Tag: cuckolding

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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. 

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It’s not the size of your striatum that matters, it’s what you do with it

I keep having weird thoughts when I meet people. Not all people, but some. For guys (like this dude that was working a convenience store I happened into the other day), I wonder what kind of porn they watch. I try and pick if it’s classy or kinky or raunchy or just tasteless. I find myself sorting through various genres in my head and trying to match it to the guy in front of me. Harder than it may sound since I think one’s porn preferences are, more than anything, a mirror to one’s soul and souls are rarely on display.

I mention this because of the recent “porn makes men stupid” articles that have been floating around. This bit is from The Daily Mirror:

Too much porn can make men stupid, scientists have revealed.

A study by German researchers at the Max Planck Institute for Human Development found that men who watch a lot of porn generally have a smaller striatum.

The striatum is the part of the brain which processes ‘rewards and motivation’ – leading scientists to believe that pornography damages this function.

They can also have less grey matter, making their brains generally smaller than those of men who rarely watch it.

And I’m thinking, wait a minute. How do they know the porn makes the brains smaller? Maybe their brains were smaller to begin with and that’s why they look at the porn.

The female leading author of the study Simone Kühn, did point out however, that it isn’t clear whether X rated material is making brains smaller, or whether men with a decreased striatum tend to watch it more often.

Oh. OK. Well, at least they were thinking about that. And, you know, I look at a lot of fucking porn, so maybe my brain’s OK after all.

I don’t know if porn makes me stupid, but I can certainly feel stupid while looking at it. Sometimes, I can get lost in it and lose complete track of time. Usually, guys have a built-in governor in their orgasm that makes them stop but guys like me don’t have that. We just keep making whatever brain chemical gets made when we’re aroused (not to be confused with the other kind of fluid that leaks out of our penises) and it’s some pretty fucking potent stuff. So that’s me, the slack-jawed, glassy-eyed porn addict letting his striatum wither away as he looks at an endless Tumblr stream of raunch and sodomy.

That striatum thingy was new to me so I looked it up. According to the Wikipedia:

In humans, the striatum is activated by stimuli associated with reward, but also by aversive, novel, unexpected, or intense stimuli, and cues associated with such events.

It’s been a really long time since I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, but that’s really interesting to me. Clearly, people like me aren’t hooked up in the typical way vis-a-vis the whole “reward and motivation” system. I’m not motivated like most people and the things I find rewarding most others would think were kinda fucked up.

In an unrelated but also kinda not turn of events, I found again this old article from The Daily Beast about cuckolding being the “intellectual sex fetish.”  I don’t know about that, but I had a hard time even finishing that article at work.

This isn’t like swinging, and it’s not a threesome. Cuckolded men (aka “cucks”) only observe their wives’ infidelities, they don’t participate. And that’s why they find it a turn-on: They’re left out, looking on as the woman they love climaxes with a better man than them. It’s a form of psychological sadomasochism. Some people get turned on by whips, chains, and physical pain. Cucks get aroused by mental anguish.

Yeah, and some of us get turned on by whips and chains and physical pain and the idea of our wive’s fucking around with other guys.

“Imagine looking at the guy who’s about to go to bed with your wife. Imagine hearing the man crying out in bed with your wife,” says Paul, who pleasures himself “like a madman” during these encounters. “The high point of cuckolding is when your wife says she wants the other guy all the time and never wants you. Sally’s body makes it very clear that this is true. It hurts me worse to know this, so it’s better to know.” Worst/best of all is watching Sally bond with the other man not only physically but emotionally—when, as Paul puts it, she’s “masturbating him with her mind.”

I wonder how the striatum is similar in kinky folk and different from the vanilla kind (if at all). Or maybe I need to stop thinking I’m on the cast of St. Elsewhere and just roll with it.

Oh, and the weird thing I think about when I meet some women is what they look like giving head. Or if they actually do give head. Or swallow. Or let their boyfriends fuck their ass. That kind of thing. So, if we ever meet, you’ll know I’m either thinking about your porn habits or imagining you with a big cock in your mouth. Sorry. Nothing personal. Can hardly control it…

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Of porn and rogue vibrators

Two random things…

I’ve started a new Tumblr. One more brick in the global Thumpermedia empire. Of course, there’s the original Portfolio. When I first started curating it, I said it was a place to “collect pictures I like, but also the occasional story or even video. It’s not going to be just any porn that turns my crank, but specifically the porn that, for whatever reason, speaks to me as a submissive bisexual male.” I tend to pick pictures of men being used for sex by other men, beautiful women being beautiful, hot guys being hot, guys going down on women because pussies are awesome, and men being subjected to a variety of torturous hotness from both genders. It may appear to be a bit of a hodgepodge at first glance, but if I can place myself somehow in the scenario depicted, I will usually reblog it. For me, that’s critical. I really like to associate with the image personally in some way (and it’s not always obvious what that way is from the outside, I’m sure). Also, I’ve made the editorial decision to never show men ejaculating on the Portfolio because duh.

The second Tumblr I made was the Pit Stop. Pure dude pit porn. Very little deep thought put into it except I really have a thing for dude’s armpits. Cumshots allowed, though not the main point of the site so infrequently found.

The new one is called At least she lets you watch. This is another case of where the value of the porn for me is accentuated by trying to place myself in it. Due to my submissive tendencies, I tend not to really get off much on the images of women being fucked or otherwise appearing to be “bottoming” for a guy. But, I found that once I viewed these images through the lens of my nascent cuckolding kink, they suddenly become about a hundred times hotter for me. But they don’t fit on the Portfolio because images of MF sex there tend towards those where the woman appears to be in charge or I find the sex to be more reverential or respectful. On ALSLYW, I can freely post images of woman being complete sluts and loving it because the implication is she’s doing it with someone who’s not her husband. Convoluted, perhaps, but that’s how it works for me. Also, of course, the more cumshots the better. Especially if it’s all over her face or tits. Oh, yeah.

In a way, I think consuming porn is like going through a bucket of differently shaped pegs and seeing if they fit into any of one’s differently shaped holes. Some slip right in, some can be forced, and other just won’t work. It’s interesting to me how a simple internal change of perspective can make a peg that otherwise won’t fit suddenly work even though the peg itself hasn’t changed a bit.

Second random thing is Belle’s departure this morning for her two-week Asia trip. Much sadness. However, when I got home from the gym, she came out of the bathroom and told me she had a job for me. She gave me Pink and told me to give her new batteries so she wouldn’t have to worry about the little vibrator not working while she’s gone.

Funny story about that. We took Pink on vacation with us (and used her, too) and, upon leaving for home, I packed her in my suitcase. The suitcase went into a Jeep and then onto a ferry and then stacked in the back of a cab before being handed back to me at the airport. When I picked it up, I felt what I though was some kind of machinery vibration coming up from the ground. Thought it was weird, but didn’t stop to consider it more than that. Then, once we were checking in and about to hand over the luggage to security, I felt the vibration again. And it hit me. Pink was happily buzzing inside my suitcase. Right in the middle of the check-in area, in front of the kiosks and airline agents and fellow travelers, I laid the suitcase on its side, popped it open, and rustled around inside until I found the vibrator. It was hot. Probably a good thing I turned it off. No idea how long it had been going (had to have been a while based on its temp) or if anyone around me noticed what I was doing (doubtful), but that’s why Belle wanted me to swap out her batteries. So I dutifully shuffled off and tended to my wife’s vibrator so she could get herself off without worry while I was left at home with a locked up penis.

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Cop tease

As I said the other day, Belle’s out of town. She’s visiting her BFF in NYC and, from what I can tell, having a wonderful time.

Yesterday, she FaceTimed me from the BFF’s apartment. She was on a couch in the living room and the BFF and her husband were on a another. I can hear them, they can hear me, etc. It’s like being on a conference call.

So we’re chatting about whatever, where they’re going to dinner that night, etc., and then she tells me about this cop. Apparently, while they were hanging out in Little Italy and walking around some cop winked at Belle. Not just a “Hey there,” kind of wink. More like a “How you doin’?” kind of wink.

Belle then continued to explain to me, with some enthusiasm (I mean, I can see the fire in her eyes as she tells me this and that its about the same color as her beautiful red hair), how exciting this was for her, how big the cop was (pretty big, I guess), and, of course, how cute he was (natch). All in front of the BFF and husband. Who does this? Who tells their husband how hot this cop was who winked at her and how she’s thinking of going back to try to find him, etc., in front of other people?

MINE.

Of course, this made me very hot. I didn’t know exactly how to respond knowing these other people who aren’t (as far as I know) clued in to our dynamic were right there, so I tried to be non-committal. I made a joke about how he wanted to protect and serve her and said something about how’d he’d use his nightstick on her if she was lucky (to which she said, “Yeah, I hope so.”). Otherwise, my insides were all fluttery and my balls tingled and my free hand went in my pants and squeezed them. This was all in good fun, but it was right up my humiliation and cuckold fantasy alley.

What I wanted to say was how fucking crazy it made me to think of her with this big cop. Of her down on her knees and unzipping his tight blue uniform pants and sucking his thick cock as it sprang out at her. I wanted to know just how big he was (over six feet? six-four? six-five?), ask her about his ethnicity, how much hair he had, and all that. I thought of his beefy hairy ass flexing with each thrust into her soaking and hungry pussy, her moaning with each deep penetration, and how she’d come at the very moment his seed would be spilling out of her in surging spurts.

Gah! Yeah. All that.

But, the BFF and her husband. So I made my jokes and tried to keep my voice calmly measured. But that’s what I thought about all the rest of the night as I clutched the hard steel and, obviously, into this morning. It makes me shiver, even as I write this.

Belle gets home late tonight. Too late for anything to happen, I know, but I can only hope she’ll let me eat her up. I want my face in her pussy where I can imagine I can still smell the cop’s sex clinging to her.

Ungh. I got it bad.

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The Line

I may have mentioned before, but the kids were away from home last week. That led to one off-the-hook day spent mostly in bed and me mostly in her and us fucking like crazy teenagers, over and over. I never came, but she let me ruin one with my hand when it was all over just to let the massive pent-up quantity of ejaculate out and relieve my poor achy balls. Three or four huge squirts leapt unaided onto my stomach. Still horny, though. Always that.

The balance of the week was spent doing romantic datey things since Belle was pretty well fucked out. Several meals out, culminating on Saturday with hours of free time spent at a rooftop restaurant drinking cocktails, munching, and waiting for our Blue Jasmine start time to roll around while we talked and talked. We came around to the topic of fantasies.

At first, it wasn’t about our fantasies. We were talking about a friend and their fantasy and how their partner was interpreting that and how it fit into the partner’s fantasies (or didn’t). It’s not my tale to tell, so I won’t, but the concept of The Line came up. That is, some fantasies can only work in your head, either because they’re impossible (fucking a centaur is Dan Savage’s favorite example) or because, while they’re superhot, you just can’t actually do them without seriously damaging yourself or your partner emotionally (or some innocent victim). Others you can do. For us, chastity and denial are some of those. I found it (it’s always the guy who does, right?) and she was willing to indulge me and, hey presto, now it’s an integral thing for us.

I declared that I know precisely where my Line is. What’s on the “nope, never going to happen” side and the “sweet baby jeebus, that would be sofuckinghot” side. Such as my fantasy of her fucking other guys. How could I possibly want that, she wanted to know. Surely, that’s on the never going to happen side? No, not at all. I have this really unreasonably potent humiliation/inferiority/unfairness kink. For example, she gets to come whenever and however she wants and I never do. Even when I’m locked and loaded and have been fucking her for twenty minutes and all it’ll take is an extra thrust and a half to fill her up, I don’t get to because…well, just because. Sorry. It’s not a huge jump from that, in my mind, to her getting off however she wants, or with whomever she wants. Preferably, another person who fucks better than me. Preferably, a person who fucks so much better than me that she chooses (either with or without his consultation) not to fuck me.

And, yeah, I get that, on the one hand, the mind reels at the concept. Who in the fuck would want that?! I mean, really want it? Well, me, I guess. And I feel pretty sure that it would push my buttons. The thing is, I’m really confident that Belle and I are inseparable. We will be together for the rest of our lives. No studly fucker will change that. So, while I’d burn with jealousy that he got to do what I wanted to but wasn’t allowed, while there may be times when it’s hard and I would struggle, I know that I’ll always have her. It’s the ultimate form of denial but with no chance of abandonment.

The other “problems” with this is the fact that, if I may say so myself, I’m really good in bed. Premature ejacualtion issues aside (understandable for a guy who only comes, on average, twice a year), I know what I’m doing and Belle really digs me. Also, Belle connects sex with a deeper emotional attachment. She’s not just going to fuck any guy. Getting to a point where she would would be a long process. Not one she seems interested in expending any energy towards. I get that. This is a case where our lines seemingly bisect and, I presume, nothing will ever happen.

The other fantasy of mine we discussed was the one recently brought up here on the blog of me being fucked and used by one (or two) guys. I only brought it up because we were talking fantasies and Belle, surprisingly, said she didn’t think that would bother her. Not nearly as much as me being with another woman (which I have essentially zero interest in). She said she thinks of me getting fucked by a guy as not much different than me masturbating or playing with a sex toy. And I agree. Emotionally and with regard to how much of threat it would be to our relationship, it’s about the same. Guys for me have always been about sex. I have a very close friendship with one of the guys I was with when younger, but there was never enough emotional heat there to combust into romantic love. I’ve never been able to do that with guys.

Anyway, I was surprised to hear her make that “guy on guy sex is like masturbation” comparison because she’s said in the past (quite recently, actually) that she’d have a hard time sharing me. In any event, I’ve found that the worst sexual experiences of my life were with people I didn’t know or care that much about (or even like, on one occasion) so I, too, would need to have some kind of connection with them that was something more than sexual and, like Belle, I’m not entirely sure I’d be willing to expend the energy to find and cultivate that kind of thing. Or, in the end, that she’d let me.

Belle has fantasies, too, but it’s kind of amorphous and about being with another woman. Nothing too specific. If she has more than that, she keeps them to herself (alas). I don’t know where another woman for her would fit on her Line, but it reminds me of this:

Sometimes, you don’t know where The Line is until it’s staring you in the face.

God, I love Garfunkel and Oats.

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Reaffirmation

The other day, we asked our 12-year-old son to put some meat into the deep freeze in the garage. Well, actually, Belle asked me to do it and I delegated the task to the boy thinking carrying meat and operating a freezer door was within his operational capabilities. Well…about 1:00 AM the next morning, Belle was woken up by some oddly muffled beeping sound. Following it downstairs, we found the freezer door to open just a smidge and the air in the freezer, instead of being its usual -3, was 31. The beeping was the freezer doing its best to tell someone, anyone, of the impeding food disaster.

Back in bed and unable to sleep, I prompted a discussion about the recent series of posts and the revelation that if I was allowed to break the most basic tenant of our dynamic without consequence, then what did it mean to either of our commitments to that dynamic? Long story short, she’ll be deploying a series of punishments for the offense (as she thinks of them, I assume) and I have promised to reaffirm my commitment to never having an orgasm again without her permission. We’re both reaffirming this arrangement.

The first part of my punishment is not being allowed to sleep naked. It’s not that big of a deal, on the face of it, but I really like sleeping naked and have been very good about respecting that rule. Only Belle can permit me to be naked in bed. If she falls asleep before giving me the green light, I sleep in pajamas. Period. Well, kinda period. That’s something else that’s slipped in the past few weeks. I’ve slept naked under the assumption that she’d let me, which is not at all the same thing. So, as of now, I’m not allowed to be naked in bed. Not even when I’m pleasuring her, which I did this morning. I was entirely covered while she was exposed. Part of the punishment.

During our talk, she prompted me to tell her how she might punish me. It’s often been a challenge for her. How do you punish someone who would otherwise like all the normal tactics? It’s hard for me to tell her how to punish me because it seems like cheating somehow. I do tell her things I genuinely dislike, but the act of telling her turns me on. So anyway, a few ideas (only the first two I said at the time) are:

  • IcyHot on the nuts – It’s been a long time since she used that on me. I really do dislike it as anyone who’s ever had IcyHot on his nuts would appreciate.
  • Caning – I bought a nice flexible cane and we’ve yet to use it. If she were to take a couple three whacks at my ass as hard as she could without warm up, you can be sure I would not like it.
  • The nasty nipple clamps – Yes, I usually like them, but they’re pretty cruel. If she put them on me, twisted them around a bit and them ripped them off by force, I would be in a great deal of pain.
  • Extra long denial – Yeah, yeah, I can hear you thinking, a la Admiral Ackbar, “It’s a trap!” but hear me out. I know, based on past experience now, that really long denial gets very hard after 2-3 months and at the moment I really do crave an orgasm, so instead of making me wait until November as she’s doing now, what if I had to wait until January? Or March? And every time I whined about how badly I wanted to come or be inside her, she could tell me that under normal circumstances that would be allowed, but there was that one I stole from her in a hotel room back in August, so…

Leaving me out of her orgasms, as I’ve said before, is maybe the worst punishment but that only works if she’s actually getting off without me. If she never masturbates, then I’m just left to float and that ends up being counter-productive in the end.

In other news, I was forced out of the device for about 36 hours due to a nasty hot spot under the right side of the cuff ring. It was already acting up before I went to the doctor’s the other day, but somehow going back in afterward made it a lot worse. I put it back on yesterday but it was persistently annoying so I’ve swapped out the 40mm cuff with my original 45mm ring. It feels ridiculously large but the irritated spot doesn’t seem to notice it, so it’s better than nothing. It’ll be interesting to see how it feels tonight under “full load” since I’ve never worn this combination of tube and ring before.

Also, I had an interesting dream last night. In it, Belle and I were with an assortment of friends having dinner somewhere (I can’t remember who it was or where we were, of course, but they were friends) and at some point the name of someone we both used to work for came up. We’ll call him “Dennis”.

In the dream, she said, “Dennis? Oh, he kicked the ass of Randy in bed last night!” Randy was another guy she used to work for.

Conversation stopped at the table (in the dream) and I said somewhat nervously, “Sweetie, you were at home last night with me, remember?” But the night before that, in the dream, she had been in New York with Dennis. I had no idea she had been with either Dennis or Randy before she blurted this out.

There was nervous laughter at the table and that’s all I remember.

And yeah, I found that to be pretty f’n hot. Both at the time and in retrospect. I told Belle this morning and we both had a good laugh because Dennis was a pretty good looking guy who may have been good in bed, but Randy wasn’t and didn’t look it. I told Belle how it had turned me on.

“Dew on a blade of grass would turn you on,” she said.

A bit of an exaggeration. But just a bit.

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Just a theory

Following up on yesterday’s post, I’ve been wondering something.

I said:

Being diminished in that way really worked for me.

And…

I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity.

And…

I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

And then in a comment:

If I can stay in the right frame of mind and recall the feeling I have right now, then completely severing any right of mine to her pleasure – to really and truly accept my role – could be revelatory and powerful.

What I wonder is if this isn’t where the cuckold fantasy comes from. It could be just a natural progression from…

  1. Learning to pleasure a woman without your cock, and
  2. Starting to think of her pleasure as your pleasure, and
  3. Reveling in her becoming more confident in finding a way to her pleasure that’s all her own, and
  4. No longer thinking of your cock as something that’s part of the sex she’ll have with you, and finally
  5. Learning to take pleasure in her pleasure regardless of whether or not you’re involved.

No, I’m not a cuck and Belle has never shown any interested in being with another man and I’m quite sure there’s a whole lot more going on in relationships where this has happened, but for me, I can see the path to the fantasy pretty clearly. I want her to be totally and completely sexually fulfilled. It has, truly, become the primary way I find my own fulfillment. I also have developed a taste for being treated quite unfairly. Even to the point of liking it when she belittles and humiliates me. I really like it. I can’t think of any more potent way to do that than taking another lover. A more satisfying one.

I have a bunch of fantasies that would never work outside my head. This might be one of them. But, the progression makes sense to me. Not that I’ll ever find out, of course, since Belle’s demonstrated zero interest in heading off in that direction.

That being said, if she was interested in plucking these particular heartstrings of mine, she was heading in the right direction the other night. Were she to remind me that, while I may be adept at utilizing the tools that lead to her pleasure, I’m not the actual implement of that pleasure. She used Pink during her night in the hotel spa just fine without me, after all. In fact, I’m not even capable of being the implement of her pleasure. I can barely last a full minute inside her now. There’s little chance I could satisfy her in the condition I most often find myself. She could remind me of that. How this cock I’ve given her isn’t much use for anything anymore.

It seems counterintuitive to treat your lover with such disrespect. It goes against everything you see in popular culture and learn through normal socialization. But, yeah. I get it. I really do.

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45 and counting

It’s been 45 days since I last had an orgasm. I’m not writing this for any other reason except Belle’s still out of town (back tomorrow night!) and I’m really starting to feel both her absence and my extended orgasmless existence. I’ll admit up front here than I’m kinda all over the place tonight. No actual point to make, just feeling the need to express myself.

I’ll start by giving myself a little credit for mostly avoiding websites that’d make me even hornier than I already am, but it’s getting harder to resist. Especially since I’ve just found two cuckolding blogs (one fiction, one non-fiction). Thing is, this cuckolding stuff really turns my crank, though I know it’ll never happen. Belle’s said she has zero interest in going outside our relationship. Not only is she very much a one-man woman, she’s also very satisfied having sex with me. She loves the cock and loves that I know how to use it (though, admittedly, I was better at it back when I wasn’t always trying to keep myself from coming). So anyway, yeah, the cuckolding thing will remain pure fantasy, albeit a hot, blood-pumping one.

I realized today that the majority of the porn I’m consuming of late is heterosexual. In the years leading up to the introduction of D/s into our relationship, I enjoyed mainly gay porn with only an occasional foray into straight stuff. Nowadays, though, I’d say three-quarters of the stuff I look at or read is straight, kinky, female dominant entertainment. I always figured I liked the gay stuff before because, as an avowed bisexual, guys were what I couldn’t get at home. Now, though, I’m seeking out and enjoying themes that are either exactly what I get at home or variations on that.

A little while back, there as a bit of a debate in the comments about porn and my consumption of it. Belle was considering cutting me off in an extension of her control over my sex but ultimately decided she didn’t much care if I looked at it or not. Jane Docent had a good point when she said:

Are you really denied if you make yourself “hard and bothered”? You’re supplying your own sexual stimulation. Supplied, not denied.

I actually agree with that which is why I would have acceded to Belle’s restriction, had she required it, but I think the opposite point could be made that it isn’t whether or not I get turned on that’s important, but that I can’t so anything about it. That’s her control. If I had to, I could use my imagination to create my own internal porn. In either event, I couldn’t provide my own relief or even touch myself.

The question was also asked as to why I’d even want to look at porn. Tim said, “It almost sounds like additional suffering!” Well, yes. It is. Maybe that’s the point! I’m still wired to seek out the stimulation even if all it’ll do is build and stew inside. It makes my head buzz sometimes, but as I said in my reply comment, a lot of what gets me going sexually is excessive stimulation. Being locked up and letting the porn push my arousal to ever higher levels is part of what I’m in this for. My only regret is that I’m so turned on without Belle. Everything’s better when she’s with me.

So, anyway, she’s out of town and I’m locked up as I always am when we’re apart. She told me before she left that I would be secure until we leave next week on a short trip to Mexico (probably getting out on the 13th). She’s going to be nice and let me out for the entire trip which is very sweet of her, I think. I’m not keeping track officially anymore, but in looking at the blog since September 1, it looks like she’s kept me locked up 28 out of 37 days. If not for the fact that she really likes her cock, I probably would have been in longer than that.

Regardless of whether or not I’ll be secure on the trip, based on the very few hints she’s dropped, I don’t get the feeling I’ll be coming any time soon, even on vacation. Like I said, it’s been 45 days. How much longer? If it’s not until we get back, that’ll be over two months.

Assuming, of course, I don’t fuck up in Mexico.