy. I certainly don’t want her thinking about how I’ll react to whatever transpires. To be factoring in my expectations. There’s enough pressure involved in meeting a new person and finding a way to pleasurably interact without thinking about the hopes and dreams of the locked up sub back home. 

I wonder if the ability to feel compersion is something that’s hard wired in some people or if it’s something that’s made possible because of other factors. I know about myself that I am suited to an open relationship and even polyamory. I just am not that jealous. At least, in me whatever jealousy I feel channels into productive kinds of things. But I’m also pretty confident in myself. Confident in my place in Belle’s life. Even if Belle and TOG fuck and even if Belle finds herself having deeper feelings for him, I don’t for a second think that would lead to problems between us. I would be happy for her and figure out a way to make room for whatever followed. Whatever my need is to feel what it’s like for her to be with another man, it’s not driven by an inferiority complex. I want to hear and know he’s got a nice cock and knows how to use it and even that she likes it better than me, but I know that’s a single aspect of our relationship and I have another attributes. In fact, I’d say the perceived competition drives me to accentuate those areas. In any event, my theory is jealously is driven by insecurity and I’m simply not insecure about too many things.

It’s all very complicated and I’m still figuring it out. How can I say I don’t have an inferiority complex but want her to be with a guy whose got a bigger cock? How can I get so excited by the idea TOG has said he wants to give her better sex than she can have with me? I’m not insecure but totally get off on being made sexually inferior. I don’t know the answers. More of those knotty BDSM paradoxes, I guess. 

The sleeping was quite difficult last night. Too many thoughts and visions. Too many explicit visualizations literally forcing themselves into my attempt so find peace. I don’t know that the penis was less than half chubbed out all night and it was forcefully pressing against its containment on several occasions. I’d hear my heart pounding in my ears as the enormity of the reality of Belle taking a lover presented itself again and again. Eventually I popped a melatonin, but even then I only got two or three hours sleep. 

Today, the Homeland Threat Level chart of my horniness never really dropped below orange. I had a hard time following along in meetings and, in between, I’d pop over to Tumblr and look at the bodies. The images of men fucking women were especially transfixing. I had the feeling all day of wanting to share news with friends at work before remembering they likely wouldn’t appreciate it. It felt not too dissimilar from what I remember on that day following the first time Belle didn’t let me come during sex. Energized. Horny. Alive. 

I have so many things I want to ask Belle. So many more details I crave. I loved hearing her be so frank about the apparent differences between TOG and me. Her expectations and hopes. How she didn’t hide her anticipation. Hopefully I won’t bug her too much. Hopefully I won’t combust every time the topic comes up. Hopefully I’ll get more than a few hours sleep each night between now and her trip to meet him.

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The other guy

A couple of months ago on a Saturday or Sunday morning, Belle laughed and told me she had received a random friend request from some guy in England. They had no mutual friends and she had no idea who he was but, on a lark, she accepted the request. Shortly thereafter, they struck up a conversation along the lines of, “Who’s this?” and “I dunno, who’s this?” He said he didn’t remember requesting to be her friend and maybe meant to friend someone else with the same last name (her maiden name) and he had been at the pub and, well, you know how things happen. 

Their exchange continued beyond that day. He told her he thought she was hot. Things got more flirty from there. At some point, he sent her a picture of himself naked but with his hand covering his junk. I really don’t know the sequence of events since I was in my funk and not really picking up the little hints she was dropping, but I totally picked up the hints tonight. And then I carted them off with a wheelbarrow.

We were in bed and I asked her what was up with this guy. She said he was going to be in the United States this summer and she was planning on meeting him in NYC in August and maybe again in September. This made me squirm into her. I have been unbelievably, surreally horny all day and all I could think about even before having this conversation was her pussy and making it come. I reached my hand into her pajamas and slipped a finger into her ready wetness.

She told me he’s twenty-seven. She told him she’s in an open relationship. He told her he’s got thick 7.5″ cock. What she called a “proper cock.” She told me he likes to talk dirty. That he’s confident. That he intends to fuck her with that cock in New York. He described the ways and the positions in which he intends to fuck her silly. He says he will give her the fuck of her life. The kind of fuck she’s never had from me. The kind she can’t get from me. He says it’s his goal for her to prefer him to me in bed. All he knows about me, besides that I’m married to her, is that he’s much bigger than me. That’s it. But he’s naturally assumed a position over me even before meeting her. He may not know the word or understand the dynamic, but he’s already made me a cuckold.

All the time she was saying these things to me, my finger slipped in and out and over her slick clit. The penis was pushing against the Looker 02 as strongly as I’ve ever felt it. Choking on the device’s insert. It was painful. She got wetter and wetter telling me how he was equipped to give her a real fuck and that he’d undoubtedly last much longer than me and fill her in ways I couldn’t and that yes indeed she expected he could deliver on his promise all I could do was whine and finger her pussy and think how it would feel after he was done with her. How it would feel to her as it stretched her open like I can’t and touched her in places I’ll never reach. How he’d be able to go again and again and never get caught up in his own head and just fuck. And how badly — how honestly achingly badly — I want that for her. 

Equal parts of me are hopeful and afraid that he will do what he says and deliver on his promises. That she will be fucked like never before and that she’ll prefer him to me that way. It is both terrifying and exhilarating to comprehend. But more than anything, I want it for her. I want her to come home from her visit with him fucked so hard she couldn’t have sex with me even if she wanted to. For when the time comes that she’d let me touch her pussy again, or even enter it, I’d want to know that not only am I not the only one to enjoy it but that she enjoyed him more. Was craving to feel him there again, not me.

I cannot explain this. How it goes against everything we’re taught and conditioned to believe and expect in a relationship but how it absolutely fills me with ecstatic excitement, for her and me.

I can’t say I ever really believed something like this would happen. That she’d never really do anything with anyone else. And a lot can happen between now and summer. Who knows. Regardless, what I know now is that I’m not only not hurt or bothered by the prospect, I’m enthusiastically hopeful for her success. The only thing that makes me wary is I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be treated poorly. That’s my only concern. 

I also used I think that if something like this did eventually happen that I’d want to be part of it. But that doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I am part of it since she’s my wife and I’m her sub, but I won’t be physically part of it. Chances are I’ll never set eyes on this guy. If she sees him and fucks him it’ll be a thousand miles away, out of sight and entirely out of my control. And, it turns out, I’m really OK with that. What I want is for her to have a great time. I want her to feel free to do whatever she wants with him and enjoy the space she has to maximize her pleasure. To dote and spoil him and leave him wanting more. I realize that in that way, I’m not part of it. And I don’t need to be. 

As I sucked her tits and rubbed her snatch and felt her hips grind and heard the moans deep in her throat, I realized she probably wasn’t thinking about me. That she was already in some New York hotel room with the fat cock and her orgasm was already his. I wanted to fuck her so badly then. More than I have in I don’t know how long. But of course, no. No way. So my stifled erection was pinched and squeezed and choked and the device leaked useless natural lube while my heart pounded in my head. 

Oh, fucking hell.