Tag: D/s

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Further elucidation

I said:

In short, I’m not in a place right now where I can submit to Drew. It’s as simple as that. My sexual relationship with him is founded on submission and if I can’t get myself there, I can’t do it.

So, why can’t I do it? And why does there have to be submission?

I’ll start when the second first. I am submissive. It’s not just a thing I do (though I get, for some people, it is that). Someone might say, “Gah! Why so complicated?” To which I would reply, are you new here? Which is a joke, but seriously, because it’s who I am now. With Drew, it was the very reason we had a relationship in the first place. So he could dominate and I could submit. When I said it was the foundation, that’s what I meant.

When you’re submissive, you sometimes need to find that angle that gets you into subspace. Sometimes, the Dom/me can do something to help you get there, but even so, a lot of it is internal and sometimes feels like you’re drawing a curtain in front of the things that might keep it from happening. It’s not hard with Belle since my submission and her control over my sex are deeply intertwined in our relationship now. But with Drew, I found it was getting harder and harder for me to find the submissive vector that pulled the curtain. Not because of anything mechanical or tactical he was doing wrong. I think it was because I came to know him too well.

If I had to find a starting point for when that started to be an issue, it was specing out and ordering him his Steelheart. I wear the Steelheart. I’m not with someone who does. But he was always very open about what was going on there and I had to try and just let those things roll over me and then get them out of my mind. Our recent trip to Montreal to order him his Steelwerks device was more of the same. Then there was the way he reached out to me when Axel found his set of boy toys and the emotions and conflict that brought up in him. I was really glad to be able to talk him through that and be his friend, but it finally put too much stuff on the side of the scale I needed to balance out to find my sub side with him.

Drew always wanted to be friends. I thought that was a good idea and was my instinct, as well. Turns out, if we did anything wrong, it was that we got too close. We became too intimate with one another’s private lives. The space in which I constructed my submission to him was filled with other things. Like his insecurities and hopes and issues and strengths and weaknesses and other sundry life drama.

That’s entirely unfair. I know it is. But it’s how it works with me. At least, how it works with me regarding Drew. Perhaps how it’ll work with any man. My feelings for men don’t follow the  same pathways as my feelings for women, after all. I can’t know that how it works with a guy on the side is how it’d work with a woman. It may be that anyone I enter into a D/s relationship with external to my marriage will need to maintain a certain distance to last.

To be clear, he did nothing wrong. I don’t think I did, either. It’s just where things have ended up, at least for the time being.

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Why in the hell?

This post is written as a primer of sorts for those just discovering an interest in male chastity or for someone who’s just been introduced to the subject by their partner. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Please feel free to add your POV in the comments.

I suppose the vast majority of the uninitiated (ie, muggles) would have no idea why any man would want to subject himself to enforced male chastity (which I’ll call EMC for this post because that’s a lot of letters to keep typing out) or, conversely, why any woman would want to do it to her man. They might also wonder about all kinds of other kinks like D/s and masochism and bondage but I don’t think I’m qualified to try and suss out the motivations of those of us who are wired to enjoy those things. But, I think I can try and break chastity apart to help see the value of it in a relationship.

Of course, I’m a guy and I’m married to a woman who I’ve been with for more than 15 years and that’s the aperture through which I see chastity and can write most intimately about it. Additionally, I think chastity play comes in lots of variations and flavors and the way we do it and how it works for us isn’t necessarily the way that will work for everyone else. I’m not saying it is. But I am saying that my experience talking to others on the subject and reading other blogs, etc., has made me understand there is a broad similarity to our stories that suggests a common foundation for relationships like ours.

111004_getitVenn diagrams are those charts that have two or more overlapping circles that represent different things. Where the circles intersect show how these things, when combined, make a third thing. If I were smarter or more talented at such activities, I’m sure I could make one for EMC, but I’m not so I’ll hope you know the concept and just move on. In any event, EMC can combine several kinks and motivations together into one package: Dominance and submission (D/s), sadism and/or masochism (S/M), and bondage (put it all together — what’s that spell!? — BDSM). But, I don’t think the main practical, real-world benefit of EMC is necessarily kinky at all. And I don’t think it needs to be practiced that way or considered as kink.

At the very heart of EMC is the concept of orgasm control (OC because we’re making acronyms today). OC is what you get when you decide, as a man, to stop rubbing one out whenever you get a shadow of an urge to do so and let the energy and desire build until it can be put to a practical purpose. I think of OC as fundamentally an internal thing and not part of a D/s power exchange dynamic (in which case, it’d be orgasm denial, but I’ll get to that later).

Why would a guy want that? To what end? Aren’t orgasms wonderful and best enjoyed like peanuts at a ballgame — frequently and in plentiful numbers? I have so many thoughts about this, but I’ll try and boil it down. First off, yes, orgasms are wonderful. We are literally designed to crave them. In a way, we’ve been created through evolutionary forces to become addicted to the hit of chemicals that flood our brains when we have them because in many cases that means we’ve spread our seed and satisfied life’s mandate to multiply. And when we’re young (teenage years through the twenties and thirties, depending), men can’t get enough of them. I recall jacking off so often at one point my dick became raw from the friction, but I kept doing it anyway because OH MY GOD I had to. On top of the evolutionary forces at work, our culture conditions men to value their sexual release over most other things and to revel in our ability to do so. There is a lot of pressure, both physical and social, behind frequent orgasms to be sure.

But, as we grow older our ability to squirt as often as we once did usually declines. The reserve of sexual energy we carry around with us starts to ebb and the time between feeling the need to come stretches out. I think of this energy (and I can’t think of anything else to call it) as a natural resource with a purpose and function in the confines of our relationships. Jacking off is great, but most guys want to follow their biological imperative to procreate and put that stuff into a warm, wet, living hole. But, as it happens for people in long-term monogamous relationships, there are a great deal of factors that work against a rewarding sex life as time goes along (repetition, kids, jobs, health issues, etc.). We develop grooves in our patterns that become the opposite of sexy and motivating and that leads men to follow the path of least resistance (i.e., jacking off to porn).

Note that I am not making any kind of argument or judgment against porn. I actually quite like it and think enjoying it is perfectly natural and not something we should be ashamed of. I also tend to reject most claims of “porn addiction.” If a guy ends up spilling over porn too much, then he’s wasting this energy I mentioned that would otherwise be used in his relationship. It’s self-perpetuating in that wasting his energy though an interest in fantasy can lead to a lack of interest in the reality of his partner causing her to become resentful or angry or hurt (or all of those things) which in turn only reinforce his porn consumption habit (and is therefore labeled “addiction” far more often than it should, IMO). In any event, as that energy resource becomes more scarce and life and familiarity conspire against a fun, sexy relationship, using it up on porn reduces his interest in trying to recapture the spark between he and his partner.

Of course, relationships (typically) contain two people and he alone is not responsible for maintaining it. Usually, there’s plenty of blame (if you want to use that word) to go around. The reason I fixate on him and his orgasm is I think it can, through OC, be used to bring a sexual relationship back into shape.

So, long way to go, but here we are at the doorstep of what OC can mean in its simplest and most direct form. If a man chooses to only have orgasms when he’s with his partner, then he’ll quickly learn to think of her again as the source of his sexual pleasure. It’s not an automatic thing and she needs to be fully invested in the idea and prepared to take on the responsibility of playing her part, but when done correctly they can both find themselves back into a state not too dissimilar from when they were first together. He’ll naturally become more interested in what she’s thinking and feeling and invested in her happiness and she’ll see and appreciate that. It can help knock a lot of frost off and get the gears turning again.

In no way is this kinky. Zero level kink. I’ve found in my marriage that Belle sees it as a demonstration of my commitment to her and our relationship. That’d I’d give up my “right” to come as often and wherever I like and save it all for her. Sure, for us there are a lot of kinky things layered on top, but at its core, this is what EMC is about.

Some people who grok this concept think it’s some kind of magical palliative that will fix whatever ails a relationship. That’s not at all true. All relationships need a foundation of communication and trust to succeed. Orgasm control (or orgasm denial — getting there) or chastity are stacked on top of those elemental aspects which must be present. But, if the basic necessities of a reasonably healthy relationship are working, then I’ve found focusing one’s orgasms on one’s partner can draw the two more closely together than perhaps they’ve ever been.

All that said, this is a post on my blog and therefore it cannot end at the simple control of orgasm. Truth is, a lot of men (most, perhaps) who are into this idea are also into wanting to take it further. From self-control of orgasms to no control over them. That’s when it turns into orgasm denial (OD). The “denial” part can be scary and confusing, but what it really means is the man isn’t able to come when he wants or feels like it, even during or after having sex. Women are often socialized in our culture to think this idea is massively cruel and will feel guilt at not letting him orgasm each and every time the opportunity presents itself, but for those men wired a certain way, this only amps up the impact of OC and is something they actually crave. There’s no rule as to how long he should be denied orgasm. Some women let their men come once a week or once a month. Some longer. Far longer. Some never. But realize, few if any start out that way.

For us, it was pretty much that I’d come every other time we had sex. Then it got longer. Once a week or so. I found the longer I was made to wait, the longer I wanted to go. I started to crave the crave, so to speak. I would rather want to come and feel that desire build inside me than actually do it. And once Belle let go of any socialized guilt and became more confident in the control I happily transferred to her and, most importantly, learned that I was a better partner to her when I wasn’t coming, my denial became second nature. I now have no expectation of orgasm when we have sex. She usually makes me wait many weeks, even months. When I do get to, it’s because she wants to feel me do it inside her much more than she actually wants me to come. As crazy as this might sound to someone just starting out, we’re both much happier this way.

And yeah, technically, OD is kinky. It’s a form of D/s. Power exchange. I get off on not having control as I’m a natural submissive and Belle gets off on having that control over me, though she’s far from a Domme and would never describe herself that way. A lot of couples end up like this. Women who never fantasized about dominating their partner even once find a way to do it that works for them. They back into a dominating position as they see the benefits of investing the time and effort into it has on their partner and their relationship. Because of this, Tom Allen has described OD/EMC as a “gateway kink.” That’s entirely true, in my experience.

Beyond denial is the practice of enforced male chastity. That is, using a locked physical device to maintain control over not only a man’s orgasm but also his ability to access his body as he has his whole life and even his ability to achieve an erection. Not every couple gets to this stage. Some women are simply squicked out by the whole thing. Some men can’t handle the physical demands of being locked up, even for a little while. Some woman think he’s not truly being denied unless he’s also demonstrating sufficient willpower to keep his hands off himself unless she says it’s OK. All that is valid.

On the other hand, some men get off on the added layer of control the device represents. They get off on how they need to modify their lives to accommodate it and how it’s always with them and always, in every scenario and situation, reminding them of the control their partner has over them. It ticks the bondage box really well and can even be made to fill a need for masochism. Finally, I think penis restriction is, in itself, a distinct fetish that EMC uniquely satisfies. For whatever reason, there are a lot of men that get off on being locked up. More, it seems, all the time. The profusion of devices at pretty much any price point in recent years has either fuelled that interest or is a direct result of it. Probably a bit of both.

The desire for a device by either the man being locked up or the partner holding his key can also be practical. In our relationship, Belle doesn’t even allow me to play with myself. I want to abide by that rule and try very hard to do so when I’m not locked up (which isn’t that often), but it’s hard. She knows I won’t come without permission and thinks I’ll avoid self-stimulation most of the time, but if I’m locked up, she can know for a fact I’m following her rules. Chastity devices allow an additional layer of deterrence to be added to a couple’s dynamic and some of us (like me) need that.

In summary, the one thing I want to leave with someone newly exposed to the idea of EMC is that it should not be viewed as weird. There should be no shame felt for wanting it. Human sexuality is ridiculously and wonderfully complicated and manifests in many ways. I believe there to be millions of men interested in some aspect of what I’ve described here with a sizable chunk actually practicing it in some way with their partners (or alone). The more you get into the subject, the more you realize that “kinky” is a highly subjective term. Most people are interested in something they or someone else would think is kinky. The sooner you let go of any fear of exploring sex beyond the traditional way it’s portrayed in a lot of media, let go of concern of judgement, and realize we’re all sexual beings of some kind with needs and desires as unique as we are, the sooner you’ll find satisfaction and happiness. Sometimes, in ways you never, ever expected.

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Dancing around the paradox

I’m told the commenter I reference in this post is probably a troll. Doesn’t change the thesis of my post, but if so, he should rot in hell for being a lying douche.

A reader calling themselves maxnsue left a comment on an older post discussing the concept of permanent orgasm denial. In part, they wrote…

I am in permanent orgasm denial at my wife’s request. [That’s all you have to know as the rest is probably bullshit.]

There’s a lot to unpack in that comment and I’ve only included three-fifths of it here, but the critical element I want to focus on is the fact that the reader’s wife [assuming there is one] was the one who made the decision to permanently take his orgasm off the table.

Right now, it’s only been something like three weeks since I last came. For some, that may sound like a long time, but it isn’t for us. Now that the kidney stone unpleasantness is behind me, my ability to feel and enjoy denial is back as it hasn’t been in months. And I mean back. It is not any kind of hyperbole for me to say that I feel at my best when I’m denied. When external downer forces like the kidney stone thing aren’t present, this, right here, is the way I want to be forever. Like I said the other day, sure, I crave orgasmic release, but I do not want to come.

There’s a kind of Zen-like dance men like me need to perform regarding orgasm. I don’t want them. I want to crave them, but that’s different. I want the need to come to claw at me in the moment I’m in her and on the edge. I want to feel it push at my higher brain as if my life depended on squirting inside her, but that’s it. I would be honestly disappointed if, when she gets home later this week, she let me come. Now that I’m feeling it again, I want to keep feeling it. I never want to not feel it. This is what I hope to be forever.

But not having orgasms is only one part of the denial Oreo (not the creamy center, obviously…maybe an Oreo is the wrong metaphor). The other half is knowing I don’t control my own orgasm. I could beg and cajole Belle to leave me like this forever, but it’s sweetest when it’s her will at work and not mine. If I were to make too much of a production about being permanently denied it would take something off the experience. Whatever happens, it has to be her choice. It took me years to really get that, but I get it now.

So yeah, maxnsue’s situation is very appealing to me. I get where he’s coming from and really appreciate the allure of it. But that kind of dynamic only works when it happens organically as theirs has. It’s perhaps the fundamental paradox of D/s. Being too prescriptive to one’s dominant partner to the point of them doing exactly what the sub wants makes what the sub gets less satisfying. The best bet for everyone concerned is to establish rubbery, bouncy boundaries and then let the top push the sub to them (but not necessarily over them).

Belle gets home tomorrow. I don’t know if she has plans or has spent any time thinking about my state, but I hope she leaves me as I am. I do not want to come. But, if she says I have to, I will. Nowhere is it written that a sub will always want what their dominant lets/requires they have.

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When absence becomes a verb

Had to live through another sleep-deprived night yesterday that was maybe 70% caused by hormonal denial build-up and 30% sick kid up in the middle of the night. Seems like these all-nighters don’t come as often as they used to, but the resolution of my recent kidney stone thing has allowed my libedo to come rushing back like someone turning the tap on Niagara Falls. I tried to write a post yesterday, but my foggy dementia from lack of sleep made it not so great.

The thing I was trying to get out was something you’ll either get because your Rorschach patterns of kink and proclivity resembles mine sufficiently or you won’t. As I said, I’m really horny, but I have no desire to play with the penis. Well, I mean, if I was told I could, I’d do it in a millisecond, but the overlapping factors of submission and obedience and faith and trust all soaking in a hot bath of hormones cause me to not think of it as a pleasure object. Not something that is right for me to focus on or have access to or have any rights over. I had to remove the Steelheart the other day because of the kidney thing and felt a great craving to get it back on as soon as I could. I had legitimate access to a free stick of meat filled with all kinds of wonderful pleasure receptors and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Because the pleasure received by returning to the condition in which I was placed and expected to be (and how I was expected to act) overwhelmed the other kind of more immediate and direct pleasure.

Same thing happened yesterday. I had to get out for the doctor visit and found myself actually resentful at the disruption. I have gone to the doctor locked up before, but not when it involves the thing being locked, so I do understand why it’s necessary and all that, but it pissed me off more than I was expecting. Once the visit was over, even before I was out of the building, I felt the need to be back in the Steelheart the same way I need that first shot of caffeine in the morning. A hungering edge to be contained again. Feeling the cold steel wrapped again around the shaft of the penis brought a palpable sense of relief and comfort to me.

And it goes beyond that. Belle has said I look odd to her when I’m not in the Steelheart and the pink meat is flopping around naturally. That, as I’ve said, she honestly prefers me to be locked up (both from how it makes me look and act). And I like that. I’m more than OK with that. I want that. Men are conditioned by culture and probably even by evolution to be driven by this idea that they are somehow measured as men by their penis and how it measures and what they do with it. But in our relationship, she’d rather I not use it on her. She’s grown to favor the kind of sex we have that leaves the penis in it’s trap. She’d rather it stay where it is most of the time and remain absent from the dynamic.

But, of course, it is part of the dynamic. It can’t not be. But its contribution now is its absence. What it’s going through by not being allowed out and the void left behind when you’re having terrific and rewarding sexual relations with a man without depending on his cock. In spite of it. In fact, in neither of my sexual relationships is its absence considered a problem. Drew, commenting on the photo I posted last time of the free penis, said something to the effect that it’s not even how he thinks of me. That he wouldn’t know how to relate to me if I had a free penis with him. He also prefers the steel and honestly has no interest in getting to what’s inside.

And I do not miss my freedom. I don’t miss being able to play with it whenever I want and I don’t miss not being able to stick in people or that they can’t touch it most of the time. After just a short period of denial and chastity, it becomes who I am. Not a thing we do. Or a thing on me. When it’s working, it is me. Even when it wakes me up at 3:00 AM. I rarely if ever think anymore, “Man, I wish this thing was off me.” I almost always think, “Man, I wish this thing would stop trying to break out.” The craving for the thing locked away and the sensation that comes from it never goes away, but it transforms. That energy transmutes into something positive.

Anyway. There’s a little mid-week trip down the physiological rabbit hole that is my sexuality. I could go on, but it’d just get tiresome.

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Fortnightish

“Can you feel it?”

Belle asked me that as I was wrapped myself around her in bed, pressing my naked body against as much of her bed-clothed body as possible, hard stuffed tube pushing into her thigh. We’re at about the end of the second week of my six week lock-up prior to Spring Break.

“Yes,” I said quietly into her hair.

And I can. A lot. Everything is so much more now. How she looks, how she feels, how she smells, how she tastes. I’m starting to think more about what she might want or how she might feel about something or what she’d want me to do. It’s like fucking magic.

“I can tell,” she said before turing over to sleep, “It’s good for you.”

Whimper.

Then, after a moment, “It’s good for me, too.”

Four more weeks.

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Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.

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Feral, free range rabbit

It’s been an odd couple of weeks around here.

First off, I was off in the woods over the long MLK weekend. Belle let me out the weekend before that, let me come, and then didn’t put me back in since I was flying on Wednesday. Got home Monday night and I just stayed unlocked. All of a sudden, it had been two weeks with no locked steel between my legs plus no sex.

The universe has decided to do interfere with our lives in a coordinated way. Things are going on both at her work and mine and together they’re a significant bummer. We’re maybe seeing the light at the end of the tunnel now, but we’re still living under this combined overhang and it’s no fun. That, as much as anything, also explains the gap in posts here.

In any event, we did finally fuck Saturday. Bummer or no, my hormones eventually overwhelmed the damper on my libido and, when shown a glimmer of hope from her, sparked into a sudden and raging need to be inside her.

She has a longstanding rule that I’m not allowed to play with the penis when unlocked absent her permission and, in the past, I was usually pretty good at following it, but I pledged that in 2015 I would follow it absolutely. The last few days were a significant challenge (and I was more or less neglecting the Tumblr for obvious reasons) but I found that whenever my hand was inexplicably on the hard penis, the idea of stroking it was really unappealing to me. Our base desires really can be rewired through conditioning. I wanted to feel the sensation of my fist pumping up and down around the hard shaft but even more badly wanted to feel as though I was doing what she expected and that I was keeping my word.

So yeah, when the time came, I was pretty fired up. It’s at those times when just a tiniest tease of my finger against her hot snatch will make me nearly combust and I’ll get a little more insistent with my actions than she likes.

“Remember,” she said, “This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

Years ago, I yearned for her to feel that way and act like it was true. Now it just is. Hearing the words were enough of a reminder to cause me to slow down and follow her body’s signals, not mine. Knowing that this dynamic was so deeply woven into our relationship left me feeling secure and comfortable in a way that’s difficult to explain as part of a hot sex scene. But there it was.

The entire time I was working on her, the penis was throbbing hard. Erections come in various strengths from happily plump to raging boner. When at the high end of the scale, you can feel the hardness. The straining of the erect tissue against the skin containing it. These are the erections of teenagers, but I had one then. I wanted so badly to fuck her. Then she came and immediately I felt the release valve go off. I could feel her heart beating with my fingers buried in her soft, hot wetness and my heart beating in the hardness between my legs and with each thump the penis was deflating just a little. It would shortly be too soft to use.

But I didn’t have time to worry about it. Just a few seconds after she came, she told me I could fuck so I hopped right up and got to work. The penis rapidly regained its strength. Then, even though my last orgasm was just two weeks ago, she said she wanted me to come. I didn’t even consider whether I wanted to or not. Of course, I wanted both. But she told me to so it was inevitable. I held it off as long as I could before coming.

I think it’s the case now that most of the time when she lets me come (which isn’t all that often) it’s those breathless few seconds of inevitability right after the building orgasm is at its peak (when, if edging, you back it off and let it die) and just before the ejacualte squirts forth that are the most enjoyable for me. It’s the very peak of the experience. Often, the intensity of ejaculating is so great that it hurts. As if something internal is getting flexed or pinched in a way its unused to. Far too much intensity. And then the crash. The crash I hardly ever feel in its full glory.

Belle told me after I had to go back into the Steelheart. She reminded me again Sunday morning that I had to after she came but, due to the visitation of her monthly visitor overnight, I was left out of the love tunnel. She did let me jack off but I wasn’t allowed to come this time and I got there so quickly suddenly that I didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

After more than two weeks, I really didn’t want to go back in. I got used to sleeping through the night. Of not dealing with the steel. Of not trying to hide it at the gym.

“Are you fighting me on this?” she asked. No, of course not. But…

“This is just proof how much you need to be locked up,” she said. “You know you need it, too. You’re better when you’re locked up.”

Swoon. Ache. Whimper.

Of course she’s right.

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Correlation vs. causality

This morning, the stupid penis refused to work again. This happened a few weeks ago, too. Just like then, I was really ready to go beforehand. Due to Belle being sick since last year (literally), we haven’t had sex in like two weeks and maybe that’s no big deal for guys who can take matters into their own hands, but it’s a real problem for those of us who can’t. It led me to feeling very irritable and grumpy and all-around not nice. But I digress.

We started with the kissing and petting and then her clothes came off and I felt her snatch for the first time this year (OK, I’ll stop) and the familiar THUMP in my chest when my finger parts her lips and finds the delicious hot wetness. I know for a fact I had a hard-on at that point. Then I got her off and she came really well and I pressed myself against her as she writhed from the intensity of it. Again, hard enough to fuck. As her basking began, though, things started to peter out. That’s not without precedent as I’ve been trained to see her coming as an end to sex, but I started to freak out just the same. The idea of not being able to keep it up (more of a fear, really) is, itself, not unlike a baggie full of ice on one’s junk. It’s a self-perpetuating condition.

Belle asked me if I thought it had to do with Drew. He was here this week and, last time I failed to pressurize, he had been here just before, too. I suppose it’s possible the reluctant hard-on is a symptom of adjusting from one kind of sexual experience into another. It’s been a really (really) long time since I was swapping back and forth between boys and girls in the same week. If, in fact, there is a connection, it’s subconscious. It’s not that I don’t want to be having sex or am fixated on something not right in front of me. But I can’t really say. Is it just a correlation or is there causality?

Thinking back on it, the last time I can recall this happening was right after I had the affair and before I told Belle about it. It also happened with The Other Woman (which, I’ll tell you right now, is not the best way to maximize your extramarital action). I suppose there may be a part of my brain that has difficulty transferring control of the hydraulics or something. This time around, I feel no guilt. Only gratitude. So it’s a mystery.

Unlike the last failure to initiate, we didn’t stop until I was able to chill out and get it up. Usually, if she tells me about how long I’ll be denied or locked up or whatever, that’ll get me hard (even when in a device) so I asked about that.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be until I get to come?”

“I was thinking about letting you do it this morning.”

Oh. Go on…

“Why today?” I asked. Not that there has to be a reason. I suppose any day is the same as any other.

“I don’t know. Maybe as a way to mark what’s mine.” As in, a way to reassert her control following Drew’s visit.

The night before, I said to her that I was very grateful to her for sharing me. That that exact phrase popped into my head when we were laying together watching TV earlier in the week and she was playing with the little hairy patch at the base of my back and I was feeling all warm and happy and secure. I’m so happy she shares me.

“I’m not sharing you,” she said, “I’m loaning you out.”

I didn’t see a lot of difference between “sharing” and “loaning,” but she did. If you share something with someone, you are giving some of it to them to have. You and they are equal owners of part of whatever it is. If you are loaning it to them, it’s still yours. You’re only allowing them use of it. No exchange of ownership implied.

“OK,” I said, “Thank you for loaning me out. I do appreciate it.”

So, making me come right after he was here would be a way to drive home who’s in charge. Not only of my orgasm, but of me and my sex. My entire being. Fucking hot, right? Things began to stir.

I knew that if she made me clean my seed from her after I came, that would get me good and hard because, of course, semen prior to ejacualtion is the sexiest fucking thing but .056 milliseconds after, it’s demon vomit. The idea of eating it prior is remarkably intoxicating. Of forcing me to eat it, whoa boy! Instant hard-on. So I got all up inside her.

Now, I thought I was going to come. I fucked with that goal in mind. It’s a different kind of fucking (not on the outside, but on the inside). And I got really close. Really really. Then I had the thought that she had only said she was going to let me. Not that I could. So I asked.

“No,” she said.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Of course, I didn’t. But did I want to. For real. Ooooooh man, did I want to.

I said to her I could have just gone ahead and done it. That her previous statement on the matter would been sufficient to establish intent on her part. But, of course, it doesn’t work that way and she knows me better. It’s not my orgasm. Not my penis. Not my sex. It’s all hers. Forever and always.

All the best things in my life are directly attributable to her.

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Belle’s analogy

At some point yesterday, I was showing Belle something on the Facebook and a message from Drew popped up. There’s no telling what he might be saying (or showing) so I quickly flicked the pop-up away and we kept doing whatever it was we were doing. I was 22% flummoxed.

Last night, as we were laying in bed going to sleep, she told me I didn’t have to worry about going out of my way to hide how and when I message him. It wasn’t a big deal to her. Also, she volunteered that she thought about my time with Drew as not being unlike when she went for a mani-pedi. A treat for myself that just doesn’t involve her. Without the noxious fumes.

In addition, she’s given her approval for me to go to LA with Drew over some weekend this summer to take in a ballgame in my hometown. Haven’t picked the dates yet and I need to figure out the logistics around the various metal detectors I’ll encounter (not just at the airport — MLB stadiums all have them now, too). I may need her to either let me wear plastic rather than the Steelheart or we’ll need to figure out some kind of picture-sending thing to ensure security.

I tell you this for no other reason than to point out what an exceptional spouse I have. Opening our marriage up in this way has only made it stronger.

With that, I wish all my readers a very merry Christmas and joyeux Noel.

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Dickless

Last time we were naked and rolling around together, an unusual thing happened. I couldn’t get it up. You know, these things happen. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t freak me out, though. And kinda like when I can’t fall asleep, the issue itself starts to become the issue and the flaccidness/wakefulness causes me to focus on the continued flaccidness/wakefulness and perpetuates additional flaccidness/wakefulness.

I woke up that morning laying on a raging hard-on since Belle had let me out the day before. I was super fucking turned-on and squirmed and rubbed the stiffy into the mattress waiting for her to wake up. Then, before getting her off, I was still all hard and leaky. I thought about just jumping her (because I know she likes it and I was in the right mood) but I did the usual and got her off with my fingers. Then she told me to go down on her and I eagerly complied. Then she came. It was all good.

But right then I figured out something was not quite right. It’s hard to explain but when you’re really grooving in the sack nothing feels weird or awkward or out of place, but at that moment, disentangling from the sheets and moving back up to be next to her I felt uncoordinated and not sexy. Then I started to worry about how my face smelled like her and how she’s not the biggest fan of that (though I’d use it as cologne) and the next thing I know I’m on top of her with a squishy tool. It just wasn’t right. I did really want to fuck her, but the connection wasn’t being made somewhere.

I laid next to her and she had the penis in her hand and she tried talking dirty to me. Not just any dirty talk, though. The kind a subbie little wannabe cuck with a penis humiliation kink wanted to hear. She told me about her boyfriend and how big he was and how much better he was at getting her off and, much to her surprise, the penis started to grow inside her grasp. This is really weird for her because she doesn’t have any understanding of where this comes from for me. It’s really alien to her.

Alas, it was for naught. The meat wasn’t cooperating. It drooped again.

As she was talking, she was also asking what a better tack was. Did I want to hear that her mythical boyfriend was better than me (bigger cock, better lover, etc.) or that the penis was insufficient to meet her needs? Since I know the boyfriend is mythical, he doesn’t much work for me. Hearing that she would like one with a bigger cock, though, does. Hearing that she thinks the penis is too small or thin or whatever does. She said that’s hard for her since that kind of talk essentially disregards all safeties nice girls have conditioned into them. I’ve written before about how she’s always been super expressive about how much she likes the penis, how good it feels inside her, etc., to the point that I have often suspected she was trying too hard to make me feel good about it. Also, her first husband was apparently much bigger (before we were married, she once compared it favorably to the Jeff Stryker dildo — should have been a clue to both of us that hearing the news was in no way damaging to my ego and I spent a lot of time imaging her fucking that big dick). But I’ve also written about how I got her to admit that she really does prefer the bigger dildos she’s let me use on her before. The penis would be better for her if it was bigger (specifically, thicker). In fact, that’s something she’s joked about a hundred times in the time I’ve known her: It’s not about the length, it’s all about the girth.

So yeah, the small penis thing works because it’s kinda true. It may not be as true as if I was only four inches long and as big around as a white board marker or something, but it’s still true. And yes, I do want to hear her say that to me. As often as she wants. While we’re having sex. Tell me that it’ll never be big enough to really get her off and that she probably should look for a man with a real cock if she wants to feel one, etc. That so, so works for me.

Over on the FetLife, I read this posted to the “Submissive men and women who love them” group (by a sub guy):

Name calling and humiliation

Why is this necasary?

I personally am not a fan of it. I understand that sometimes when punishments must be metted out they might come out as part of it but why is it necessary at any other point?

In my opinion a Domme/sub relationship is that of a sub devoting himself to a Lady. Serving Her and giving his will over to Her; while She in turn gives him a safe place to take the world off his shoulders and focus on nothing but his submission to Her.

To me name calling and huliation are not a safe place because you can never know what will truly hurt someone to their core.

Is my evaluation of a Domme/sub relationship wrong?

Ferns‘ reply was perfection, of course:

It’s not ‘necessary’, but some people find it fun and hot and awesome. And that’s great.

Similarly, it’s not ‘necessary’ to flog/cane/peg/smack/fuck/kiss/any-other-form-of-play someone either. But some people find that fun and hot and awesome also.

Erotic humiliation is a form of emotional masochism, just like impact play is a form of physical masochism.

Like others said: if you don’t like something, it’s easy enough to avoid getting involved with those who do.

“Emotional masochism” is exactly right. There may be a place where I will be “truly hurt to my core” but I’m nowhere near it right now. I can’t even imagine it. Partly because I don’t measure my worth by the length of the penis. I know how much I mean to Belle and how much we love one another and, for whatever reason, none of that is in any way threatened when she tells me the penis is too small for her. I will never resent her for saying it. I crave to hear her say it.

I have a friend I’ve known since junior high. After high school, he moved in with his soon-to-be stripper girlfriend who all our friends, male/gay/female alike, acknowledged was super hot. Not just in how she looked (which was way above average) but in how she comported herself. She was a strong female and I was especially drawn to her (and spent far too much time thinking about what I was saying when talking to her). She used to call my friend “Dickless.” It was her little nickname for him. She used it all the time and in front of everyone. It really pissed him off. Since he was one of the few guys I knew who I didn’t fuck/get fucked by around that time, I can’t say if it was true, but it didn’t matter. She was gleeful at his outrage. The madder he got, the cuter and more adorably she’d say it. It was fucking awesome. I’m not going to say I knew at the time I wanted her to be saying that to me, but I do remember how it affected me. There was a certain thrill at hearing her say it to him in front of everyone. I never for a second felt sorry for him. I was in awe of her.

So, flash forward to today. I know, intellectually, that the penis is not so small as to be of no value to Belle. I can and do get her off with it. It’s a perfectly serviceable size. But I also know it’s not exactly what she’d prefer. So, also intellectually, I can honestly say to myself it’s…insufficient. That little leverage is the fulcrum she could use to really take advantage of this particular fold in my sexuality. And I really wish she would.

The next morning, she tried it out a little. I was still free but she wanted me in and said I had to “lock that tiny dick up” or something very similar. That was pretty great. She says she’s not wired to be so mean to me and that it’s a challenge. I get that and I so appreciate that she would make the effort. But I also pointed out denying me orgasm was something she had a hard time with, too, and now it’s second nature for her. She’d never go back to letting me come when I want. Perhaps, in time, calling the penis what it is will end up the same way.