Tag: D/s

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Transmuted pangs

Belle’s experiment with controlling my moodiness enters its third week. I’ve been out of the Steelheart for about an hour (since the day she let me out overnight earlier in the month) and that was for cleaning purposes only. I didn’t even get a boner. As I mentioned recently, I’ve found myself to be very irritable after being allowed to fuck her since we were on vacation so she’s decided I won’t get to do that as much as before and has stuck to it. I’ve essentially been locked up for month and have only been inside Belle once in that time.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

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Want

“It’s trying to get hard,” I said to Belle. We were laying next to each other and kissing lightly, my hand ranging under her clothes, from her ass up her back.

“Yeah,” she replied, “So?”

Ungh. 

Earlier, Belle and I had discussed briefly the grumpiness I’ve been feeling when let out and inside her. We agreed that it seemed to be caused by her indulging me. By letting my lizard brain think there was a chance to come. So, she wasn’t indulging me. But fuck, I wanted to be indulged. Badly.

The kissing intensified and Belle rolled back and pulled on me slightly, indicating I should be up and over her. On all fours, I kissed her face and neck and her hand ran down my naked side, over my ass and thigh, and then back up to find my nuts. She fingered that wondrously sensitive area between my ass crack and balls, including the steel ring anchoring her chastity device to my body. The ring of power, I thought. Where the metal did her business with me. The very spot where her control over me was made real. I felt myself slip lightheadedly into shallow subspace.

Her caressing of the tightening skin felt fantastic. I moaned into her neck and pillow. Her touch was light and playful. Then, SMACK! I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t really wanted it. But not so much that I wouldn’t accept it. She could do what she wanted and right then she wanted to hurt me. She didn’t have to ask permission. I fell more deeply into subspace.

WHACK! *gentle gentle* THWACK! Repeat.

The penis yearned to become fully erect, but the steel restrained it cruelly. The dull pain of the hard ring clenched around the captured erection mixed with the pain she was causing me. I wanted it gentle but also wanted to submit to her. Each time she made contact, I collapsed a bit but raised myself back up again hoping she’d stroke me lightly from then on. I tried to encourage her in that direction.

“That feels so good,” I whispered.

PUNCH! Immediate. No delay. As if to say, Oh? Really?

That one hurt deeply. I collapsed again and groaned as the wave of hot pain radiated out from my groin. But then I raised my ass back into the air and spread my legs a bit more. She was making me crave her attacks, but Thumper Time was up.

She pulled up her top exposing her fantastic tits and their hard, fat nipples. I greedily sucked them, one then the other. The penis raged and the lizard fell back in abject dispair knowing it was a futile effort. This was about Belle completely now. She would not be getting the key. I would not be indulged.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her pajama bottoms and felt the moist heat of her pussy glowing beneath. I pulled her pants off and sank my fingers into her hot wetness. So soft, so smooth. I craved it. The craving ate at me from within. So fucking close, but so far away.

I played with her clit and sucked her tits and she slowly arched her head, neck and back as the orgasm creeped up on her. Her hips started to gyrate beneath my fingers and her breathing grew short and ragged and my hips started to rhythmically grind against her thigh. I humped her leg in my impotent fashion, raging hard-on compressed and painful in its trap, in syncopation with her gyrations. She was coming and I was fucking her in my own way. The only way I could. The only way she’d let me.

After she came (hard) I felt like a man about to reach a summit that was suddenly not beneath him anymore. She was glowing while I was left to try to restrain myself from further grinding. I moaned. I whimpered. She ignored me.

She fell asleep. I stayed awake. I do love her so much.

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And then she rubbed her tits in my face

Other interests have keep me from my blogging lately, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to. Let’s play catch-up…

Last week, I recall with a certain vividness a moment Belle and I shared in our kitchen just after dinner. The kids had scattered and it was just us and apparently she was feeling frisky so she rubbed her tits in my face. Literally. Pushed my face down there and moved them back and forth. I was delirious. Made my head light and toes tingle. I may have just commented on how I had been locked up continuously since we got back from vacation and she may have said something to the effect that a) that’s not that long for me, and b) it would be a lot longer still, and c) here, let me rub my tits in your face you whiny rabbit. After she had me good and woozy, she told me to clean up the kitchen and left me swaying.

She’s off on an international trip now, but before she left she let the penis out for about 24 hours so she could have some fun with it. I was barely able to keep things under control while she rode me for an orgasm. It wasn’t the fucking that nearly sent me over the edge as much as it was the sound of her coming. Her orgasm has become a kind of release for me and I actually feel something like an post-orgasmic euphoria from it. Once she started to come, listening to her ecstatic sounds pulled a trigger inside me and my own orgasm presented itself quickly. I held still, pressed down on the small of her back to keep her from making any motion (she likes to fuck me from above), and it turned out to be nothing more than a copious surge of frustrated goo. Quite copious, it turned out, since she gave me permission to fuck her afterward and I was treated to my own sloppy seconds. I could barely be inside her without getting right back to the edge.

I was again overwhelmed by the need to come. You’re like, well duh, but in the past I would fuck without wanting to come more often than fucking the other way around, but now that I know there’s no possibility she’s going to let me, that internal denial safety is nowhere to be found and I seem to always want to come when she lets me get the penis wet. I tell her how I feel and she tells me it’s just not going to happen and I feel simultaneously a great and overwhelming love towards her (and gratitude) but I also hear the lizard snarl and growl. I fucking want to come. 

And, you know, that’s awesome. It’s way better to feel denied something I really want than something I don’t. But, just like when I was on vacation, I found myself really irritable and grumpy as hell later in the day. I was able to recognize it and kept it from being directed at Belle, but this intense irritability thing is new for me. So yeah, you can be locked up for the better part of four years and still find new things in it.

Like I said, she had me out for one day. Friday night to Saturday night. Then I had to go back in for her trip. I’ve been in the Steelheart for seventeen out of the last eighteen days and will likely remain in it (or the Looker) for nearly three more weeks (with maybe another day out for her pleasure along the way, but that’s not my call obviously). Early in May, I go away for a week’s camping excursion with friends and I’ll be out for that.

After 17 days, I’m more or less back into the groove, device-wise. It’s me and I’m it and I don’t even always wake up from the morning wood (and when I do, I like how it feels rather than being bothered by it). Yesterday, I must have been wearing an uncommon combination of underwear (silly stringy ones with hardly any support) and jeans (third wearing since last wash) because the device had what seemed like a lot of room down there and was taking advantage of it. I could feel it swinging and swaying as I walked around. I was very aware of it. By the end of the day, I was pretty turned on, but there was no Belle to enjoy that with.

This morning, after my workout, I had all those hormones pinging around inside me, so I decided to enjoy a new toy over the course of the day. After getting it all situated, I discovered I needed more and broke out the big guns. Then I put the new toy back (where it is now — more on it in a later post). Needless to say, I was quite late for work.

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Why o why

Reader Plotin sent me this question:

I wonder if you know of some good reading material, that describes FLR in a non-creepy, not overtly sex-centered way. You know, something to point your vanilla girlfriend to as a starting point. Something along the lines “Why it is a good thing to have a submissive guy in your life.”

Most of the go-to stuff like Elise Sutton or the like strongly advocate the general superiority of women, that I don’t believe really exists and might creep out a vanilla girl more than help her understand what this really is about.

Maybe you have got a blog post of you own, other then the “Dominate me” one somewhere in the depths of the posts I haven’t read yet, that might be what I am looking for. (Or maybe you’d like to write one *hint, hint*)

Hmmm…

I’ve been thinking a lot about this “why is it a good thing to have a submissive guy in your life” question Plotin asked. Like it’s same thing as asking “why is it a good thing to own a terrier” or “why is it a good thing to have DirectTV rather than cable?” And I realize I’m not sure I have an answer. And, even if I do, it’s not the answer I would have given him back when I started my own submissive journey.

It may not be a good thing to have a submissive man in your life. It may be that you’re fundamentally incompatible with someone who needs to sub to you. Maybe submission squicks you out. Maybe you are also a sub and can’t switch or find a way to be happy topping them. Maybe your concept of a male partner is ridiculously and permanently fixed to the Western archetype of the strong and silent man and nothing else will do for you. Or maybe you’re so uptight and weirded out by sexuality in general that the idea of someone with something outside the norm leaves you cold. So, right off the bat, I think I’m disappointing Plotin by disagreeing with his premiss. *sad face*

But let’s say that’s not the “you” in Plotin’s question. That that you doesn’t have any fundamental problems that keeps them from hooking up with a sub guy. Let’s say that this you sees all the other qualities in the subbie guy’s persona that makes them attractive. The way he tells a joke or absentmindedly pushes the hair out of his eyes or how he makes that funny little sound just before he sneezes. Whatever the weird alchemic magic is that makes one person want to be with another. If that’s you, then think of his submissive nature as a prize inside. And think of his exposure of that need to you, specifically, as an indicator that he feels for you the same as you feel for him. That he finds you worthy of his submission.

That’s a Big Fucking Deal.

And yes, there is a sexual element. Sure. He’s going to ask you to do things or approach sex in a way maybe no other guys has. It’s going to seem weird. But let me tell you a secret: Every motherfucker on the planet is weird. There is no normal. There is only the question of whether the person you’re with lets you in on their weirdness or keeps it secreted away from anyone’s attention, maybe even their own. So, I’d say, one reason you want to be with this submissive guy is he’s already demonstrating some emotional awareness other guys don’t. That doesn’t mean he’s perfect, but he’s got a leg up. He knows himself.

Practically, there are some perks for you. He’s going to show an incredible (sometimes obsessive) interest in your satisfaction. He’ll want to do things for you maybe nobody has before and he’ll want to be the best sex partner you ever had and, honestly, he may only get annoyed with you with you fail to take advantage of him in the way he craves. But that’s not all without cost. Sometimes, it may seem overwhelming to have to worry about his fucking orgasms or to make sure he’s obeying all those rules he seems to care about more than you do (but are supposed to be your rules). Sometimes, it’s going to feel like a lot of extra work.

But what relationship isn’t work? What anything worth having isn’t work, at some level?

That’s not to say you should let him off the hook when it comes to holding up his side of the relationship. He needs to be fair in what he wants from you and respect your own needs and desires that don’t neatly fit into his subbie worldview. And don’t imagine that it’ll be your job to satisfy all his sexual fantasies. That’s nobody’s job. He will need to mold his expectations as much around you as you need to adapt to him.

Assuming you can get all that together, you’re opening both of you up to a deep, romantic, satisfying, and fun relationship dynamic. And, really, regardless of your orientation or proclivities, isn’t that what we all want? So give the subbie guy a chance. Accept the gift. You might actually like it.

Now, with regard to what was perhaps the real point of Plotin’s question, I’ll ask my readers to suggest “good reading material, that describes FLR in a non-creepy, not overtly sex-centered way.” I’ll be curious to see what they suggest.

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The book on bottoming

I went looking for something new to read on the flight home and picked up The New Bottoming Book.

As an aside, let me point out for a moment that while the Amazon Kindle might be the best thing to ever happen to taking books along on vacation (maybe it isn’t, I don’t know), what it has done to my reading habits is ensure I never finish any books. If I lose interest for only a second, I just tap the little shopping cart and have a whole new book on my device in about six seconds. Not the best for those of us with attention spans formed by watching too much MTV as a kid. Anyway…

A few random thoughts regarding random passages I’ve highlighted as I’ve gotten 27% of the way through (the Kindle tell you that, you know, but not what page you’re on, so I can’t tell you where these are exactly).

When we bottom, we feel nurtured and taken care of — so, paradoxically, we may feel safer in the “dangerous” world of S/M than anywhere else.

The parallels are not exact, which I’ll get to in a minute, but this is absolutely true. A lot of people may (do) ask, why in the world would you want to give up your orgasms or wear a chastity device or fill in the blank with any sub-type sacrifice? And yes, on the face of it, it may seem strange to want to give up freedoms or basic pleasures, but in exchange I feel like I get so much more. Belle wanted me back in the Steelheart as soon as we got home last night so I was. And it was a pain because I’ve been out for so long and my body forgot what it was like to be in and it woke me up like four times when the stupid penis tried to get hard and, good lord, on the face of it, why o why do that? But I didn’t once feel put out. I didn’t once feel annoyed by it. I felt just what the authors said in the quote. Taken care of. Comforted.

Being locked up is a physical manifestation of Belle’s love for me. It’s what I need and she gives it to me. Submitting to her makes me all warm and gooey inside. It just does.

Bottoming offers us a chance to please the people we care about, with a perfect pedicure, a dusted mantlepiece, really skillful oral sex, of whatever else gives pleasure.

Again, true. And this is one of those areas where I think I’m a sucky sub. I want to do things for Belle and make her happy, but she likes to do things for herself. To the point that by the time I thickly understand she needs help, she’s all pissed at me for not. And I’m just not very creative when it comes to thinking of things I could do for her. Also, I’m a slug and need to be given a jolt to move. So, I’m bad at spontaneously seeing things and she’s bad at asking. Something we both need to work on, but me especially.

I recently suggested that she could “order” me to do things for her by saying “I’ll let you do such and such for me.” Seems like a good phrase because I do want her to let me do things for her and she’s not so good at always using the standard issue hawt domme lingo. Also, “I’ll let you do this for me” can be said in front of the Muggles and they’ll never know any D/s is happening at all. She used it once already and just hearing the words turned me on and energized me. I hope we can keep this in the repertoire.

The part where it gets kind of fuzzy for me is the “if you were a halfway decent partner, you’d want to help anyway” thing. True. But I can’t help the subbie pixie dust that gets sprinkled on stuff she “lets me do” for her. I can’t separate it. And why bother? If it works, it works.

[T]he desires we play with are not rational. The desire you may have to be utterly bottom, to be operated by and operated on by another, to be very small, to be owned: this desire is not reasonable. It is, however, powerful, and even the best bottoms have many a desperate argument with themselves on the subject of lust versus sanity.

I needed to hear that. We kinky folk seem to spend so much time thinking about this shit. I know I do. Why? Why do I want this? Why does it make me feel good? Especially the other day. But, I read that and hear, “It’s OK to be a freak and stop thinking about it so much.” I’ll try.

“Normally, you have a ‘bubble’ of protectiveness you put around yourself to prevent yourself from being physically or emotionally hurt. When you agree to top someone, you’ve agreed to put that bubble around you and your partner for the duration of the scene.”

Except we don’t do scenes. Well, not as such. She will occasionally tie me up or hurt me, and I guess those are “scenes,” but we live this stuff. While I don’t think the sentiment is wrong at all, it just highlights how the book (so far) seems to be written with a very scene-based approach and not from a lifestyle perspective. That’s not a fault as I would assume most people are looking for that kind of POV.

In any event, it’s a good example of how hard it must be being the F in an FLR. Bubble extension? Like, all the time? Of course, she can’t do that. So I need to fill in the blanks for her when she’s not feeling it. Even if you don’t buy the bubble extension metaphor, I think it must be harder being a top all the time than a bottom only because topping, to me, sounds like a lot more work. Kinda related to this next one…

If you try to make your scene look exactly like your fantasy in every detail, you’re scripting too tightly: your top will find it virtually impossible to play with you, and you are very likely to encounter interruptions and disappointments as reality stubbornly refuses to conform to your fantasy. Fortunately  you can help reality along by running the complicated or excessive parts in your imagination.

This resonates because, as I said, above, sometimes I need to fill in the blanks created by Belle not wanting or being able to be what I need her to be 24/7/365. This is not a weakness on her part at all. It’s just reality.

Also, for those guys who are just starting out or trying to find a way to approach their partners about denial or chastity or FLR or whatever, reality will not be what your fantasy is. The faster you figure that out and not define success by how closely the two mesh, the happier you and your partner will be. They cannot be your fantasy partner because they are, in fact, real people with their own needs and desires, etc. It seems to me being in a D/s relationship — or any relationship — is compromising on those areas where your partner cannot meet your expectations, molding some of your expectations around those desires they are able to partially meet, and totally reveling in those areas where they meet or exceed your expectations. Your relationship is a Venn diagram and there will always be two circles, not just your one.

As I read more of the book and find things that move me to expound, I will. For now, though, that’s enough expounding.

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Grumpy Thumpie

So as not to present one with the idea that this orgasm denial stuff is just one big shiny balloon forever floating heavenward towards sexual nirvana, I will relate the embarrassing (for me) events from a few days this past week.

Belle woke from her afternoon nap (laying out by the pool can really wear a girl down) and I, laying beside her in wait, jumped her. This is in itself a bit out of character since I had no reason to believe she wanted me to, but she was already naked so I made my move. She was apparently amenable to the idea since she let me put my mouth on her nipple uninvited.

Sex comes, of course, in many varieties. Among the best and most indulgent examples of the art is the kind known as “afternoon sex.” A truly decadent derivative of afternoon sex is the “afternoon while on vacation and the kids and rest of the family are downstairs but our bedroom door is locked so it’s OK and, oh, did I mention the warm Trade Winds blowing in through the huge windows and over our naked bodies” kind of sex. That’s what we were having. I licked and suckled her nipples and traced her moistening clit lightly with the fingers of my right hand and the penis was ridiculously hard.

My assertiveness continued when I offered Belle the penis as the vehicle to her pleasure. I wanted her to fuck me. Or, more precisely, I wanted to fuck. Maybe I’d be able to hold it together, maybe I wouldn’t. I really wasn’t thinking that far out. I made the offer out of a selfish desire. She commented that that was usually her decision and, since she didn’t mount me, left it to me to figure out all by myself that I was to continue along the lines of what had already been started. Eventually, though, my fingers and mouth proved not to be enough and, rather than take the still rigid and needy meat for a ride, she had me use Pink. My Belle’s orgasm was still reluctant to show itself, so she took the vibrator from me and took care of herself while I was left to nipple duty and the penis, once filled with such optimism and enthusiasm, was left to drip forlornly all by itself.

It was during this period of my being only somewhat tangentially involved in the activity I initiated that whatever lizard-driven assertive zeal began to falter. By the time she came, the penis had lost its stiffness and I felt somewhat guilty at my previous behavior. Belle, of course, didn’t know what was going on in my head or that I was once so focused on getting the dick wet (damned the torpedoes!). As she was enjoying her post-O glow, I felt as though I shouldn’t get any more. I knew she was about to invite me to fuck her and didn’t think I deserved it. As I was formulating a way to express this, she told me I could go for a ride if I wanted to.

Which is to say, I had a choice. And I had a preference (not to). But when the time came to make the call, the lizard showed that he still had some fight left in him and pulled me, penis first, into Belle. This whole trip, my trigger has been very itchy and I was on the verge of coming almost immediately. I wasn’t just riding the edge, I was tiptoeing over the individual atoms of the razor sharp knife. The kind of edging where a simple shift in position causing the penis to move a half an inch inside her would send the whole thing over the falls. The kind where the lizard with his usual marginal influence over my actions has a disproportionate ability to make things my bunny side would rather not happen. This time, though, the lizard was in the ascendence.

Belle perhaps sensed where I was and told me to get off. Ride was over. And that command, which I’ve accepted is entirely hers to make, planted a seed of anger. I wasn’t mad at her. More likely myself for doing what I didn’t think I deserved and letting myself get so close to the forbidden objective and resenting her authority over making me stop. That little seed, fertilized with my guilt, sprouted and grew as the day went on so that by the time night fell, I was being sullen and standoffish to everyone.

In thinking about it afterward, I think my button got pushed too many times. Too many times at the edge. My hormonal load had to be sky high. Sometimes, denial can be very hard and not for the reasons that seem obvious at first.

My emotional issues came back a few days later and with greater intensity. I was making dinner and it wasn’t going perfectly. Not badly, just not perfectly. But each little imperfect thing was snowballing exponentially with every other little imperfect thing and I found myself swimming in anger.

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll just skip ahead to later that night.

Belle came to bed and was mad at me for being such a child. I was still mad, and she was there, so I attached it to her. But I wasn’t mad at her. By that point, I was mad at myself for being an ass and ruining our evening. Our conversation started out as an argument but devolved quickly into me sobbing inconsolably for being such a pathetically bad partner. All trip, I had been telling Belle how badly I wanted to make her happy and, due I think to the symptoms of the very act of my submission to her, I failed miserably.

I hadn’t cried like that or felt like that about myself in a long time. So much self-doubt. Self-pity. Intense feelings of being weird. Of being a freakish burden to her. I was afraid she’d make me come just to snap me out of it and that sounded so much worse than anything else. I felt convinced that if she had known the real me when we married she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Pathetic, really.

But I’m better now. The tears were cathartic and I’ve apologized to Belle so many times she’s told me to shut up about it. All I can do now is learn from the experience and try to realize when it’s happening again and try to stop it before it goes too far. I’ve redoubled my focus on her and her needs. More than anything, my little tantrum felt like a deep betrayal of my submissive nature and promise to Belle. Thinking about it now leaves me feeling deeply ashamed of my actions. I am profoundly sorry.

We’re leaving for home today and Belle’s said I’ll be going straight back into the Steelheart as soon as we get there. We both feel my attitude would have been better had I been locked up. Being contained changes me for the better. It’s been far too long since I’ve done hard time and I have a deep craving deep in my soul for the comfort and security of the steel. I have a week-long camping trip at the beginning of May and Belle’s said I’ll be locked until then.

God, I need it. And god, I love her for being able to see that I do.

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Peanut buster parfait

It is in that moment before your beloved drops her balled-up fist with as much might as she can muster between your open legs and onto your exposed and oh-so-vulnerable testicles where you experience primal terror. All the evolutionary safeties, who would usually be screaming at your higher brain to stop and cover yourself, are quivering in fear in the dark little box into which you’ve locked them. Your heart flutters and you have to will your legs to stay apart…

Continue reading “Peanut buster parfait”

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Rules

I’ve been reading Discipline: Adding Rules & Discipline To Your BDSM Relationship on Das Kindle. It’s coincidental to the new rule about forbidding me from playing with myself when unlocked, but happily so. The book is by Lily Lloyd of blackleatherbelt and has been enjoyable and enlightening.

Lily identifies three types of rules:

  • Ritual and Protocol – Activities and  standards of behavior in which a Dominent and submissive engage to reenforce their roles.
  • Standing orders – Rules the Dominant expects the submissive to carry out on a regular schedule or when a particular situation comes up.
  • Behavior modification – Rules that are intended to help a sub develop a new habit or shed an old one, with the objective of changing the sub’s life for the better or making the sub’s behavior more pleasing to the Dominant.

In addition, she says the use of rules in a D/s relationship have their own simple rules:

  • They should bring you closer together.
  • They should build a dynamic you both want.
  • They should enhance (or minimally not detract from) the well-being of both partners.

This is, of course, eminently logical stuff. It is true. But that doesn’t mean any of it was obvious to either me or Belle as we stumbled into our D/s overlay. Some of what Lily says in the book we’ve already come to realize but other stuff I don’t think we have or didn’t realize we realized it until I read it all laid out as she has. If you’re a D or an s (or a little of both), you should read this book. I’m not finished with it yet, but am just about half way though. That’s enough for me to be able to say with full conviction that if you read my blog you’re likely to get something out of this book and should do yourself the favor. (I mean, come on. It’s only three bucks.)

As a sub, I love rules. Just thinking about them and writing that statement makes the device’s contents tingle and swell. On paper or conceptually, rules sound boring, but in practice (and specifically how the concept of being ruled percolates through my brain) they’re fucking hot. Combine this with my natural predilection towards process and definition and you get a nerdy subbie squirming mass craving order and discipline. Especially the discipline.

Belle doesn’t love rules. She’s the one who doesn’t measure the ingredients to a recipe and just eyeballs it (which drives me crazy) and is the first between us to do what she wants rather than what is expected. This is a natural point of friction in our foundational relationship, let alone a potential pitfall in our D/s overlay. Without thinking, it makes me want to say I don’t really have that many rules, but after some reflection, it turns out I do have more than just the one. In no particular order…

  • I have to wear the chastity device of Belle’s choice whenever and for however long she says.
  • I’m not allowed to have an orgasm until July 27, 2014.
  • I’m not allowed to refer to the penis as mine.
  • I’m not allowed to use the penis in any pleasurable ways without Belle’s permission.
  • I am to turn the TV off in our bedroom whenever Belle wants it off and I’m not to complain about it. (That one was my idea. I love the TV in our bedroom, she claims to hate it.)

There are a few that have become defunct.

  • I used to have to ask permission before getting into bed. This one suggested that the bed is Belle’s and she decides where I sleep, but she’s never made me sleep anywhere else (like on the floor or in another room).
  • I used to have to ask permission to sleep naked. For whatever reason, I just sleep naked anyway. On the rare occasion that I don’t, she asks what’s up.
  • I used to have to prepare the coffee machine to make Belle’s coffee in the morning. Belle bought a fancy-shmancy coffee machine that only requires the push of a button to make an apparently tasty beverage (I wouldn’t know since I don’t drink it).

Maybe there were others, but I’ve forgotten them. We both need to be invested in rules in order for them to work and these obviously weren’t that important to one or both of us. One that I particularly like that Lily requires of her girlfriend sub is to spend five minutes a day quietly contemplating their relationship and then to text her when she’s done. This is kind of like my desire to have to thank Belle every day for acceptance of my submission. It’s a difficult thing to stay in the subbie state of mind and a daily reminder, even something so simple, is appealing to me. Also, vocally reiterating my position is a profoundly energizing thing for me to do, especially when I’m not feeling it all that much.

As I said above, I’m all about the rules. I love them. I know I loved them long before Belle loved them (or at least appreciated them). When she really took charge of the device and when and for how long I’d wear it, it made wearing it ten times more appealing to me (and it was already appealing). That’s when it became a rule. One that she set and I follow. Same for her recent investment in my denial. Now, we both own that. Her commitment to the rule that I won’t come for another 520 days (it’s true – look it up) makes not coming so much more profound for me than back when she’d fuck me all she wanted and if I came it was my problem. I want to follow her rules. I want to obey. But I’m only a man, after all. You keep fucking me, I’m going to come eventually. It means a lot to me that she wants me to succeed as much as I do.

Same goes for the “no playing with it” rule. I was out this past weekend and that fact kept waking me up (as a hard, sensitive penis will do) and each time the first thing through my mind was that I could not touch it. I’m choosing to interpret “playing with it” to mean no pleasurable touching, not just jacking off, so I have to be very careful not to grab it just because it’s needy. In any event, that one simple rule that you would have thought seemed pretty obvious for us has resonated in me very deeply. I suspect (though I haven’t had a chance to put it to the test) that I feel so strongly about obeying her that she could leave me alone sans device and I would be good. That’s a huge difference from how I felt just a few weeks ago.

Friggin’ rules, man. They’re awesome.

I have more to say about using rules to modify behavior, but will save that for another time.

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Swingin’ steel

There was yet more sex on Saturday morning as I was still steel-free. I had this weird thing the night before where the end of the penis became super sensitive. It was so distracting that I had to remove my PA jewelry. Every little shift of the stainless loop would send a not very pleasant jolt through me making it hard to sleep yet again that night. In fact, since this crazy sexed up period started, I’ve had troubles sleeping pretty much every night. Even last night, though I didn’t see Belle all day. Anyway, Saturday morning was more of the same except this time Belle got to ride me for an orgasm. I felt pretty good about keeping my shit together for that. I didn’t even get close.

After the sex on Saturday, but before she resecured me, I told her how guilty I had been feeling about taking advantage of the time she lets me out to jack off (yes, I did manage to get some in). This is a new feeling for me. In the recent past, I’ve assumed that if I was out it was more or less a free-range penis, assuming I didn’t come. But as we’ve been having all this fantastic sex lately, the idea of seeking this pleasure without her knowledge or consent hasn’t sat right with me. Maybe it’s the copious hormones produced by all the edging and psuedo-ruined orgasms and the low-grade blue ball tenderness I’ve been sporting, but I was feeling very much the need to be backed into a tight little submissive corner. The penis is hers, not mine. I can’t just do whatever I want with it. If it’s out, it’s out for her. This is a fact. There’s no such thing anymore as a time out for good behavior. I get out for a specific purpose and it’s not to jack off.

In any event, the rule now is I am not to play with the penis at all except when specifically allowed to do so by Belle. Seems like an obvious kind of rule for someone in my position to have, but I’m not sure it’s ever been so explicitly stated by her before. At least not for a long time. Just thinking about it now makes the tube pack tight. I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be if I’m left alone with it in an accesible state.

After clearing that up, she produced the Steelheart. I had to put it on while she watched which is very hard for me to do. It puts my assembly skills in a race against the penis’ hydraulic system with only my brain trying to run interference as an ally. I did manage to get the tube on and the increasingly fat and solid meat shoved up in there and in place so she could slide the lock home and turn it in its slot, but barely. As soon as she removed the key, a deeply satisfying warm wave of submissiveness washed over me. In an instant, the steel tube merged with its contents in my mind and I was seemingly as I was always meant to be.

We went to the gym after and I ran for four miles on a treadmill with the Steelheart heavily swinging between my legs. I’ve been in the Looker 02 so much recently that I forgot what the dense steel monolith of the Steelheart felt like. Not at all uncomfortable. Actually somewhat comforting. A subtlety different mindfuck than the lighter L02. Also, I had to reacquaint myself with the sensation of shifting meat within the tube. The L02’s insert keeps the meat inert and unmoving while the PA fixing in the Steelheart allows some shifting. The penis gently bumped against the inside of the tube with each stride.

That night, my new little nympho wanted another orgasm. I had my doubts that it was even possible considering the number she’s had this week and the one she had had just that morning, but she was feeling the itch and it’s my job to scratch it. After lengthy ministrations by me and Pink, she eventually called the effort off. I couldn’t get her more than 85-90% there. I felt defeated. There were a couple of times I thought she was going over, but it didn’t happen. She packed Pink with her on her trip so she’ll not be denied should the urge strike again while she’s gone.

As I said, I had a hard time sleeping again last night and am very tired as I write this. The lack of sleep is aggravatingly non-specific. Sometimes, it’s because I’m too horny and I know it and I can’t stop imagining things. Lately, though, I’m just too alert and aware. And every time I shifted in bed, the Steelheart would heavily flop to the other side. On my stomach, it was a hard, dense presence between me and the mattress. On my back, it would pull the whole package down between my legs. I was never alone.

But it wasn’t a total wash-out. I did get about four hours sleep again, though the morning wood made the last couple pretty restless. A benefit of the L02 is that it rarely wakes me in the morning anymore. Belle’s back tomorrow night late. I’m looking forward to not sleeping next to her again.

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Weeknight surprise

As I said at the end of the last post, Belle takes off for a few days on Sunday morning. This is particularly crushing for me since we’re really into each other right now. My assumption is this is some kind of lunar or hormonal rhythm thing, but I’m neither questioning nor complaining.

I told my Belle Fille last night while making dinner that I really needed some quality time with her again before she left. Sunday mornings have recently been a highly reliable time of the week where the lack of job, kid, or trainer obligations coincide with an increased energy level on her part. If she’s not on the rag, I can usually depend on some kind of bunny lovin’ before we start our day. But, this week, she’ll be leaving and the hole her absence leaves both in my heart and schedule has been hard to accept. All I really needed was to feel her come to sate me until she gets back.

Happily, she wanted to come. And, it turned out, a bunch more. She unexpectedly stripped down leaving me to discover her nakedness. My usual state when going to bed is to be naked, so we basked for a while in the sensations of the full length of one another’s skin pressed against each other, with the small exception of the well-packed steel about midway down.

“What if I unlocked you?” Hell, yes. What if? Oh, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease unlock me. And she did. I shall remain unlocked until she leaves or feels I need to be in again. I am a spoiled rabbit.

My Belle has a long refractory period. Girls don’t usually have to recharge following orgasm like guys do, but my Belle is special. So, going for three orgasms even in six days would be a challenge. But, it was a challenge I was happy to accept.

After the penis was released, we laid beside one another some more, this time with a hard and poky member between. Her hands on the penis was heavenly and I realized how well she’s used the device to manipulate my desire for her recently. Note that I’m perfectly happy being manipulated in this way. I said as much to her.

“I love how this makes me feel,” I breathed out between kisses, “I love how this makes me act toward you.”

“I love how this makes me feel,” she replied through her wonderfully full and fragrant lips, “I love how this makes us.”

Yes, exactly. Sacrificing my orgasm and free access to the penis in exchange for a stronger and more intense emotional bond seems a bargain in my book. I never ever want to be anything other than totally sexually controlled by her.

She climbed on top of me and guided the rigid meat home. The heat and ease with which it slid in made me gasp as she settled down to business. But this wasn’t the usual fuck for her. Instead of quickly finding her rhythm and riding me to a relatively quick orgasm, she lingered. Slowly moving up and down of the shaft, luxuriating in the sensation of being penetrated by her cock. There was no rush. There was no reason. This was about the ride, not the destination.

“I’m acting like you,” she said about half way along, meaning this was fucking for fucking’s sake. She had no motivation other than to enjoy it.

I soldiered along. Sucking her tits, nibbling at her neck, running my hands down her back and over her ass, I tried to contrate on everything other than her gyrating hips and the pussy between them and the part of me the whole kit was enveloping. I wanted to go for however long she needed me to, but I don’t think I made it longer than eight or ten minutes. The thing that finally got me (what can almost always get me) was what she said. She repeatedly told me how good I felt inside her using language her mother would not find acceptable. Thing is, it’s really hard to cultivate a nascent small penis humiliation fetish when your partner tells you every chance she gets how awesome she thinks your erection is. So yeah, I had to stop.

But it was just for a moment. She rolled on her back and told me to fuck her instead. I did as commanded as best I could, withdrawing at least three times to clench back an impending rush of semen. Twice, I managed to keep it in, but once I didn’t and thick slug of the pungent goo landed on the sheets. Regardless, I went back in because she wanted to feel me in there.

As I fucked her, she was constantly moving beneath me, gyrating and reciprocally thrusting and generally really getting into our sex like a hormonal coed. I found myself feeling oddly non-subbie. Yes, she still owned my orgasm, but I felt like I owned her. She was my woman. I cradled her head while slowly fucking her, one hand in her hair, the other holding her jaw. I nibbled, kissed, and cooed at her. I felt like my larger male frame was shielding her. I could feel my ass muscles flex and contract as I repeatedly claimed her with every thrust. My fucking woman.

It was weird. I haven’t felt that in a while.

One more close call in which I leaked inside her caused her to push me off. She still hadn’t come even though we had been going at it for a half hour. This is highly unusual. Even more that she was at an impasse as to what to do next. She wanted to come but couldn’t figure out how.

Sensing that she needed me to take a little more control over the situation, I said, “Can I go down on you?”

She purred at the suggestion at first but than said, “But you’re in there. You don’t like that…”

“I love it until I come,” I reminded her before heading south.

Her pussy was open and soft from the fucking and smelled and tasted like both of us. I eagerly tucked in and lapped up whatever juices I could, swallowing repeatedly the ample supply. I can’t tell you how much was her and how much was me, but it was all heaven. I reveled in the messy, sticky, humid and heat of her. As the minutes passed, I found myseld determined to make that pussy come if it was the last thing I’d ever do. Eventually, she did. Intensely. Electrically. But I lingered. As soon as her clit’s hypersensitivity had passed, I rubbed my whole face in her. I deeply inhaled her scent and could feel a powerful masculine response from a deeply encoded place. My fucking woman.

As I got up, I rubbed the excess moisture from my face all down my chest and stomach. Like I was using her essence as war paint. I wanted her everywhere on me. I didn’t even ask before reentering her and I continued to fuck her, slowly and gently, long after she came. It took a while, but the submissive resurfaced and I started to feel guilty for claiming such indulgence without her consent. She didn’t seem to mind, though. It wasn’t until she was pinching my nipples with all the force she could muster and biting my neck (leaving faint yet obvious monkey bites), that I crested one final time. Our long, wet, sticky, smelly and wonderfully glorious weeknight lovemaking session was over.

Well, for her. I was trapped in the hormonal spin cycle and could feel the entire night sleeplessly stretched before me. This time, though, before it got too late, I downed a couple of Tylenol PMs and was able to salvage four hours of very weird sleep. Weird in that my body chemistry pushed me in one direction while the pharmaceuticals pulled in the opposite direction.

Eventually, sleep. Then, too early, wake. Now, tired. But happy.