Tag: D/s

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The nose on my face

Back in September of last year, I bought Belle Uniquely Rika. Over the course of the past week, Belle’s read most of it. She seemed to resonate with much of it and asked me to read it, too. I’m about half way through now and, I have to say, it’s blown my mind.

Before I go further, I’ll say this is not the post where I actually discuss Rika’s approach. I have questions (as do others), but I’m not done with the book yet so I think trying to get into it now would be premature.

As I sat there in my sudsy warm bathwater (who doesn’t read in the bath? and who knew “bathwater” was one word?) and I read the Rika Way® (which, even though I’m not actually discussing it, does seem to make more than a little sense to me) I was suddenly struck by something very profound. Something I’ve danced around and paid lip-service, but have not really owned up to. Something that has, oddly enough, left me somewhat shaken.

I am submissive.

Seriously, I know. Isn’t that ridiculous? Like, it says that right up there in the blog description. “Submissively inclined.” I’ve known this. But no. It’s different now. I’m not submissively inclined. I am submissive, period. I really can’t describe how finally and fully realizing this seemed like a massive chasm suddenly opened up underneath me. I actually felt a bit of weightlessness in my chest. Both terrifying and exciting.

I have, in the back of my mind, always clung to this idea that I might be a switch. Not that it mattered much since Belle’s unlikely to ever let me top her and she’ll never let me top anyone else, but I clung to it. Like a blanket. Like a thing that made me feel better but was actually totally worthless. Now I know, thanks to Rika and what she wrote and how it finally knocked the final pieces into place, that I’m not ever going to be a switch. I am, in fact, always going to be on the bottom. And that freaks me the fuck out.

First of all, I admit to carrying around a prejudice against submissive males. Submissives in general kinda creep me out. It makes no sense, I know, but that’s what it is. It’s like I’m the white supremacist who just discovered the black grandmother he never knew about or the uber-masculine father of 12 who suddenly figured out he was gay. This is all horrible and all nasty and sad and not anything I’m happy about, but I see now that I’ve never fully embraced my submissive nature because I don’t especially like the archetype as it exists in our culture. In fact, there is no archetype. No role model. Nothing positive to look towards. Just layer after layer of stereotype and ridicule and cultural indifference. And now I know I’m one of them.

Second, I’m very self-centered. Always thinking about myself and how I can get what I want from a situation. Always thinking about my needs and my POV and how I know what’s right and everyone else just hasn’t figured it out yet. You can’t be a self-centered submissive, right? That’s not actually possible, right? Who’s ever heard of that?

Finally, based on the first two points, I’m very afraid of failure. Of not being able to live up to the ideal I’m even now creating in my head of what a good submissive partner needs to be. Not someone playing at submissiveness, but an actual submissive. How can I embrace something that gives me the creeps? How can I square my selfishness against my desire to serve Belle?

I admit I’m freaking out. Overreacting. Not making an abundance of sense. As Belle said several times yesterday, we’re already living 80% of what Rika describes. But that other 20% is a big 20%. What I feel opening inside me is maybe the biggest emotional and relationship challenge I’ve faced. It scares me. The thing I’ve been approaching from the periphery, while always looking in another direction, for over a year now scares me like never before. Understand, I do not doubt. I know what I am because of the wave of warm euphoria that washes over me when I think about it and how Rika’s words ring so true and (frankly) the way it chubs out the contents of the tube (every male’s divining rod). It feels true.

But now what? How do I move forward? And honestly, how much more of a prat could I actually be?

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Change of plans

So yeah, last night was my supposed to be my next chance at an orgasm, but no, it didn’t happen. Belle came down with menstruation early in the afternoon and, since she prefers I come inside her, she decided to postpone the event. Instead of coming, she said I’d get a little personal abuse time. To be honest, I felt it was more than a fair trade. Like last time, it consisted of using the butterfly clamps on my nipples combined with testicle pain. The thing that made it especially notable is that Belle’s getting really good at this stuff.

She started out by attaching the clamps flat against my chest as opposed to perpendicular as before. This meant any pulling of the chain not only pulled on my nipples, but also twisted them. In addition, she clamped just the very tips. How they stayed on without gripping any of the fleshy bits is beyond me, but the sensation was a laser-intense pain on either side. Instead of just pulling randomly, she would wind the chain around her finger, slowly and purposefully, raising my expectation of the coming hurt several notches. Then she’d pull. The shorter chain meant more intensity and sensation with her every movement. She also used the chains to more purposefully direct my movement, like a bridle on a horse. God, they still hurt right now, almost 24 hours later.

She also mixed up how she slapped my nuts around. Instead of single hard impacts, she’d perform a series of light slaps that escalated in force until she was rapidly slapping me rather hard. Again and again, she’d build a cascade of slaps up to nearly a hard punch at the end, intermingled with light and really rather pleasant stroking of what had become a very tight scrotum thanks to the steel ring and swelling cock. Before long, the lingering pain from each assault coalesced into one long, aching torment. That unique pain radiated into my guts and down into my inner thighs as she moved back in for each round, pushing my legs out of the way if necessary. It was…fucking awesome. I passed over the threshold of involuntary self-preservation and started to open my legs wider, leaning into her strikes. Craving them. Silently urging her to hit me harder.

When she was done with me, she gently stroked my inner arm, a place of heightened sensation for me. She uses that place to calm me down and it works. Even with throbbing, burning nipples and aching balls, shortly after she started I felt the bite of the Steelheart’s ring ease as the meat inside released its erection.I felt very spacey, very warm, and very happily hurt.

“I’m going to do this for 30 more seconds, and then you’re going to get Pink,” she whispered in my ear.

She didn’t seem interested in having an orgasm earlier in the evening. Had the infliction of pain on me aroused her? I don’t know. I still haven’t asked. But as soon as she stopped, I reached into my drawer and took out her favorite sex toy. As she came, she grabbed the device out of my hand and pressed it hard against her clit.

Another intense orgasm for her. An awesomely satisfying scene for me.

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Potpourri

About a year ago, I discovered a little statue made by Auguste Rodin called Eternal Idol over on Male Submission Art and fell in love with it. I have no idea if Rodin was subbie, but he’s perfectly captured a moment of male submission in this work. Ever since I found it, I’ve been thinking of getting a copy for Belle but was never able to find one that didn’t look like ass. Asking the Google brings up a ton of links to one particularity nasty knock-off and only a few to the one pictured above (in fact, so obscure, I can’t even find it again). It’s a copy made from the original and currently resides on Belle’s nightstand, a Christmas present from her little bunny.

In other news, I can report that the miracle of human adaptability is again taking place in my pants. When I first got the Steelheart back from the Fatherland, I told you the ring was very tight. Almost too tight. On the border of intolerably tight, to be honest. It woke me up several times a night with its tightness and the accompanying testicular pain. Now, just over a week later, I’ve somehow adjusted. It’s still tight, but the testicular aching is gone. It now wakes me up just like the CB6K did once I got used to it. Somewhere between 5:00 and 6:00, my stainless alarm clock pulls me out of my sleep and makes me get up and pee. This morning, I could have even stayed in bed. I expect that soon, I’ll sleep right though it.

I’d love to know what’s going on when that happens. Are things moving around in there? Are the pain receptors burning out? I don’t notice anything different on the outside, but somehow the very same device is causing my body to react differently. It’s amazing, if you think about it, that a guy can have a thing like this strapped to him and eventually just roll with it.

Yesterday, to celebrate our day off, Belle and I had sex. We brought the rabbit vibe out for only its second performance. I suggested we try to dollar-cost average its per-use expense down from $110/orgasm to only $55/orgasm. Maybe even lower if she liked it. Last time, she used it on herself and I watched. This time, I wanted to use it on her. I still have, even though I’m unable to do it myself, a strong urge to fuck her. Her usual stand-by, Pink the vibrator, is very nice, but not really a fucking tool. It’s too small. I know, it’s not really about me and all, but I’m interpreting Belle’s Rule to mean after 72 hours, I can lobby for anything.

Anyway, at first she declined the rabbit. She wanted my fingers. So, like the dutifully denied husband that I am, I let go of the rabbit idea and started to work on her. There was no rush since we were home alone and it was the middle of the morning. I climbed above her and kissed her nipples and started to stroke her pussy in an unhurried way. The device was soon filled and straining and, since I was above her, hanging down and bumping into her. I moved between her legs and pressed its warm hardness into her snatch. I rubbed it against her clit, not really knowing if it would do anything for her. But it did. She liked it.

“God, I want to fuck you so bad, Belle Fille.”

“Then go ahead. Try it.”

I started to press the Steelheart into her pussy. I could feel her heat radiate through it, but felt no other sensation other than the familiar pressure of the tube restraining me. Its downward curve made any kind of real fucking impossible, but I could feel it being enveloped by her while I fingered her clit. Every little cell in my brain was pushing me to fuck her, and even though a perfectly hard cock was a fraction of an inch away from a wet and willing pussy, it was not to be.

“Get the rabbit,” she said.

I hopped out of bed, hot steel swinging between my legs, and got the rabbit vibe from our toy box. I couldn’t find any lube, so I stuck it my mouth and covered it with spit. After warming it up under the covers for a minute while I worked on increasing her natural lube, I turned it on.

Now, I was really fucking her. The rabbit’s vibrating ears tickled her clit while the lavender head of the shaft (noticeably bigger than me) worked in and out. One hand on the vibe, the other on one nipple, my mouth on the other, she soon was going over the falls and having what seemed to me a pretty serious orgasm.

After a few moments of basking, I asked to be beaten. She said she would and ordered me up on my hands and knees. Then she whipped my ass and upper thighs with the crop. I can’t say how long it went on, but I’m sure my ass was glowing red when it was over. It stung for the better part of the day as we went to the movies and just hung out together. I think I must have told her half a dozen times how much I liked the beating. We so seldom get to do that now that all our hitty toys are so noisy…

Finally, Belle told me that my initial showed up on her calendar again. After only two weeks, I’ll be allowed another orgasm this Saturday (or thereabouts). She told me that any freedom from the device would be short-lived since its presence keeps me properly focused. She made me admit that I knew it was true. It is. I’m a much better bunny when I’m in my cage.

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A dream, a thing, and a scene

I had another dream a few nights ago. In it, I reached down to feel the device (something I find myself doing quite a bit, actually) and discovered that, somehow, the cock was outside it, long and hard. I couldn’t process this as it was unharmed and yet the device was still in place underneath. I was very confused. Then, instead of acting on the unexpectedly free meat, I started to try to stuff it back in the tube before Belle found out. I felt guilty and even somewhat ashamed and very much annoyed that the perfectly secure device had somehow failed. Then I woke up, hard and stuffed into the tube, ring biting. Still perfectly secure.

I feel like writing a post that probably covers some old ground, but I’m sure you’ll humor me. What choice do you have, right? I want to talk about how things have changed with regard to chastity and Belle and I. How her attitude and the new Steelheart have combined into a new thing. A better thing, from my point of view. Then I’ll tell you about a hot little scene to make up for it.

Like most guys, I guess, chastity devices are part of our relationship due to my interest, not hers. For the better part of the first year we used them, I always suspected she was humoring me when she had me wear one. She didn’t seem willing to push my tolerance and acted as though being out was preferable to me than being in. At some point, though, in the past three months that changed. She wants me in a device more than not now.

A week ago, when the new and improved Steelheart went on, she and I were standing in the kitchen together. I had been chastised for all of about 30 minutes at that point, and for the first time in weeks. I was standing very close to her and put my face against her neck.

Belle laughed a little. “I can tell you’re wearing it,” she said.

“I feel different when I have it on,” I replied.

“Good!”

“You haven’t like me out of it?”

“I always love you. You know that. But I’ve come to prefer you the way you are when you’re locked up. You’re more focused and attentive. I like that.”

I think I may have whimpered a little. Shoving your meat into a chastity device because you want to is plenty fun but doing it because it’s expected of you – because she really wants it that way – is another game altogether.

One of the things those of us who wear these devices often hear from those who don’t is that we really shouldn’t have to wear one. We should be strong enough to maintain our chastity through no other force other than our desire to do what our dominant wants. I don’t really argue with that point of view since it’s just another way to play the game, but I think it misses out on something that, for me, is pretty huge. Something I’m only just experiencing now.

The first ingredient is what I just talked about and has been present for a little while now. That is, she wants me in the device more than I want to be in it. The second ingredient is the Steelheart’s newly inescapable features. If one kinks on submitting to their dominant partner, then great. I get that since I do, too. But I also kink quite hard on not having any control. In the past, when the device I was wearing was one I could escape from, I always maintained a certain amount of control since it was only my self-control that kept me in it. I wasn’t really interested in escaping, but knowing I could meant I still had control. Now, I can’t get out. And I don’t decide when I go in. Or how long I’ll be in there. All my control is gone because she’s taken it. That’s hot.

I told Belle this night before last. I told her it made me happy. I’m in a very good zone right now with regard to the D/s and my new found total lack of self-determination has a lot to do with it. That night was also one in which I could, according to Belle’s Rule, initiate sex. She wasn’t really in the mood, but she told me to get undressed and to bring her the butterfly clips anyway. I gave them to her and she kind of played around with them a little by clipping them on the fleshy webbing at the base of her thumb.

“Ouch!” she said, “That hurts.”

“Yeah,” I said, sounding not unlike a stoned surfer. I’m a pretty big fan of those clips.

She experimented with pulling on them and saw for herself how they clamped harder that way. I was getting kind of dreamy watching her fiddle with them. I could feel the tube’s contents plump up.

She finally attached the clamps to my nipples, first the right, then the left. They’re so intense. Wonderfully intense. Belle picked up the chain and started to pull. Gently, then with more force. The tube fully pressurized, biting into the shaft and pulling my scrotum tight. I got up on all fours to help ease the strain of the heavy device pulling on the erection.

That gave Belle a vector into my balls. At first, she stroked them and the hard steel making them tight.

“So smooth,” she said, “I love how smooth it is.”

I looked down and watched her stroke the steel. “I wish I could feel that.”

She pulled me closer and my face down to the mattress with the chain. Then she gripped my balls hard and squeezed them. I instinctively pulled away which caused her to yank on the chain again. In this way, I found myself to be something of a human yo-yo. She’d pull the clamps to make me come closer, allowing her to punch me in the nuts. I’d pull back and she’d yank on the chain and start the whole thing over again.

Pain flashed up and down my body. My balls were aching, both from the device and the abuse. And my nipples were on fire from the yanking and pulling. She was being wonderfully cruel. So thoughtfully, lovingly cruel. As usual, when she’s hurting me, I lose my sense of time. I have no idea how long this went on, but when it was over and the clamps came off, it was as though my nipples exploded. Incredible surge of pain. And as I laid next to her, spooning the solidly filled tube into her backside, my balls throbbed.

I felt completely abused. Thank you, Belle Fille.

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Thumper’s night

Yes, she let me come on Saturday.

The whole thing was wonderful. Before we got down to business, she told me to undress and get into bed. I did, on my knees, burrowing my face into her, kneeling and demonstrating my willingness to submit. She ran her hand up my naked back and caressed my skin with her nails. I hadn’t been feeling super submissive up to that point, but the weight of the event was starting to dawn on me. I was going to have an orgasm. An orgasm I really wanted and was only going to get because she was allowing it to happen. I got under the covers and laid next to her, opening myself to more of her caressing.

She ran her hands all over me except on the aching part that wanted it the most. I shifted around trying to help her find what she was obviously avoiding.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please touch it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied calmly. She’s always calm in bed. I get so turned on and fight for control and she stays cool and collected.

“I want it so bad.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she finally found her cock. I gasped. Even though I had been unlocked for weeks and had plenty of opportunity to feel a hand on my erections, this was altogether different. This was her hand.

“How many times did you play with this while I left you unlocked?” She asked. I avoided her eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I felt guilty. “How many times?” she repeated. Not angrily, but firmly.

“I don’t know…” I said sheepishly. I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You don’t know,” she repeated.

“No, I don’t,” I said. Then, eventually, “Lots. More than I should have.”

“Uh huh.”

“You said I could that one time,” I said, gamely groping for an out.

She grabbed my nuts and squeezed. The pain was instant and severe. I gasped as her griped tightened and I felt one testicle slowly and uncomfortably grind against the other. She let go and I collapsed against her, panting. The pain throbbed dully and the cock was harder than before.

After a few moments of relief, she quickly grasped my testes in her hand again, squeezing even harder than before. The pain seared up and out of my groin and spread throughout my body. Her nails began to dig into the soft scrotum skin. I realized I was being punished for playing with her cock.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasped and she released me.

I nuzzled into her and apologized again.

“You’re weak,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I’ve been far too indulgent with you,” she said. “I’m going to lock you back up tomorrow. You need to focus more on me.”

“Yes, Belle Fille,” I whispered. Her attitude was unexpected, as was the intensity of her punishment. She had quickly driven me deeply into subspace.

A short while later, she allowed me to begin bringing her to orgasm. I pulled up her top and started suckling her nipples, feeling them stiffen in response. I brought my hand down between her legs and felt the glowing heat coming through the material of her pajama bottoms. I pulled them down and felt her slick wetness under my fingers.

“I want your tongue in my pussy,” she said bluntly. “I want you to eat me out.”

I moaned and quickly moved between her legs, planting my mouth on her wet snatch. I absolutely reveled in her juices, slurping them down as the soft folds of her flesh responded to my insistent tongue. I reached up and played with her nipple. Soon, she was breathing hard and gasping “oh, fuck” repeatedly. She came really hard and I laid my face against her wet heat, rhythmically grinding the hard cock pressing into the mattress.

After basking for a few minutes, she brought me back up and indicated it was time for me to go. I easily slid the cock into her pussy, loosely relaxed and supremely wet as it always is post-cunnilingus. I quickly got up to speed, wanting to enjoy the feeling of purposeful fucking but also wanting to feel the orgasm I knew I’d have. I held her head with one hand, the other on her hip, and kissed her face. I felt such love and affection for her. Felt so grateful to her. So connected to her.

All too soon, I felt the orgasm lock and load. I was still pumping, but beyond the point of no return. It started to well up inside me from great depths. I gasped, “This is yours,” and shot my load inside her. Again and again the cock flexed and more of my seed surged into her. I was grunting and gasping and just fucking coming like a feral pig. I had been so horny – wound up so tight in anticipation – and all of it was swirling away inside as the pent-up energy drained out with the orgasm like water down a drain.

Immediately afterward, I was spent. Totally spent. Exhaustion came over me like a heavy blanket. I felt contentment unlike any I’ve felt in quite a while. This was no half orgasm. There was no restraint on my part. It was my night and I came completely. In no time, I was out. Deeply asleep. Content.

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When the means become the end

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

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

“Well…be quiet about it.”

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

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

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I am not dead!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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New rule

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, we slept.

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

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Utopia?

I’m speechless.

I found the following on a website I stumbled upon while absentmindedly following blogroll links. It’s a clip from a Gene Roddenberry pilot called Planet Earth made in 1974 and actually shown on network television (ABC). From the Wikipedia article:

The pilot focused on gender relations from an early 1970s perspective. Dylan Hunt, confronted with a post-apocalyptic matriarchal society, muses, “Women’s lib? Or women’s lib gone mad…”

Obviously, I’m looking at this from a very specific point of view, but holy shit if this isn’t the hottest piece of television sci-fi I’ve seen. I will definitely be looking for the rest of this episode. Also, reevaluating my conception of Gene and Majel.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noo2zPjewOE]

UPDATE: The quality’s not so good, but here’s the entire show: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

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Moving right along

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

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

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

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

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