Embracing the vestigial state

Even though it was in the middle of Hashtag Locktober, Belle decided she wanted the contents. As is the custom now, she gave me the key the night before the morning she wanted to get fucked.

I need the key in advance so I can prepare the contents. Prep takes about an hour. I take three 20mg tablets of sildenafil citrate (aka, Viagra) and apply four or five sqirts of Promescent® Delay Spray for Men. This is all due to my being totally unable to 1) avoid orgasm 36 seconds after penetration, and 2) remain hard for longer than 36 seconds after that. I had hoped the Viagra would take care of that all by itself so I could at least feel myself fucking her, but even with the chemical erection support, it goes flat as soon as it squirts, orgasm or not. So the meds help me remain as hard as possible for her and the Delay Spray (basically lidocaine) keeps me from coming as quickly.

As an aside, the Delay Spray works well. Somehow, they’ve formulated it such that after a bit of time it has absorbed entirely into the penis and won’t transfer to Belle so only I am denied the sensation of penetration. The package says not to exceed three pumps of the spray but I find that four or so is better at deadening it and the Viagra keeps it hard even though it’s about 90% numb.

So I did my things and then waited for her to wake up. It’s my job to make sure everything is ready for her when she’s ready so that she neither has to wait around for things to take affect nor for there to have been too much time passed so that the precautions aren’t useful.

This particular morning, things lined up well and the contents were both good and hard but also almost totally without feeling so that after I got her off with my fingers, I was able to climb on top of her and provide a reasonable facsimile of having a normal male lover.

Unexpectedly, she told me she wanted me to come inside her. My routine isn’t designed for that. I specifically deaden the meat so that I won’t come but right after sliding it in, she told me she wanted me to. Of course, the precautions were working very well and I realized rather quickly that getting to a point where I was having a real, full orgasm wasn’t in the cards. On the plus side, I was able to fuck her for maybe the longest period of time in years.

Eventually, I could feel the rumblings of orgasm from somewhere behind my balls. I wasn’t going to come due to anything I felt on the shaft, but I was still going to do it. Some combination of feeling my hips grinding and her under me and the flex of the muscles necessary to do the act tricked my brain sufficiently that it was able to get there. But I didn’t get much of anything from the penis and the orgasm was typical of the ones I have now. Weird, somehow incomplete, and while productive from a volume of ejaculate POV, still less than entirely satisfying. I mean, she can make me come, but she can’t make what’s left of my ability to do it feel good.

But it was an orgasm and it was enough of one to make me very reluctant to get back in to any device after. The Rules are very clear:

I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.

Belle’s Rules for Thumper

But I eventually did go back in. Even though the device felt foreign and weird and uncomfortable. I hated it.

The next day we went to dinner for our anniversary (which, coincidentally, is very near the anniversary for this blog — happy lucky 13th anniversary to me!) and she took the opportunity to ask how I was doing. Not, like, how’s your day going? More like, is this still what you want?

It was a bad time to ask. Had she brought it up 48 hours before, I would have wholeheartedly said YES. Things are GREAT. But 36 hours after coming, I replied somewhere between a shrug and a “fine…things are…fine.” But I realized how my lack of enthusiasm was being perceived and explained that I was in a period of profound sub drop. So of course, I was very happy with our dynamic. But it was, as I said, a bad time to ask and expect enthusiasm.

A few days later, we flew on a plane together. I was still feeling the impact of the orgasm and took the opportunity to let myself out before we went to the airport. Even though we were flying alone with no kids or friends or family around and if I got pulled out of line it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I wanted out. So I basically made an excuse for myself.

Usually, I’ll go back in right after the TSA invades my privacy, but I didn’t this time. I just…didn’t. Could have. Didn’t. And I didn’t when we got to our destination. Or at any other point that day, even though I was very clearly aware I was unlocked from all the incidental friction inside my pants (which drives me CRAZY). As we got into bed, I told her I was out. I don’t think she knew. She didn’t seem too impressed. But that’s how I went to bed.

I mean, I knew I was being bad. And I knew it would feel bad later. But I wasn’t willing to abide by the rules. I wasn’t willing to accept my position.

The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard on. I was at least able to maintain some control over myself. I didn’t stroke it, but I did lay on my stomach and grind it into the firm mattress and revel in the pressure and friction. The head popped out from the side under my left hip and I rubbed the bit on the underneath and knew if I did just that for more than 30 seconds I’d come. So I stopped at about 20 seconds.

Belle turned over I spooned into her. I’m sure she could feel it. And it was a vacation morning when I should have expected some sex. But she wasn’t offering. But I wanted it. In fact, I did expect it. And that’s when I started to come back down to earth.

I should have ZERO expectations of sex. Sex is for her. For her to get pleasure and satisfaction. My satisfaction comes though giving her hers. Period. But here I was trying to fuck her. Because I wanted to fuck her. That’s not me. That’s not right.

I was locked back up within the hour.

The next morning, I was spooning into her again, but my entire demeanor changed. God, I absolutely fucking hate the version of me that was unlocked without permission and was trying to coax her into getting me off. She was much more receptive to the locked version of me and allowed me to eat her out. I could once again feel pressure and compression of the contents, but no friction. Nothing like that. Just the Evotion 8 doing its job while my tongue did its.

And when her hips bucked in my face and I could feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my mouth and the contents strain in defeated futility, I felt so much more normal. So much more me.

And yeah, it was not lost on me she was far more willing to engage sexually with the locked me than she was the unlocked me.

Five days earlier when I was mounting her with my numb, chemically enhanced erection, I remember the thought flitting though my mind I really don’t need this. This is for her, not me. And, honestly, thinking back to her asking how I was doing, the only issue I have is that there are still reasons for me to be unlocked from time to time. I mean, that’s just how it is. It’s what she needs and, in the past, she needed it a lot more than now, so she’s already made a significant change to her expectations based on my limitations. I’m not asking that she stop letting me out for a fuck, even as infrequent as that is. It is entirely her prerogative and I accept that.

But we both know I’m better when the contents of the device are treated like some vestigial remnant of what I was prior to evolving into what I am now.

Speaking of which, my mom sent me a picture the other day of me in 2002. It was taken maybe two months before my daughter was born and I look like I’m 17. This was before Belle made me come, so the second thought that went through my head after being stunned a how young I looked was what a waste it was that it would be another six years before that guy’s dick was taken away from him. We’d already had our kids. The two we said we’d have. We didn’t need it anymore.

And that’s why I ended up locking on to the concept of vestigial. My phone defines it “forming a very small remnant of something that was once much larger or more notable. Or, pertaining to an organ or part of the body, degenerate, rudimentary, or atrophied, having become functionless in the course of evolution.”

I have evolved. Away from the needy, selfish, willful asshole who thought mostly of himself and his pleasure and into the full flower of the sub I always was deep inside. The sub that was trapped under the weight of the will of the penis. But here we are on the other side of all that. The penis is vestigial to who and what I am now. “Degenerate, atrophied, and functionless.” It’s not even a penis anymore. It’s just contents. Nothing more than a remnant of my former self. I always, always, always need to think of it that way. Because that is what it is.

And thank god we got here. I honestly can’t imagine what we’d be like right now if I still had a cock. I don’t want to imagine it. I am incredibly lucky Belle keeps me locked up. That she expects me to be. And prefers me that way. I can never, ever let my hormones make me forget that. Not for a day. Not even an hour. Not for a moment.

What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.

Kept

Time really has lost all meaning. I was about to start this post with “the other day, Tom blogged…” and then, when I went to get the link, I realized “the other day” was like more than four months ago. That’s either cabin fever or old age or a combo plate of both. Anyway.

The other month, Tom made this great post about definition and terms related to chastity and denial. Like, what does “permanent” mean? And then, in further discussion, what’s a good term to use for the whole practice of what we do? I’ve often resorted to saying things like “chastity and denial” because they don’t always go together. And if the practice (which Tom suggested should be called “erotic orgasm denial”) is called whatever it is, what word should guys who are locked and denied use to describe themselves? What’s the right adjective? The right verb?

“Chaste” is often thrown around but the obvious problem with that is those of us who are locked and denied, usually, are not chaste. Belle and I have had more and better sex since the penis was locked up than before. “Chaste” means to abstain from sex and that’s the fucking opposite thing that happens while in chastity.

Of course, chastity is the root of the problem because it conflates access to genitals and ability to have sex. It has a very PIV bias. Chaste comes from chastity (or maybe the other way around) so the mess is predictable.

But what I want and have wanted for years and years (this blog and my chastity are now solidly into their thirteenth year) is a single, different word to encapsulate what Belle and I and, apparently, millions of others are doing by locking up one or the other penises in a relationship. One word that isn’t literally wrong or totally made up or just dumb sounding. And then, a word that I really like came to me.

Kept. Belle keeps the penis from me. She keeps me from masturbation. She keeps me from orgasm when I want to. She keeps me at a heightened state of sexual arousal. She keeps the key. She keeps total control over the penis and how I get to enjoy sex. I am kept.

I just…like it. I like how it feels. I like how it sounds. I like the protective nature it implies. The connotation of care. Of benevolent control and discipline. I am kept in this place, mentally and physically and emotionally, because it makes me a better lover and partner and person. Because it is what I need.

When the folks at Holy Trainer reached out to me and offered the new fourth version of their device for me to try out and review, they also offered to customize its “cartridge” (the part of the base ring that receives the lock). I wasn’t aware of this as a thing they did, but you can have image or words put on the device. The first and only thing that sprang to mind was “kept.”

And at first, I was like whatever. I did it because they offered and presumably wanted people to know it was an option when I reviewed it and posted the inevitable multitude of pictures of it locked on me I am apparently unable to stop doing. But I have to say, every time I look down and see KEPT looking back up at me…it’s a soothing, comforting thing. It centers me. It’s powerful.

So yeah. Kept. That’s me. Maybe it’s you. But I like it and will be using it from now on to describe who and what I am. I am kept. By Belle.

MSM cuckoldry

CNN just posted an interesting article on cuckolding to their website.

In our current political climate, the term “cuck” — short for “cuckservative” — has become an insult of the so-called alt-right, aimed at men they view as spineless and emasculated.

Since I don’t identify as a conservative, I’ve never been called a “cuck” but I think it would be one of these weird non-sexual things that occasionally crosses over to give me a little thrill.

Anyway…

According to a recent study by David Ley, Justin Lehmiller and the writer Dan Savage, acting on cuckolding fantasies can be a largely positive experience for many couples, and hardly a sign of weakness.

The paper Dan contributed to deals with cuckolding in gay male relationships. I follow a few tumblrs on that topic and have to admit it’s something that doesn’t really trigger any kind of significant sexual response. I can’t explain it, but for me, the formula that works is “woman + other guy – denied male partner.” In the best case, the husband is cucked against his wishes (but then comes around after the fact because, you know, it’s all fantasy anyway). For whatever reason, if she turns into a he, the helium totally escapes from the fantasy ballon. The paper also suggests the issue of interracial cuckolding isn’t prevalent with gay men as it is in straight couples. Again, for me, that’s not a critical element. I do respond to it, but it’s not an element in my relationship fantasies. The fantasy guy just needs to be one with a better tool.

The article quotes Lehmiller as saying…

We found several personality factors that predict more positive experiences acting on cuckolding fantasies. For those who have a lot of relationship anxiety or abandonment issues, who lack intimacy and communication, and who aren’t careful, detail-oriented planners, acting on a consensual non-monogamy fantasy could very well be a negative experience. In other words, not everyone who has a cuckolding fantasy should think about acting on it.

This makes so much sense to me. I’m no expert, but it seems perfectly logical as a person who is confident in the strength of his relationship that either of us going outside the marriage for sex simply doesn’t seem to bother or threaten me. Far from it.

Ley said…

For men and couples considering the issue of cuckolding, it’s important there be honesty, integrity, communication, mutuality and shared values. I’ve seen men who try to trick their wives into cuckolding them, and this never, ever ends up well.

Guys, DO NOT trick your wives into this. Come on. What a dick move. Otherwise, yes, honesty, communication, integrity. It’s not on his list, but also trust.

This really surprised me…

Lehmiller surveyed thousands of Americans and found that 58% of men and about a third of women had fantasized about cuckolding.

Holy shit. Most men!? And a third of women? That’s so many more than I would have guessed.

Part of what makes cuckolding arousing for heterosexual men is that they tend to view it as a taboo act.

I can remember my earliest reactions to the concept of cuckolding (helped by writing about it at the time). Not being an expert in human sexuality, I can’t say for certain how taboo influences what turns me on, but cuckolding for me seems just another expression of sexual inequality, domination, and denial. In that post I wrote nine years ago, it seemed clear to me even then, though I certainly would not have written it in the same way today. I have evolved.

Unlike then, the concept of inferiority is clearly motivational for me when it comes to the idea of being cuckolded. Of being inferior to the fantasy him. He’s got a cock more to Belle’s liking and can fuck for days (and he knows it) whereas I know I’m not as big as she would prefer and I can’t fuck for very long at all without needing to stop well before she’d like me to lest I orgasm. I still feel in most aspects of our life Belle and I are equals, but certainly not in our sexual relations and I’m clearly inferior to this fantasy sex partner of Belle’s.

It’s one of the things that has complicated the potential of being cucked in real life. The actual guy who might make it a reality is, it turns out, an emotionally stunted turd (IMO — she’s more charitable). Literally the only part of him that’s superior to me is his cock. He has and might again hurt Belle emotionally and so my dander is up in general. It’s an interesting situation to be in. On the one hand, the penis never strains against the steel more than when I’m thinking about him fucking Belle, but on the other, he bugs the shit out me for being such a putz. Belle might see him when she goes through London on this trip and, if she does, then something else might happen, too, but neither of us are counting our chickens just yet. And I’m more likely to want to go punch him for being a dick to her than I am wanting to stroke myself at the idea of him putting his dick in her.

In any event, it’s somewhat encouraging to see mainstream articles on non-monogamy. Gives me hope that what seems to be such a natural part of our sexuality won’t have to live in the closet forever.

Me, absent a very good reason

“I don’t understand,” she said.

I said I was uncertain about being locked up in the woods for a week.

“I mean, you’ve done it before.”

That’s true. I have been more than once in the woods for a week and stayed locked up the whole time.

“Explain this to me.”

I couldn’t. Truth is, sometimes in that environment I just don’t feel like being locked up. Especially when I’m with nothing but other men. Big, straight, muggle men. The feeling evaporates. Also, the hygiene issue can be complicating. One week, I wore the Looker 02 the entire time without a shower or anything. Yuck.

“I’d be willing to let you go unlocked, but I need to know why you need to be that way.”

I couldn’t say why I needed to be unlocked. As I was struggling to make the words, the part of my brain that was thinking being locked up even when I didn’t want to be came up with a plan. The Steelheart without the PA fixing. I could pull the penis out every once in a while and wipe it down and also clean the inside of the tube. There was enough privacy for that, surely. No, it wasn’t total security, but it was locked up. And locked up was how she wanted me absent a very good reason to be otherwise. And I didn’t have a very good reason.

“Never mind,” I said.

You know when you feel it

After a few recent Metrics posts I’ve received the question of what I mean by ejacualting in Belle but not orgasming. As in, if you’re shooting your load aren’t you having an orgasm? I’m going to write this up so I can link to it from now on in order to answer similar questions before they’re asked. 

Supreme Courth Justice Potter Stewart (who, I suspect, is rarely name-dropped in sex blogs but who knows) said in his opinion in the Jacobellis vs. Ohio obscentiy case that while pornograhy was difficult to define, you knew it when you saw it. As I’ve developed as a man denied anything like a regular or normal orgasm frequency, I find orgasm is much the same. There’s a lot that skirts the edges of orgasm and many things that might be mistaken for orgasm from a distance, but when the real deal comes along (pun intended), you fucking know it. 

To be clear, when I come it’s often really intense. Nothing like coming was back when I was doing it several times a week. So intense that it’s usually not even enjoyable while happening and can even be painful. I’ve felt pain in the moment of orgasm above my balls and behind the penis from, I presume, the intensity of the ejacualation through infrequently excercised muscles but also, on occasion, in the back of my head from the wave of powerful hormones that accompany orgasm. And it’s the near total lack of those hormones following simple ejaculation that indicate most powerfully that an orgasm has not taken place. 

The term “ruined orgasm” is often used to describe what happens to me, but those are most often associated with mean old Dommes stroking a restrained guy for an hour and then taking him right up to the moment of orgasm and then stopping all stimulation while his hard cock strains and thrusts and waves around in the air and squirts ejacualte anyway. That’s what happens with me, but it’s inside her and I’m the one who’s stopping the stimulation because I don’t have permission to come. I wrote recently that the line I cross from “about to come” to “OMG I’M COMING” used to feel about a half inch wide. I’d be over it and losing my shit before I even knew it was about to happen. But now it’s so obvious to me and can be felt from so far away that it may as well be a yard wide. The benefits of not coming and forcusing so much energy and attention on trying not to will, over time, give one a detailed understanding of the mechanics and process it entails. If I’m on top and controlling the pace and rhythm of the thrusting, I honestly have no excuses when it comes to “accidentally” having an orgasm. I know when to stop, I know when I have to remain absolutely still, and I know when it’s safe for me to slide it out again. 

Over the years, I’ve also realized that orgasm is not entirely physical. Some of it is mental and my body has been trained in several ways to react in as though it has come, though with less intensity than if I had. For instance, Belle’s orgasm makes my whole body tense and my breathing increase as though her orgasmic energy is feeding back into me through my fingers as her pussy clenches around them. I can even feel a subtle sleepiness after. And when the penis ejacualtes now, it will almost always immediately begin to lose its erection no matter how much I want to keep fucking her. As though it knows the reason for the penetration is complete and the erection is no longer necessary. That has led to some very frustrating moments. I can recall in the past when leaking into her like that would only slow me down for a moment and then I’d keep fucking right through the mess. But not anymore. 

Speaking of which, “leaking” is what it feels like. I might say “shoot” because I like the sound of it, but the difference in velocity of the ejaculation in a real orgasm and the shadow of one that happens when I simply leak without orgasm is significant. When I come, it feels like the semen is being ripped out of me fast enough to burn the stiff shaft from the inside out. When I ejacualte, it’s slower and more relaxed. The boundaries between surges are less defined. Sometimes it can even feel like the semen is running out of me in one long stream. 

The important thing to remember is Belle likes to be fucked and she likes to feel me shoot inside her. Also, I think she feels letting me ejaculate is actually good for me (prostate, etc.). So I know one of the reasons she’s letting me inside her is so that I’ll fill her up with seed. When I fuck her now it’s with the knowledge that even if she doesn’t tell me to come she still wants to feel as though I did. 

So, that’s what I mean when I say I ejaculating and how I know it’s different than having an orgasm. 

Tent logic

Exquisitedragon commented on my post about being an idiot in a tent. Part of what he said was…

These days, since we’re in the middle of some very long term denial (200+days) I’m not going to fall off the end of that without her pushing all the buttons to do so! It’s been so long and it’s her prize to take. I’m not crazy enough to go and change that.

And it occurred to me that if Belle was operating under a similar model (as in, denying me for a specific amount of time or to a specific date) there’s no way I would have cheated like that. I just know it. But why?

This may be due to some lingering attachment I have to my orgasm. Like, if there’s a hard goal, then I cannot do anything but respect it. But when if and how I come is seemingly random (from my point of view), respecting my lack of control over that event is more difficult. It doesn’t happen or not according to any observable process so what does it matter if I squirt a little on the side? What harm is that?

The flip side of this, and I think one of the main reasons Belle denies me as she does, is because in the past if she decided to move the date up because that’s what suited her or if I accidentally came too soon, I’d get all mental about it. Plus, of course, she’s come to the realization that denying me orgasm when she really wants to feel me come is also denying herself which is a bit of a paradox.

Bottom line, I need to fully own and respect that I don’t EVER come without permission, no exceptions, no wiggle room, no doubt. That the timing is not mine to decide EVER. That the method in which it happens is not up to me EVER. That I will ALWAYS get caught if I try.

This is my pledge to her: Forever and always, my orgasm belongs to you completely.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.

Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky. 

I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.

The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.

In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied. 

I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.

I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.

To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?

I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!

The other guy

A couple of months ago on a Saturday or Sunday morning, Belle laughed and told me she had received a random friend request from some guy in England. They had no mutual friends and she had no idea who he was but, on a lark, she accepted the request. Shortly thereafter, they struck up a conversation along the lines of, “Who’s this?” and “I dunno, who’s this?” He said he didn’t remember requesting to be her friend and maybe meant to friend someone else with the same last name (her maiden name) and he had been at the pub and, well, you know how things happen. 

Their exchange continued beyond that day. He told her he thought she was hot. Things got more flirty from there. At some point, he sent her a picture of himself naked but with his hand covering his junk. I really don’t know the sequence of events since I was in my funk and not really picking up the little hints she was dropping, but I totally picked up the hints tonight. And then I carted them off with a wheelbarrow.

We were in bed and I asked her what was up with this guy. She said he was going to be in the United States this summer and she was planning on meeting him in NYC in August and maybe again in September. This made me squirm into her. I have been unbelievably, surreally horny all day and all I could think about even before having this conversation was her pussy and making it come. I reached my hand into her pajamas and slipped a finger into her ready wetness.

She told me he’s twenty-seven. She told him she’s in an open relationship. He told her he’s got thick 7.5″ cock. What she called a “proper cock.” She told me he likes to talk dirty. That he’s confident. That he intends to fuck her with that cock in New York. He described the ways and the positions in which he intends to fuck her silly. He says he will give her the fuck of her life. The kind of fuck she’s never had from me. The kind she can’t get from me. He says it’s his goal for her to prefer him to me in bed. All he knows about me, besides that I’m married to her, is that he’s much bigger than me. That’s it. But he’s naturally assumed a position over me even before meeting her. He may not know the word or understand the dynamic, but he’s already made me a cuckold.

All the time she was saying these things to me, my finger slipped in and out and over her slick clit. The penis was pushing against the Looker 02 as strongly as I’ve ever felt it. Choking on the device’s insert. It was painful. She got wetter and wetter telling me how he was equipped to give her a real fuck and that he’d undoubtedly last much longer than me and fill her in ways I couldn’t and that yes indeed she expected he could deliver on his promise all I could do was whine and finger her pussy and think how it would feel after he was done with her. How it would feel to her as it stretched her open like I can’t and touched her in places I’ll never reach. How he’d be able to go again and again and never get caught up in his own head and just fuck. And how badly — how honestly achingly badly — I want that for her. 

Equal parts of me are hopeful and afraid that he will do what he says and deliver on his promises. That she will be fucked like never before and that she’ll prefer him to me that way. It is both terrifying and exhilarating to comprehend. But more than anything, I want it for her. I want her to come home from her visit with him fucked so hard she couldn’t have sex with me even if she wanted to. For when the time comes that she’d let me touch her pussy again, or even enter it, I’d want to know that not only am I not the only one to enjoy it but that she enjoyed him more. Was craving to feel him there again, not me.

I cannot explain this. How it goes against everything we’re taught and conditioned to believe and expect in a relationship but how it absolutely fills me with ecstatic excitement, for her and me.

I can’t say I ever really believed something like this would happen. That she’d never really do anything with anyone else. And a lot can happen between now and summer. Who knows. Regardless, what I know now is that I’m not only not hurt or bothered by the prospect, I’m enthusiastically hopeful for her success. The only thing that makes me wary is I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be treated poorly. That’s my only concern. 

I also used I think that if something like this did eventually happen that I’d want to be part of it. But that doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I am part of it since she’s my wife and I’m her sub, but I won’t be physically part of it. Chances are I’ll never set eyes on this guy. If she sees him and fucks him it’ll be a thousand miles away, out of sight and entirely out of my control. And, it turns out, I’m really OK with that. What I want is for her to have a great time. I want her to feel free to do whatever she wants with him and enjoy the space she has to maximize her pleasure. To dote and spoil him and leave him wanting more. I realize that in that way, I’m not part of it. And I don’t need to be. 

As I sucked her tits and rubbed her snatch and felt her hips grind and heard the moans deep in her throat, I realized she probably wasn’t thinking about me. That she was already in some New York hotel room with the fat cock and her orgasm was already his. I wanted to fuck her so badly then. More than I have in I don’t know how long. But of course, no. No way. So my stifled erection was pinched and squeezed and choked and the device leaked useless natural lube while my heart pounded in my head. 

Oh, fucking hell.