Tag: D/s

Posted on

Prepping the cage

I’m going to be away from Belle for four nights starting tomorrow at a conference and she apparently doesn’t trust me to be alone with the cock since she told me last night she was going to lock me up before I left. I had been asking what her intentions were for a few days since I’m not sure I entirely trust myself either, but I have to say hearing that I would definitely be under control came as a bit of a shock (and not one I’m especially looking forward to). It’s going to be a pain in the ass since I’ll be driving a lot and publicly speaking and using men’s rooms, etc. Then again, this is the deal I signed up for.

chrome_pegs_smlIn anticipation of my renewed imprisonment, I did a little work on the chrome CB6K. Since I’m comfortably settled into a ring/spacer combination that works, I chopped the two pins on either side of the device down to size. They’re designed to work with the longest spacer, but I’m using the second smallest at this point with no plans to move up. That little bit of extra plastic makes a difference in the tight confines of one’s crotch.

chrome_inner_smlWhen I got out last time, I mentioned I had developed a small sore on the corona of the glans, but that turned out to be a clogged pore (aka, penis pimple – something I didn’t even know was possible). I assume the excess paint that rubbed off onto my skin is what caused that, but it’s totally cleared up now. To help avoid that in the future, I’ve scrubbed the inside of the tube out with a soapy sponge. However, as you can see, the furthest reaches of the tube still aren’t as smooth as the unpainted version. Time will tell if the color leeches off again.

The last thing I’m waiting to hear about with regard to this trip (and the rest of my life, I suppose) is whether or not I’ll be allowed to access porn. Looking at porn is a well-established hotel room activity for me (along with about 99% of the traveling male public), but thanks to the do-gooders who leave comments here, Belle’s considering putting an end to that. So, you know, thanks everyone for placing that little bug in her ear. I appreciate it.1

—

1 Not. ↩

Posted on

Thirty

It’s been thirty days since my last orgasm. If you’re like me, you probably find the constant number-keeping of a lot of denied male bloggers pedantic, but it’s different when it’s your number-keeping. Then, it’s fascinating.

One solid month is a milestone I feel like we’ve been working toward this entire past year. I guess I always imagined I’d be super horny at this point, but in reality, I was way hornier at two weeks. If anything, I think my frustration is diminishing, not increasing. At least as a general background noise type of thing. I still find myself overcome with vivid moments during the day and can be turned on easier than a table lamp, but I’m not quite as frenetic about it all.

Now that I’m out of the device, I tend to get hard a lot more, especially when I’m with Belle. I went to sleep last night hard, woke up several times hard, and spooned into her this morning after the alarm hard. Hard hard hard, all the time it seems. The device does provide feedback to my body that makes erections less frequent and shorter in duration. Once it gets out, it pops up more frequently than that kid’s hand in the front row who knows the answer to every question.

While laying in bad last night, I observed to Belle that it had been a while since her last orgasm. I’m not sure why I said it and, in retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to ask for sex and didn’t think at the time that I was, but it’s so obviously what I was doing. She said she was very stressed at work and that made it hard for her to want sex and that she knew it was hard for me to understand that. For me, stress at work leads to an increase in sexual appetite as a method to take my mind off it, but Belle (and maybe all women for all I know) is wired differently.

In any event, she told me my comment made her feel stressed out and guilty. Then I felt stressed out and guilty. I was wrong for bringing it up and I apologized. She said it made her think she was “doing it” wrong and I assured her I thought she was doing it just fine (I’m not sure there’s a one way to do this kind of thing). I felt like a jerk for bringing it up.

So I said to her that I was willing to ceded the last vestige of influence I had over our sex life. In our Covenant, it says I’m allowed to ask for sex once, but I told her I was willing to never be the one to bring up the subject at all. In effect, removing from the equation any and all verbal instigation on my part. Since my sex belongs to her and is for her anyway, I would become totally captive to her desires and, to the best of my ability, hold mine inside and just wait. She said she wants to think about it, but in the mean time I will endeavor to live what I offered. I won’t be suggesting, directly or through inference, that we should have sex until she says otherwise.

Which leads back the hard cock. Obviously, I can’t control that. I’m next to her, I get hard. I spoon into her, I get hard. It’s very noticeable. The only way to control that is to lock it up. As I said, it tends to get hard less often that way, and beside, nine times out of ten, she can’t even tell what its state is in there. This morning, I told her I didn’t want my erect state to cause her any stress. I can imagine that a hard cock pressing into her might send the same signal as me saying, “Hey, wanna fuck?”, but I really don’t want her to read it that way. I’d rather she interpret the hard cock as a sign of my devotion to her and my commitment to our dynamic. I’m hard because I don’t control my own orgasm. I don’t control my orgasm because I gave it to her. I gave it to her because I love her. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Posted on

Updates of a random nature

I was away from Belle for two nights, so I was very happy to see her yesterday. Also happy that she let me massage her feet for 45 minutes and rub a kink out of her back, all while watching Mad Men. Before that, I made everyone dinner and cleaned up. It felt good being back and doing things for her.

The comments and pingbacks I got from my post from last Friday helped a lot. I’ve come to find myself agreeing with All For Her completely. My issue was having expectations of sex. I decided, somehow, that she was likely to want it, so when she didn’t I was upset. I can’t not want sex, of course, but expecting it is a bad idea. If you read the few posts I wrote prior to Friday’s, you’ll see a much more contented bunny and it’s all got to do with what my expectations were at the time. So yeah, All For Her nailed it.

I also think pasterychef touched on a good point. Regardless of whether or not we have sex, it’s very important to my mental well-being that Belle acknowledge my condition and position. As has been pointed out many times before, there’s a difference between denial and neglect. It’s a fine line that anyone doing the denial could find themselves crossing without even know it if they didn’t pay attention to their sub. I’m not saying that’s what Belle did in this case, but it’s worth mentioning.

Last night was an example of the right way to do this. As we watched Mad Men and the end of the Dallas/Giants game1, Belle had me get naked and lay next to her. She rested her head against my chest and gently touched me around the device and along my inner thigh and told me how much she liked the look of its shiny newness and how she enjoyed leaving me locked up in it. She’d also occasionally slap my nuts rapidly which, while not causing very much pain, was uncomfortable while she was doing it. The combination of all this drove me into very deep subspace and left me feeling as though I was entirely hers, to do with whatever she liked. I was kept by her. If she wanted to be gentle, she was gentle. If she wanted to be rough, she was rough. I just writhed in the light of the candles and football, my body very obviously desirous of sex and ready, but totally unneeded since she wasn’t interested. These feelings in me were accentuated by a comment she made earlier that suggested she did want an orgasm, but in the fullness of time and after the foot and back massage and drama and football, was something in which she was no longer interested. I went to sleep feeling very much loved.

This morning, she let me out of the device. I had developed a raw spot under the right side of the ring on my scrotum. I get this, to one degree or another, almost every time I get locked up, but usually at the beginning of the period, not after a couple weeks. Since she was going to let me out in the next few days anyway, she unlocked me so I could recover more quickly. Once out, I found a few more surprises from the new device. Turns out, the inside of the tube is not finished as well as the outside. I don’t know how they apply the silver coating, but it appears to be sprayed on and not very well deep inside the tube. Down there, the coating actually has a rougher texture than the regular, clear tube. Once out of it this morning, I found a black residue on the lower two-thirds of the shaft of the cock. Even in the shower, the color was hard to remove (kinda like permanent marker, but not as dark).

My other surprise was a little sore on the corona of the glans. I could feel it last night, so I just got it, but I suspect it’s there due to the rougher texture within the tube thanks to the unfinished paint job.2 The fact that it’s there means I’m going to have to inspect the meat every two or three days when it’s in that device. Perhaps, as the extra paint wears away, it’ll become smoother, but in the mean time, it’s an issue.

—

1 A game in which I would have liked seeing both teams lose somehow. ↩

2 This mean, of course, that Tom was right. ↩

Posted on

More hard

I have a lot of conflicting thoughts right now.

Last night and tonight, Belle was out after work and not home until late. Yesterday, it was supposed to be just a quick thing, over at six, but she didn’t get home until after 10:00. She was tired and quickly went to sleep. Tonight, she was out again at a work dinner, got home after ten, and was quickly asleep. Both nights, I whiled away the hours between being Mr. Mom and the time she got home perusing blogs, reading porn, etc. Both nights, but especially tonight, I was expectational of some kind of sexual contact. I’ll be out of town tomorrow and Saturday night meaning tonight was the last chance we’ll have to have sex until Sunday night. However, both nights, nothing. At least tonight, she remembered to let me sleep naked.

I know, I know, I know. This is the deal. She gets to be the one to decide. But fuck, it’s hard. It’s hard because all I can think about now is sex. It’s hard because I’m still all locked up and Sunday will be one month without an orgasm. It’s hard, because when the cock’s trying to be erect and stuffing the device full, my nuts feel twice their normal size and I’m left absently stroking the hard plastic tube like it’ll lead to something. I’ve never been here before. On the one hand, I want to be the denied, chastised husband. The one who’s always horny and has no sexual power, but on the other, she just kinda fell asleep here two nights in a row. I know I’m not going to come (or even get out). I’m not asking for that. But I’m so, so desperate for her. I need to feel her or, alternately, at least hear her acknowledge my condition. But to just roll over and say goodnight? That’s fucking hard.

And, like I said, I’m full of confliction. As I write these words, I can see in them the appeal they’d have for a purportedly submissive male such as myself. They’re filled with frustration and inequity and reading them is like pouring lighter fluid on a fire. Outside the envelope of expectation, with my brain operating somewhat more clearly, the disappointment feeds my submission. I can actually feel warm waves of it wash up my spine with each throb of my heart. I’m locked, utterly denied, powerless. Like, really. In the past, I’d be angry. I do admit that for a few seconds, I was a little mad with her tonight, but it didn’t last long and I’m not angry now. Instead, I feel like my masculine prerogative is being popped like a stepped-on cherry. But it’s not going quietly.

My reaction tonight was very different than one I’d have had 3-6 months ago. How will I react in six more months? And how does the denial factor into this? Am I being made more docile through her control of my orgasm? Or am I really this submissive? I don’t have the answers to those questions, but I do know this: submission and denial is hard.

Posted on

Feeling good

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“Yeah?” We had just climbed into bed and were waiting for the offspring to go to sleep in their bedrooms.

“Sure,” I said, “What exactly are you asking when you ask how I’m feeling?”

“Well, you know, physically, emotionally. I want to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”

I told her that on a macro level, I was doing very well. I was quite happy with everything relationship-wise. I had few complaints. Yes, I was disappointed that we hadn’t been able to have sex over the weekend, but I was really very happy with the way she had handled me the night before. Maybe not so happy about it at the time, but in retrospect, I thought she had been great. I was quite pleased to see her not apparently bothered with any feelings of guilt with regard to ignoring my sexual desire. She admitted to still being torn around that. Lingering feelings that she was acting in a way she should not – that she was being a bad mate – still hung in the air at those moments when I’m at my most pathetic.

I told her I really didn’t want her to feel in any way guilty. I trust that she will provide me attention that’s all about me at some point. I do not feel ignored by her at all. It’s important, though, that she determine the timing of that. Everything has to be on her schedule. (She hadn’t yet read my post from yesterday when we had this conversation.) By asserting her control in that way and leaving me horny and desperate, she was filling a need within me just as much as when she will eventually tell me I can have an orgasm. Different needs, but needs just the same.

She told me, in reply, that she was really quite enjoying leaving me locked up now. A few times, she thought of letting me out so she could have her way with her cock, but had actually liked the idea of leaving it locked away, completely under her control, even better. The mind fuck, she said, was more appealing to her than the actual fuck. I, of course, melted inside and got all warm when I heard her say those things. I jokingly accused her of telling me that because she knew how much I wanted to hear it, but she said no, it was really what she was feeling. I made the mistake of asking her, in rapid succession, if she had thought about how long she was going to leave me in, would she make me wear it on a trip I’m going to take in a few weeks, and, lastly, when would she let me out? All, more or less, the same question. As soon as it was all done running out of my mouth, I told her not to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. She agreed, I shouldn’t have asked.

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Luckily, she wanted some attention from me. By this time, the kids were apparently asleep, so she told me I was going to make her come and then we were going to bed. I used my hand and mouth in the way proven to bring her to orgasm the quickest. Nothing unusual or particularly striking, except she was very sensitive to my touch after her longish orgasm drought. She came right on schedule.

Later, I was feeling decidedly non-eunuch-like. Whatever moment of zen had worked its way into me earlier had been blown away by feeling her pulsing contractions on my fingertips. I was really, really fucking horny and totally unable to sleep. I laid there for at least an hour and a half, visions of sex and fantastic scenarios flashing though my head, edited together like a music video. The cock swelled as much as it could and started to flex automatically in its confinement. But something felt…different.

I realized, after all this time, after maybe a year of complicated feelings regarding the act of orgasm, that right then (and, actually, right now), I wanted to come. I wanted to fuck and come and spew forth. Her recent confidence in dominating me coupled with her admission that she liked leaving me chastised and the aforementioned 20-some days without release all finally built up in me and I wanted to come. This was the feeling of being truly denied. Not humored. Not accommodated. Denied. It was a supremely frustrated feeling. It’s a very difficult feeling. But, I do admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Posted on

The hard part

I can’t even remember the last time Belle let me give her an orgasm. Seriously. Looking back at the blog, it may have been ten days ago. That’s a whole long time for a guy like me. I assumed I’d get to give her some homestyle bunny lovin’ this weekend, but she had a bunch of work to do and was too uptight about it all on Saturday and just wasn’t much in the mood Sunday. So, yeah, ten whole days. And counting.

Last night, laying next to her as she was trying to get to sleep, was maybe the hardest thing I’ve done since ceding complete control over our sex to her. I wanted it so bad. And by “it”, I mean her. I wanted to touch her and smell her and taste her and feel her pleasure radiate from my hands or mouth or her cock or whatever. But, you know, it’s not for me. It’s for her. She decides. She chooses when it happens. And I just wait until she’s ready.

Don’t misunderstand me. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I know how I’m supposed to act now. I can’t paw all over her, I’m not supposed to bring it up or try to force it on her, and above all, I am not to be moody or pissy or in any way express my dissatisfaction with the arrangement. That’s the deal. I am submissive to her. I know. I need to focus on those things I can do to make her happier, not the other way around. But damn, laying there stewing in my hormone encrusted state, naked except for the device, and not doing anything about it…geeze, they just don’t teach this stuff in school, you know?

On the positive side, while I wasn’t doing too good of a job hiding the state I was in (though the damned plastic did a fine job of concealing the erection), she didn’t seem at all perturbed by my condition. I think she may have acknowledged it in some small way, but she didn’t show any guilt or seem to feel any angst and, above all, made no move to resolve my issue. She was tired, I was horny – so what else is new?

And that was awesome. Just awesome. I really and truly felt my role. While in the past, my frustration led me to act out in ways inconsistent with our arrangement, I was somehow able to turn my frustration around and use it to feed my submission. I craved her attention so much it almost hurt, but, at the same time, I was able to identify that near-hurt as a direct byproduct of how I want us to be. I was not the injured, piqued, ignored husband stewing in resentment. I was the unused tool. The horse left in the stable. The locked-up, denied, sofuckinghorny guysub who knew his place and who bloody well kept his hands to himself and went to sleep like she told him to.

I am, in fact, just where I want to be and I’m glad to finally have the sense to recognize it.

Posted on

Birthday presents

Belle’s back and the world is right again. We were both pretty tired last night (she from getting up early for her flight, me from getting about seven hours of sleep since she left), so nothing of consequence happened other than I got to lay with her, spoon into her, be naked around her, etc. When you’re in my position, you glean what you can from what you get.

Even though I was totally exhausted and I felt the kind of contentment her presence always brings to me, I still had a hard time falling fully asleep. The weather is more humid and warm than it has been, and that contributed, but I just couldn’t get to the point where the buzzing in my head finally succumbed to the fuzzy blanket of sleep. I’m sure her hand resting on the top of my naked, uncovered ass had something to do with that. I was sort of half dozing for I don’t even know how long, well after she was totally out. The cock kept swelling up inside the device at random intervals and I once again experienced its autonomic rhythmic pulsing as though it was trying to pump out the contents of my swollen prostate.

For those of you keeping score at home, tomorrow will be three weeks since I last came.1 Three weeks where nary a drop has escaped me. Driving around today, I swear I can feel it in there. The pressure from sitting on the firm seat in my truck and the vibration from the engine and road worked together to pinpoint the area under my perineum that feels plump and overly sensitive. This morning, as I went about my business getting her coffee, bringing her the paper, etc., I found gobs of clear, sticky fluid leaking from the end of the tube.

The right tool for the jobWith that condition in mind, and also thinking about her statement that I would relive that pressure though milking rather than ruined orgasms (not that I could ruin an orgasm with this thing on me), I started to release some of the money I collected on my birthday and bought a specialty tool from Stockroom.com. It’s called the G-force and it’s a hard silicone dildo with a handle on one end and a bulbous knot on the other. It’s specifically designed for reaching those hard-to-get-to spots. I have a few different items (one, two) designed to stimulate the prostate, but I find they’re hard to manipulate in tight quarters. I like the look of the G-force’s Kung-Fu grip. Usually, I play with the toys I already have all alone, but I’m hoping that the G-force will prove easy and effective enough that Belle will use it on me. More and more lately, anything I do of a sexual nature by myself feels inappropriate with respect to our arrangement.

I picked up a few other things, too. One was a heavy steel ball stretcher that I’ve kinda sorta been obsessed with for a long time now. It comes in two halves which screw together with an allen wrench and pulls down on the testes with over a pound of weight. I’ve played around with suspending weight from by balls in the past, so I know I can take it for at least a little while. For me, this has been one of those objects I’ve just been unable to stop looking at. So, you know, perfect thing to blow some birthday money on. I also got a pair of black Japanese clover clamps, but they’re on back-order.

The other thing I got, even against the assuredly correct advice of Tom, is a replacement for the cracking and soon to fail CB6K we’ve had for almost a year now. I considered a stainless steel model, but eventually decided to go with another CB6K since doing so would leave me extra cash to blow on other objects of perversion. While I could have just replaced the tube, I instead went for the chrome-looking device. I like the shiny appearance, like the idea of it hiding the cock away from view, and I like that the other parts are black, not white. I’ve never been a huge fan of the clear and white parts. It’s makes the device look almost clinical or something.

With the exception of the nipple clamps, it should all arrive by Tuesday. Now I need to figure out what I’m going to tell people when they ask what I spent my birthday loot on.

—

1 When I mentioned to her that I up against three weeks (and my record, BTW), Belle would only say I had “a while to go yet” before I could come again. I have a feeling I’m not even half way there. ↩

Posted on

Numbers

Last night, I wrote down the dates for the next year’s worth of Saturdays on a sheet of paper, cut them all out, and tossed them into a hat. Of the 50-some little bingo ball-like clippings, Belle drew eight: the eight times I’ll be allowed to pleasurably achieve orgasm over the next 12 months. She didn’t tell me much about the dates (and, in fact, said, “It’s not for you to know or worry about. Just wait.”), but she did mention that there are three “dry spells”. Three rather long dry spells. And she intimated that I’m at the start of a dry spell right now.

BINGO!The longest I’ve gone without coming so far is about three weeks. Now, I’m facing the prospect of twice that and probably much longer (52 weeks divided by eight would mean I’m coming every month and a half or so, on average). What constitutes a “dry spell”, anyway? I admit to being excited by the prospect, but I’m also more than a little nervous. I have no idea what I’m in for now. It’s all new territory.

As we discussed it – my orgasmic fate – the cock became very hard. Still free, I hoped against hope that she’d want to use it, (it’s been days and days since she last let me make her come), but she wasn’t all that interested. I never asked so she never said so directly, but she knew I was ready, knew how horny I was, but chose not to act on the opportunity. There wasn’t even a trace of impatience or angst within me regarding that. As I said in my last post, I totally accept that it’s her hand on the sexual rudder. My availability or eagerness is not that big a deal since I’m always eager and available. So we went to sleep, me spooned into her, hard cock again between us.

Before that, though, as we lay in the dark she said she’s worried about my prostate health as we embark on this new and greatly reduced orgasm regimen. I told her the science seemed to be contradictory on the matter, but we could always ruin one occasionally to blow out the pipes. She said she’d probably allow me to milk myself instead. In any event, it was also decided that, assuming she likes this method of determining when I get to come, we’ll select new dates each year around Labor Day.

In the mean time, I’ll be locked up again today. My short little stint as a free(ish) man will end due to Belle’s impending business trip. After she reminded me last night that I’d be reimprisioned before she left, I asked, “What, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” she replied flatly, “I can just see it now on your blog. ‘I was just blah blah blah and then…’ So no, I don’t trust you. You’re getting locked up.”

Whatever you say, Belle Fille.

Posted on

Labor Day weekend

I didn’t get to see Belle until Saturday morning. This weekend saw the final fling of the summer up at the family north woods compound. She left Friday morning with her sister while I came up after the kids got of school. It wasn’t until 10:30 or so until I got up there and she was already fast asleep.

The next morning, she told me she had drifted off to sleep happy with the thought that I was locked under her key, unable to touch myself in any satisfactory way. She said she enjoys having that kind of control over me. I, not unexpectedly, revelled in her saying this. The familiar warm pulse of submission welled up within me. It’s still somewhat novel for me to think that I wear the device because she wants me to. It was my idea to introduce it, but now it’s all hers (as is the thing it contains). Pure awesome.

Saturday night, after a one of the finest late summer days I’ve seen at the cabin, she had me laying naked next to her in bed. Still locked up, she gently petted my balls until we both fell asleep. The next morning, now about two weeks since I last came, I was petting her back, hands roaming all across her body, except those places I’m not allowed to touch without permission.

“I’m being good,” I observed.

“You don’t have to be good,” she replied.

With that, I attempted to bring her to orgasm, but could feel in her a tension that left me wondering if we’d get there. When she’s in the mood, there’s a certain amount of time it should take me to get her off. As we passed that point, I maintained the ministrations of my mouth and fingers, but could sense it wasn’t going to happen. She eventually told me to stop, but said it wasn’t my fault she didn’t come. There was just too much activity in the cabin full of family for her to relax. I felt bad for her – for both of us, I guess, since her orgasm is our orgasm – but I didn’t dwell on it.

Sunday night, after a fine meal at the only nice restaurant within an hour’s drive of the cabin, we found ourselves alone with the kids asleep downstairs. As I walked into our room, she was sorting through her change purse looking for something. Funnily enough, she desired the use of her cock but had accidentally left the key to the lock at home. We both had a pretty good laugh at that. She didn’t want me to try bringing her orgasm again and instead repeated the previous evening’s gentle stroking of the stretched scrotum, intermingled with lingering tracing of my perineum and the occasional whack at my nuts. Lovely.

Throughout the weekend, and really into last week, I have to say that I’ve been plenty horny and desirous of sexual contact with her, but I’ve also felt myself resist taking any overt action based on those feelings. Previously, I’d have probably been all over her and pressuring her in several ways, but at least for now, I don’t feel the need. I’m very comfortable with my position as her sexual subordinate. When she wants it, she’ll ask for it. Until then, I’ll find some other way to make her happy. I guess you could say that it appears as though I’ve learned to be patient. The chastity device helps, of course.

Last night, I offered to give her a foot massage while we caught up on Mad Men. Just as before, I felt a great deal of satisfaction from the activity knowing that it was giving her pleasure and making her relaxed. After I finished (and the show was over), she produced her key. I was somewhat surprised as being unlocked wasn’t even on my mind, but I assumed she wanted to use her cock in the way she had not been able to the night before. After she let me out, I went off to ensure I was nice and clean.

Back in the bedroom, she had me strip and lay back on the bed. She rubbed and massaged the cock and my balls until I was sporting a very stiff erection. I flexed it several times, feeling it surge with blood and filling out to its most engorged state, just for the satisfaction of the sensation. It had only been a week or so in the device, but nothing beats the feeling of a nice hard cock.

She again smacked my nuts around, though with more force than before when the plastic was in the way. A couple of times, she actually balled up her fist and thudded into my right testicle, but not as forcefully as she could have. Lovely, exquisite pain radiated up and into my guts which, unless it’s your thing, you’d never really understand or appreciate.

Then she started to stroke me. Gently and slowly at first, but then with more speed. It felt simply glorious. I moaned and writhed and felt the tickling tell-tale signs of orgasm deep under the stiff root of the cock. I wasn’t sure if she meant to get me off, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

And then she stopped. I moaned deeply. The absence of her touch reverberated in me and the bubbling optimism of my coming orgasm quickly receded. Then she started to stroke me again. This time, I swung my leg over hers to more fully open myself to her and pressed into her body. My entire being was being consumed by the sensation of her masturbating me. Shortly, I again felt the tingling of a nascent orgasm beginning to coalesce and again she let go, leaving the hard meat bobbing in her wake.

This time, the absence of her attention tore through me. I moaned even more loudly and my breathing was in ragged pants as I struggled to process my desire for her to keep going, but knowing I couldn’t ask for it. I kissed her chin and jaw and pressed my face into her breasts trying to find the outline of her nipples with my lips, but she pushed me away.

Her hand was back on the rigid, straining cock, moving up and down. I wanted it so badly, this sensation. More, I wanted to shoot my wad. I wanted the two weeks worth of spunk I had been carrying around with me to unload all over her hand and my chest. I wanted to come. I resolved to do what I could to hide any sign of an impending orgasm. I willed the internal process along hoping to take her by surprise.

Is that wrong? Was I betraying my oath of submission and the power I had investing in her over my release? I don’t know. I can’t say. All I do know is the urge to come had overtaken any other imperative. All there was in the world was her hand and the hard cock within it and the wonderful orgasm she was soon to bring into the world.

And it was right there. I could feel it starting to march up the ladder, yearning for daylight. I was about to come…until she stopped again. My moan was more a cry of anguish. It was over, this time for good, and the juices never flowed. The cock bobbed rhythmically as I flexed and pumped it as though doing so would cause the orgasm to spontaneously come into being, but I got nothing. Not even a meager dribble. Apparently, not as close as I thought.

Shortly afterward, the candles were snuffed and she was rolled over and going to sleep. I pressed the still hard meat into her as we spooned, careful not to grind it. I was horny beyond comprehension, but at the same time happy and satisfied, after a fashion.

My Belle played me very well all weekend long. I have not seen her more confident and comfortable in her role. Right now, things are going well. Very, very well.

Posted on

Rika arrives

I finally got around to ordering Uniquely Rika the other day and it showed up last night. I’ve seen it talked up on other sites and, after finding myself again on her old website (now defunct, but still available if you know how to use the Internet Archive), I decided to pop the $30 and get the book. I’ve purchased books like this in the past (specifically, about female dominance), but I can’t say they’ve been particularly helpful. On the one hand, it has been hard picturing either Belle or me living the lives they describe (though, to be fair, the life we are leading is evolving at a fairly rapid rate – there are things I embrace now that I eschewed six months ago). On the other hand, I was the one reading the books, not Belle (for the most part – we did read parts of one or two together). I really don’t consider me to be the target audience for these. Belle is.

So, after leafing though it last night and seeing that Rika isn’t batshit crazy or anything, and after recognizing that the majority of the book consists of Rika speaking to the F in the FLR, I decided to basically ignore it. It’s Belle’s to read. If there are sections within that she thinks I should look at, then I’ll be more than happy to do so, but otherwise, its secrets will be hers. And really, they should be. If I’m to truly submit to her, then she needs to craft a flavor of dominance she’s comfortable with all on her own. She needs to own it and let me live within it. It can’t really be community property. I’m not saying I need to sublimate all my needs and emotions or anything like that, but in whatever way we’re able to practice D/s, she needs to bring the D and I need to bring the s. It seems to me, the less I think about how she should or should not practice domination, the more confident she’ll be in how she approaches it and the more energy I can expend being a better submissive. That’s the idea, anyway. She agrees the book is for her, not me, and started to read it last night. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

While she was reading it, I was giving her a foot massage. It felt really, really good for me since it’s been somewhat busy around the house over the past week and my opportunities to service her have been few and far between. I have been able to cook the dinners and clean up and such, but that just kind of feels like my job now and not so much a chance to make her especially happy. So, while she filled out the questionnaire, I spent 30 minutes lovingly caressing her feet.

Afterward, she asked for me to continue on her shoulders and neck, which I gratefully did. That kind of massage is fundamentally more intimate since she’s typically topless and I usually get more contact with her body since I straddle her legs while doing it.

At one point, I was kneeling just below her ass and laying over her to get a better angle on her shoulder muscles.

“That feels nice,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“The way you’re thrusting into me like that.”

I hadn’t even realized I was, but once she mentioned it, I saw that my motions were causing the CB6K to rhythmically grind into her ass. Had I not been wearing it, and had we both been completely naked, it wasn’t very dissimilar from a position I’d use to penetrate her from behind. After all this clicked into place in my head, I felt the pressure build in the device and the nature of my position – the denied, chastised male dedicated to her pleasure – fall upon me in full weight. I was already sporting a healthy subbie buzz, but this sent it flying.

“Maybe we should try this position sometime,” she continued, suggesting I could fuck her from behind while massaging her shoulders. Whether or not that’s even possible, the idea of trying it, and her talking about sex while I was physically incapable of it, caused me to breath very heavily as my face hovered above her bare skin. It was wonderfully tormenting.

Finally, after the massage was over, she produced Pink, her little vibe. Even though she’s still on her period, she wanted me to get her off. I very happily complied, especially when she told me to get naked. She came quickly and intensely.

This morning, she was lazy in bed because she had the day off. While snuggling and spooning, she started to touch me. While chastised, I find myself especially sensitive to her touch all over my body. I’m not the first person to observe that locking away the primary male erogenous zone causes the remainder of the body to pick up the slack. She can touch me anywhere and set me off. In this case, it was my chest. Gently, she ran her fingers through my chest hair and down along my ribs. I felt myself melt. She traced down my side, over the top of my thigh, and found my balls. She may have also been touching the cock in its plastic case, but there’s no way I can feel that. As her fingers lightly caressed me, I felt my normal morning thickness try to grow against its encasement. The device, along with its contents, pulled up and away from my body. Laying on my back was intolerable. I turned over and got up on my hands and knees. Suspended from above, the straining package was more comfortable, but she continued to trace the contours of my stretched scrotum and I felt the tube of the CB6K throb as the meat it secured became more engorged.

“God, it’s so tight,” I gasped.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked while not stopping.

*whimper*

Finally, “No. Don’t ever stop.”