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.

 

Can’t stop the feeling

There’s this feeling I’ve been having that I want to write about but I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s the kind of thing I will noodle on while trying to fall asleep because sometimes, in that space just between wakefulness and sleep, inspiration will happen. Sometime I find I wake up with the idea ready to go. It’s weird, but it can work. But not this time. Not really.

There are two things I know about myself. Well, lots more than two, but two that are related to this feeling. One is my need and desire for orgasm has totally been reprogrammed. I find that I think about wanting one while inside Belle maybe 30% of the time (a percentage which is much higher when I know I might be able to have one versus knowing I will not be given permission) and I’ll occasionally want one when not fucking her as a result of looking at porn or whatever, but that’s a lot more rare. Regardless of my relative desire to come, I always know I’ll be happier if I don’t. In fact, the more desperate I am to come and am denied the experience, ultimately my…satisfaction (seems a weird word to use to describe not getting something I crave but we don’t seem to have a word that describes contentment from being unable to satisfy a craving and being satisfied by the want instead) will be higher. Also, if I come more than once in about 48 hours it absolutely negatively impacts my mood for about a week. In short, how my brain used to work with orgasm is gone. The firmware has been replace. So that’s thing one. Thing two is the longer I’m left locked up the more I want to be locked up. Being unlocked with a crotch unemcumbered is by far a weirder feeling for me than the opposite. Belle could make a rule for me tomorrow that said I am to always be locked unless she’s using the penis and I’d be thrilled. Being in bed and rolling over on my stomach and not feeling a hard lump pushing back at my hips makes me feel a little less grounded and centered. Having a constricted, inaccessible erection is deeply satisfying (that word again) and even comforting.

So, to recap, I don’t want to come and I want to always be locked in a device.

The feeling I can’t capture is how very deeply this sits within me. To the extent that I don’t really feel like a man anymore. I mean, sure, I feel masculine and look and act as masculine as I ever have (which, admittedly, isn’t always super masculine), but there’s an assumption of what being a man is that doesn’t quite fit me anymore. I don’t want to spread my seed and I don’t want to be able to play with myself. I even fantasize about my wife taking a lover she finds so satisfying that she no longer needs me for penetrative sex. In fact, the only thing that keeps me from feeling disappointment when she unlocks me for sex now is that I know how much she enjoys the feeling of being fucked. I’m doing it for her, I tell myself. Sure, it feels good. It feels really good, but I’m not motivated by that. I’m motivated by the desire for unrealized sensation more than the sensation itself. So what kind of man would rather his woman get fucked by someone else, doesn’t want to come ever, and hopes he’ll remain locked in a chastity device forever? And if I’m not a man, what am I?

I guess a third thing about me is that I’m much more motivated sexually by giving pleasure or being a vessel of someone else’s pleasure than receiving it myself. Feeling Belle come from my touch, how she loses herself in the ecstasy in the moments before orgasm, that I took her there. Those are very great rewards for me. Even before I was aware of my submissiveness, I was significantly more interested in my partner’s pleasure than I was in my own. When I’m with Drew, it’s the same way. The things he wants and needs are my goal. I could get into more detail, but suffice it to say I endure more then I would otherwise because I know it’s bringing him pleasure.

I’m not saying I’m not a man in a way to say I’m a different gender. It’s not like that at all. But being someone who would rather want than have, who would rather give than receive pleasure, who can move from having sex with a man or a woman with ease makes me feel very other. I look at porn and I see “real” men doing what porn says they do (even the gay ones) and I don’t see myself. I like it. I get turned on by it. But it’s not me. I’m like a different version of a male. “Male B.”

I suppose it would be the most straightforward to just say I am me and leave it at that. But we kinky folk like to sort and label and identify. And that turns out to be a kind of itch I can’t scratch. Submissive is a good start, but doesn’t feel like enough. A masochist surely. I dunno. I am a being of desire who wants to satisfy desire. Someone who wants to make pleasure happen for others. Either the language is failing me or my comprehension of it is.

It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day. Things are working. I’m with a wonderful woman and have a rewarding sex life. I don’t need better words. I can write them all down like this and make you see the shading between the colors. And I know that because right now today I’m deeply horny and have felt the Steelheart’s bite many times over the past several hours, all these feelings are more potent and nearer the surface. But I still have this feeling.

And now, this…

If you don’t like J.T., we can’t be friends.

The return of TOG

I’ve tried to write a post about TOG, Belle’s possible other guy, but I couldn’t get it right. Not only because I struggle to write about it in a way that isn’t all soap opera-ish (and I said I wouldn’t do that) but also because the status and nature of their acquaintance keeps changing. And yes, it’s true I said I wouldn’t write a play-by-play of what was going on between them, I eventually decided this blog is about me and my relationship with Belle and TOG is part of that, too. So ignoring it is just as weird as writing about it too much.

First I wanted to describe how the reality of living with the prospect of TOG (wish I had given him a better name, but oh well) was different than the initial fantasy of him. Then I wanted to write about what it was like tending to the hurt feelings of one’s spouse when their guy on the side seemed to evaporate in an unexpected and thoughtless way. After that, I wanted to talk about the unique experience of trying to find Belle another, better and more mature match. But then TOG came back. So we’re kind of back to the start again.

Before he ghosted Belle, it was clear things were kinda shaky. The issue between them, I think sitting over here on the sidelines, is that Belle’s in a relationship she has no intention of leaving and, in that relationship, she’s already got the kids and the house and the job and all that whereas TOG is in a place where one is usually starting to think about those things (if one is going to think about them) and he’s more than a little smitten for my wife. That’s a scary place to be for a guy, I get it. I do feel for him. I worry about him in that what he’s going through emotionally will spill over on Belle and that will spill over to me. But I have no control over him whatsoever. There’s nothing I can do about any of it. So the reality of TOG’s situation kinda lets the air out of the cuck fantasy ballon (or, to be more precise, lets the blood out of the cuck’s locked up penis).

Another issue is its difficult for me to objectify him and their relationship. It’s hard to let go and just think of him as a cock that will fuck Belle. I’m too empathetic. Too aware of the person carrying the cock around. And too concerned for how his issues and behavior will affect Belle. Case in point, the other week he without warning blocked her on Facebook. That’s how they have been communicating. It’s an abrupt thing to suddenly find an empty lot where you used to go for a good time. It hurt her. I was slow on the uptake and could have been more supportive, I think. Belle’s trainer (who used to be my trainer until I stopped going to him because he’s kind of a dick but who is now kind of my trainer again since I’m back with him once a week yes I have two trainers get over it but I still call him “her” trainer) asked me how it felt to know Belle was working hard to make herself all fit and stuff for him but, once he evaporated, stopped even though I was still around. I thought, “Fuck you,” but said something about her being on the rebound and I’m there for her, etc.

Did I ever mention the trainer was hep to the whole open marriage thing? Can’t recall. Anyway, Belle spilled the beans to him. He’s been pretty fascinated but doesn’t ask me too many questions about it (other than the basic expression of being somewhat perplexed at it all). He’s also very pointedly not asked me if I’ve ever partaken in the openness which I think is interesting. If he does, I’ve decided to tell him I have and with what gender. But he hasn’t yet. Odd.

But now TOG is back. I think he’s as close to being in love with her as you can be virtually. And she’s enamored of him, though I won’t put words to her precise feelings. I am, as I’ve said here before, more than OK with Belle developing emotional attachments to other men (up to and including the Big L). I am both supremely confident in my position in her heart and also aware that no one person can be the everything any other person needs or wants in life. I continue to feel not the slightest, molecule-sized piece of jealousy (which I consider the radioactive energy put off by insecurity). His ghosting of her, he says, is due to his intense feelings for her (well, he says through her so you’re getting this third-handed). He’s still coming to the US and again wants to see her, though probably on the West Coast not NYC. If this happens, it’ll be in August. I don’t know if I give it more than a 50% chance to be truthful based on previous experience, but I’m hopeful for her. And for me.

So the other night we were laying in bed up at the cabin talking about it. We were there when he reestablished communications. Apparently things are right back where they were. She made sure to tell me he once again intends on fucking her. Even used the phrase “serve her” which I thought was interesting. I don’t think she needs another like me, to be honest. Could probably use someone a bit more dominent, but I don’t pick for her obvs.

Regardless, all this led me back to the initial feelings towards TOG. Namely, I had a hard time falling asleep due to the visions of his big dick sliding into Belle for the first time. Pushing her open, stretching her out like I can’t. That and the moment he’s got it shoved inside her when he’s pumping her full of his seed. You know, the usual. Just those things running over and over. Her getting fucked by his big cock, coming inside her. I was unlocked and totally hard but didn’t play with it. Just laid there and tossed and turned.

The next morning, we started to kiss and the visions were back in rotation. I got about as hard as I can get without her even touching it. And it stayed that way. When my fingers found her pussy, it was already slick and dripping. I thought about how he had designs on that pussy. Wanted to fuck it. Wanted to show me up. Pretty sure she was thinking about those things, too.

Belle climbed on top of me rode the hard penis while I sucked her tits and focused on baseball with all my might (Kershaw was pitching that night, man Chase Utley was amazing, Carl Crawford is a waste of bench space, when’s Andre Either coming back, when’s Scott Van Slyke coming back, repeat). And I did it. I lasted all the way through and she came well and fully. And the penis never wavered. After, she wanted more fucking so I was on top. I fucked and fucked. I had a sneaking suspicion me and the penis weren’t fully engaging her imagination (a suspician she later confirmed). But I fucked her best I could. Like I was the one with the 7.5″ cock. Never really got that close to coming. It ended when she had had enough. And the penis never softened for a moment.

We snuggled and talked after. I was slowly grinding the still-hard penis into her thigh using the residual wetness from her snatch as lube. She told me then I wasn’t going to come again until TOG did. In her. Then the reality of our dynamic became clear. Her pussy is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it. I have no say in it. And the penis is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it (and that’s just her). I have no say in it. 

There’s a kind of symmetry to that that makes all the sense in the world to me.

A good morning 

April, so far
Device distribution, April to date

When we got back from Spring Break, as I said, I locked myself back up in the Looker 02. In the weeks since, I only got out to swap devices and have otherwise been secured the whole time. I switched the L02 for the Steelheart because it’s Belle’s favorite and then, due to my own inattention, needed to go into the Jail Bird. Being locked up in a closed tube like the Steelheart as much as I am has made me much more aware of the changing chemistry of urine than the average boy, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, I neglected my hygiene routine for too long and things started to burn after peeing. Nothing a few days in an open air cage couldn’t fix. (For those of you who like their data visualized, I have included a chart.)

She felt it was important for me to stay locked up until today to help me reset my attitude and submission to her. What with all the talk about other men and what they were saying to her and threatening to do, I found myself craving her pussy more than at any other time in recent memory. Mind you, I like it a lot even on the worst days. What I’m talking about here is a whole ‘nuther level of pussy craving.

I woke up with the penis all pushed up against the bars of the JB. My balls have been feeling especially plump for the past week (likely a result of being so turned on so much of the time), and the whole package was the very definition of “straining.” She let me have the bit that fits the locking screw and it went well and fine until I had to get my nuts out. They were just too fat to slip through without a painful wince. In earlier days, this kind of thing would probably have left me feeling the symptoms of blue balls for two weeks, but I rarely feel that now. Just this ouchy quick trip through a steel ring.

Everything is more intense in those moments the penis is out and hard for the first time after a few weeks. I want to devour her from the pussy up and she needs to give me a figurative swat on the nose to calm down and remember my place. But god did I just want to plung right in and fuck her to bits. Regardless, I did my duty and kissed her and sucked her tits and fingered her snatch and felt the hard-on between us throb and grind into her thigh.

There’s this one little spot on her clit. On the right side, down a little. If I let my finger tip flick over it in just the right way I can make her right foot jump. I love that being so focused on her pleasure for so long has left me as familiar with her pussy as I am the penis. I know her spots. I know the places to touch to warm her up and how many fingers to use and where to go when she’s plateauing and then how to bring her home to orgasm. I know her rythym and what her sounds mean and where she is in the process of coming with me. I can tell the difference between her letting it take longer because she likes what I’m doing and when she’s having a harder time getting there. Her body and my brain connect there in a more intimate way than they do when the penis is inside her. And when she came this morning, I had to stifle my own exclamation at feeling her clamp down and pulse on my finger, back arched and eyes closed. The female orgasm — Belle’s orgasm — is one the most beautiful things in the world to me. And like all of them, they’re over too quickly.

I fought the urge to push in as soon as she was done. I found my body positioning itself above her even as I told myself to wait for permission. With just the slightest touch by her, I moved over and shoved the penis home. And…oh, my. I just. There aren’t words for how it felt. To be in her. Soft and warm and wet. The feeling of total gratitude towards her for sharing that part of her with that part of me. Millions of years of evolution to make it as inviting a place as possible to a man all came crashing down on my head and I nearly shot my load the second the penis was totally in her. But I didn’t. She told me I was expressly forbidden to do so. So I fucked her slowly and gently and with a constantly changing rythym so as to avoid getting too close too quickly. I felt like the first time I had to stop to avoid coming she was going to tell me to get out so every fiber of me was focused on not getting there.

Sometimes, when I get to fuck her, I fantasize about other men having been there first. In the past, that was entirely fantasy. To an extent, it still is. Maybe it’ll always be so. But the fantasy is ever so slightly more real now and I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that what she was letting me do to her she was letting me do to her. That I didn’t have any special claim to that place. That someday another might be there instead and her soft cooing would be the result of his actions and her hands would be wrapped around his neck and on his back as he pumped into her as I was. My heart was filled with gratitude that I was being allowed the pleasure. And it was so much pleasure. I concentrated on how it felt to such an extent I could feel the grip of her pussy precisely and the feeling of the individual petals of her labia rubbing past the flair of the penis head as it slid by. I could feel the tip of the penis barely graze her cervix and couldn’t help but think if I was going after him I wouldn’t be near it. I felt drunk on the passion of it all.

I lasted a lot longer than you might imagine. It was glorious, but eventually the lizardly part of my sexuality snaked up out of its hole and muscled in. I started to fuck her harder and faster. I pushed in as far as I could and tried to push in deeper. Her breathing changed as the impact of my body into hers bacame more intense and purposeful. I could feel an orgasm rising in me. I could feel it shoving its way past my inner guards as though she had given me permission to come. But she hadn’t. This wasn’t about having an orgasm. This was about coming in her. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession and competition and making mine the seed she carried. It was older and more primal than love.

Just as the the orgasm started to touch the point of no return, to words screamed out in my head at the same time.

MINE.

STOP!

And I did. I stopped thrusting. I held still. The penis flexed and pumped like a drowning man clawing for a rope that wasn’t there. One lonely shot of ejaculate came out, then nothing. No orgasm. Just intense and nearly overpowering craving to do so. I growled like a Klingon into her neck. I fought the urge to bite her. The lizard screamed at me and yelled about how some other guy wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. Idiot rabbit.

“Mine” it is not. The thing I was fucking her with isn’t even mine. None of if it is. It’s all hers. Every bit of it. My heart filled to explode. So much love.

Afterward, I asked to go back in to the Steelheart. I could tell the lizard was still slithering in the shadows. I could tell by how the penis felt and the impulse I had to grab it and yank on it. If she left me alone with it, things would happen. So she laid there as I assembled the device and turned the lock. And that’s where it sits now. Behind steel and beyond reach. Until she wants it again.

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

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!

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.