Tag: domination

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Unchaperoned

Belle and I were apart for the first few days of last week. She was at home and I was in the north woods compound hanging with the family and enjoying the few remaining summer-like days we in the higher latitudes have left before hellish winter descends out of Canada.

Not long after leaving home, I started to feel a twinge in the tube. I knew immediately what it was since I’ve felt it before. The corona of the glans will, from time to time, become irritated and inflamed. I have no idea what causes this, but it usually means I need to come out of the device while things sort themselves out.

This time, though, I was on my own. Belle was 250 miles away. It was just me and my emergency key. I tried extra flushes of warm soapy water thinking it was maybe a hygiene issue and was able to tough it out the first night, but by midday the next, I couldn’t take it anymore. I popped the lock on the emergency key and used it as intended. I admit there was a moment when I worried she had perhaps mixed up the keys between the two locks, but the little brass mechanism turned and slid free of the two steel parts. Shortly afterward, so did I.

And, just as I thought, the corona was not happy. Angry red splotches covered the left edge where the PA fixing made contact with the skin. Slightly less angry-looking marks ran across the top. Very unsexy and very sensitive. All that day I could feel the affected skin move across the fabric of my underwear. Not painful. More like extreme over stimulation.

So yeah, I was out. When Belle called, I told her the situation. She didn’t say much other than she hoped I felt better (or something like that). I had been in for over six weeks with only about 15 minutes of out time and, as usual, everything felt weird. When I went to bed, I put lotion on the complaining area and was annoyed I had to wear underwear since the free and flopping meat coming in contact with the sheets was unacceptably distracting.

Of course, I was very much aware that I was alone and unchaperoned with a very needy cock (damaged though it was). I said to myself I wouldn’t play with it when I took the device off, but there it was like a snake describing all the positive attributes of the fruit I wasn’t allowed to eat. I’m weak, it goes without saying. I admit I failed. I had to reposition my grip to avoid the damaged part, but was able to wank the serpent. I didn’t come, but was surprised at the how quickly and in what volume I was leaking.

My sleep could be described as fitful at best. It seemed like it was hard all night. I woke up several times rubbing it through my underwear or with the underwear pushed down below my balls, fisting the stiff meat. I was awake, but also not. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t. That I was breaking rules. But honestly, I couldn’t stop myself. I have a great deal of respect for the guys who can go indefinitely sans device. That ain’t me.

By about 24 hours later, the redness was a bit better, but the pain was totally gone. In the light of the day, my subbie bunny reasserted itself and, pain or no pain, decided the cock needed to go back in the tube. I left the PA fixing out, though. Honestly, I don’t need the fixing. Playing with the merchandise unlocked is one thing, but I could never defeat the device and cheat with it on my body. That’s a line I won’t cross, even though the Steelheart is easily escaped. In any event, not being sure I had had enough recovery time, I thought it best to remove possible irritation points inside. Worse case, I figured, if the discomfort came back, I’d take it off again.

But the discomforted didn’t come back. Not at all. The 24 hours out was all I needed, apparently. Belle, expecting me out, was happy to see me back in when she showed up. I told her I had been bad and she verbally chastised me for being weak, but gave me points for proactively reasserting her control.

Saturday rolled around and I was heading home, but Belle wasn’t. I’d have another night and most of a day by myself. I removed the tube in order to make a visual inspection and saw that everything was back to normal. The cock was its pale, hairless mole rat self without any marks. I put the PA fixing back in and left the key where Belle would find it.

Everything is back the way it belongs.

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Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

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A sub is a sub is a sub

Mykey said, in regard to Sarah Jameson’s new book and my little review of it:

What’s more I find her somewhat lacking in self knowledge. Her claim not to be a domme? She likes being in charge of many aspects of their life including their sex life. She is in most peoples vernacular a domme, albeit not a full blown control everything one. Her husband is submissive. Maybe not in all areas or even most but handing over power to your cock and sex life is an inherently submissive act. Regardless of how macho he is elsewhere in his life in that respect he is in most peoples definition submissive. Her dislike of the image of sub and Dom in her mind blinds her badly and that comes across in her writing.

And I agree with him, to a point. I also think that Sarah and John are in a D/s relationship and her steadfast refusal to acknowledge that is based on her particular definition of “male submissive” which is, in turn, based on her apparently limited exposure to all the various types out there. Mind you, I also have limited experience. I’ve just been into this stuff for about the past two years and have only met, in person, a few people like myself. My entire worldview on the subject is based on the internet and personal communication via email and the like.

That said, I think Sarah and I have a similar point of view with regard to what’s “good” male submission versus what’s “bad” (all the usual disclaimers about not judging others and only wanting consenting adults to find happiness apply – if what your’e doing floats your boat, screw what I think). To me, there is no value in submission if it’s being given by someone who feels they’re inferior to their partner. It’s only because I am not inferior to Belle that subjugating my sexual expression to her is sexy. The same thing could be said, I’m sure, for Sarah and John. She describes him as “strong, assertive, confident” etc., and she has no attraction to the he-slime-not-worthy type. Me either. How different, really, is what I’ve given to Belle when compared to what John’s given Sarah?

In her newsletter from today, Sarah said this in response to what I said yesterday:

I’d also say we might have different definitions or models of what we see submission as actually being. My control of John is strictly confined to the bedroom.

Does that make him submissive, sexually submissive, or sexually surrendering?

I’d say the last of these, especially as when we make love he’s as aggressive and lead-taking as ever, unless I’ve taken it into my head to be. The only difference is he doesn’t orgasm – EVER – unless and until I say he can. He’s not forever asking me if he can do “this” or “that”. He’s just like he always was, but sans orgasm.

That sounds a lot like what Belle and I have. Yes, we’ve played around with taking it to a higher level, but we seem to have settle not much further along than Sarah and John. Belle gets to boss me around a bit more than Sarah does with John and she controls when I’m sexually agressive, but not that I am. Otherwise I’d say we’re 87% the same.

I find it interesting that she makes a distinction between “sexually submissive” and “sexually surrendering”. To me, that sounds like semantics. They’re the same. Later on, she says, “It’s just that I don’t find submissive men attractive sexually. And that’s about all we can say about it, really.” I think she doesn’t find the idea of a sexually submissive man attractive. In fact, she finds John plenty hot. If a thing runs like a horse, sounds like a horse, and in all other ways resembles a horse, it’s probably not a zebra.

She finishes up by saying:

I suppose it all comes down to labels and they’re never very useful when you try to examine a continuum. We can see the extremes easily enough, but at which point does one become the other?

I agree! My only wish would be for her to stop using one big label – “submissive men” – to describe one subset of that group.

Lastly, I want to say this disagreement I have with Sarah doesn’t mean I still don’t wholeheartedly recommend her book (and blog and newsletter). I have lots of friends with whom I share significant disagreements (mostly political) but I’m still able to appreciate the rest of them. We may never see eye-to-eye on what constitutes submission, but the fact remains that she’s produced one of the best resources available on the subject of male chastity.

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The one without a title

I asked Belle last night if she only keeps me locked up because she thinks I want it. For instance, if I said I really didn’t care one way or the other about the chastity thing, would she still keep me in the device? Or what if I said I’d really rather not be in the device, but was leaving up to her if we’d still use it, would she leave me in?

Yes, she would leave me in. She likes me in it and has no intention, apparently, of it not being an integral part of our relationship. That made me feel good, not just because I also like it, but because the suggestion here recently that I’m inadvertently (or not) dominating her through my kinks has been bothering me.

To recap, I seem to have three main kinks:

  1. Masochism
  2. Bondage
  3. Sexual submissiveness

Belle, it should be noted, does not have the opposite of any of these. She’s not a sadist and she’s not interested in being anyone’s domme. I’m quite sure none of these things were ever on her radar prior to my bringing them up.

Note that “enforced male chastity” is not on my list of kinks. I left it off because I think it’s an expression, to one degree or another, of the other three. I don’t think of it as a kink in an of itself. When Belle places me in chastity, there’s a moderate amount of both physical and mental suffering which feeds my masochism. I’m denied access to parts of my body which feeds my desire for bondage. Finally, control over my orgasm (or even my ability to self-gratify) fits neatly into my submissive tendencies.

So, you can imagine how happy I am to hear that she’s also really into keeping me locked up because it’s where my kinks intersect with her interests. It’s our unexpected common ground and she’s there because she wants to be. In fact, I probably couldn’t talk her out of being there if I wanted to (short of opting out entirely from the arrangement, something she knows I don’t want to do).

Of course, I still really want to be tied up and bound on occasion, I’m still pretty much a pain slut, and I love to feel like she’s in total control of our sexual relationship. Any desires I have beyond the chastity to indulge these passions fall outside her normal operating zone. Going there for her is sometimes uncomfortable and threatening.

I admit there is within me a conflict when it comes to asking for special attention to my kinks when I’m supposed to be the sub. Subs aren’t supposed to ask for things. They’re only supposed to gratefully accept what their dominant partner gives them. But what about when their partner isn’t dominant? It’s because of this internal struggle that any charge that I’m topping from below causes me to immediately assume a defensive position. I do the very best I can never to do this. In fact, not wanting to be too prescriptive is what caused me to suggest to her to reach out to the readers here for advice.

Asking her to follow me into the darker recesses of my sexuality has caused me a great deal of guilt and embarrassment. If you don’t understand that, then you’re probably one of those people who embraced your kinks from a young age and have never had to reveal them to an otherwise vanilla partner. Good for you. However, that’s not me. I thought I was more or less over those feelings, but I have to admit that I’ve been feeling them again lately. “Topping from below” to me means “asking them to do something they don’t want to do” which, in turn, immediately throws my weirdness into sharp relief. Hence the guilt, shame, etc.

No, I do not think I’m weird. I know now that everyone is weird, to one degree or another. I’m not even sure the word “kink” means anything anymore. But our societal conditioning runs deep. And I know Belle. And I feel bad asking her to indulge me. And I feel worse when she tries and fails. And I feel even worse when it’s suggested I’m being unfair to her.

I have no idea where I’m going with this. I should probably just stop. The fact remains that our relationship is strong and we continue to learn and evolve together. I can’t ask for much more than that.

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Bottom topper

The other day, I asked for suggestions as to how Belle could approach her freaky-deaky husband as a woman who did not share or otherwise “get” where he was coming from with regard to his freaky and/or deaky proclivities. I did this for Belle and with her understanding because I prefer to think of this blog as a two-way street where I can dump info but also pick it back up from others.

As I said in that post, the deal was she had tried to do a little sumthin’ for me even though she was tired and probably should have just gone to sleep. I didn’t enjoy it and she figured that out and then we were left with the stale smoke of confusion and hurt feelings hanging over the bed all night.

The prevailing thought of those who left comments seems to be that I, as the submissive side of the couple, was topping from below by 1) saying that I wasn’t enjoying what she was doing, and 2) suggesting that she needed to enhance her repertoire of Thumper-centric activities. I honestly don’t understand that POV.

Let’s assume that I, not really being in the mood for nipple clipping and ball smacking, hadn’t made my discomfort known. Then, let’s assume she escalated the activity to include even more intense play, all the while I was suffering and really not enjoying myself. Then let’s say I was forced to use my safeword. Is that topping from below? Can calling an end to a scene that’s not going well for me seriously be considered the most egregious thing a sub can do?

This kind of thing has happened before.

I understand the position I’m in as the submissive. I get that I’ve ceded control over what happens to her. I like that. But surely I haven’t abdicated all responsibility for giving my partner feedback as to what things I like and what things I don’t. I do intuitively understand the difference between those things that are uncomfortable, painful, and push my boundaries but are still on the right side of a healthy dynamic versus those that aren’t. Is anyone suggesting I should just take it all, no matter how it feels to me?

The other night was just a bad idea. She wasn’t all that much invested in the scene. To me, it felt like she was just going though the motions because she was obliged to do so. That turned me off and made it impossible for me to enjoy it. I know it’s complicated and I know that to Belle this could be perceived as mixed signals. I don’t know what to do about that. I can only say how I feel and trust that we’ll figure it out (as we have in the past).

I’m not writing this post to drop the smack-down on my readers who left their opinions. I want those opinions, even if I don’t agree with them or understand where they’re coming from, because it’s only through this kind of dialog that I can form my own.

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Q for you

Yesterday at Target we got this super cheap back massage thing. It looks like an iMac from back when they were still fruit colored. Anyway, I mention it only because I used it on Belle’s back last night and it made me wonder how many people buy these cheap things and then use them in “off-label” ways, if you know what I mean.

After Belle’s massage, she was pretty loose and sleepy. I knew it and so did she. That didn’t stop her from attempting a little Thumper-centric action, though. It was really very thoughtful, but I’m a pretty good read of her condition and knew she didn’t have in her the energy I was going to need. She brought out the little chrome clothespins and stuck them on my nipples. They hurt. And not really in a very good way. My hands were clenched and my arms were drawn up over me (and my nipples were hurting) as she proceded to slap my nuts around. At another time, in another context, all this would have been good, but it wasn’t the right time. I wasn’t feeling it. I wanted attention. Something strategic, not tactical. It was like, “OK, I’m going to clip your nips and then knock your nuts around a little because I know you like that but then I’m going to sleep.” Sometimes a boy wants to be romanced a little before he’s slapped around.

She could tell it wasn’t going well (which was it, the balled up fists or the crossed arms?) and we had a small talk. She immediately felt vulnerable and inadequate while I tried to be supportive through my disappointment. The issues we were having (the ones always bopping along just under the surface) are multifold.

  • First, my sex – that is, sex for me from her – is complicated. It requires thought. It requires effort. It’s not something you can just roll over and do unless you’re practiced. There are props involved much of the time. If you’re sleepy and don’t really want to move much, you shouldn’t think you’re going to have meaningful sex with me. She was too tired last night (and most nights) to expend the resources necessary to really get me off. Plus, she’s not a real fan of stuff in the bed while I’m fairly dependent on it.
  • Two, since she doesn’t ultimately understand why I get off by being bound and hurt, she has a hard time finding the right motivation from which to act. She just can’t grok my POV. Everything she does is kind of trial and error. A good example is how, when she flogs me, she’ll sometimes go right into hitting me really hard. That’s no good because I like to get a bit of a buzz going before she moves in with the heavy stuff. But how would she know unless I told her (which I have)?
  • Three, she doesn’t have support. She has no friends with which to talk and she doesn’t read any of the books or view any of the websites. Everything she does she has to figure out for herself. See point number two for the obvious issues with that. I can give her ideas, but it’d be nice to see her riffing on her own. That’s pretty hard when the only reason you’re doing it is because your freaky husband wants you to.

I’m not ragging on her. Not on purpose, anyway. She knows this stuff. We’ve talked about it. She was way more weirded out by everything than I was. But what to do?

I suggested she come here and ask the readers for suggestions. What could she, a relative newbie and essentially vanilla woman, do to her perverted, masochistic, submissive, locked-in-chastity husband that would make him happy and not freak her out? She demurred. I don’t know why, but she’s never shown a lot of interest in writing for the blog. So, I said, what if I do it? What if I ask the question? She as fine with that.

So I did.

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Manifestival

I’ve always enjoyed cricketed’s blog and not just because I love how they called his device “the cricket” (there’s a whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket/nose erection thing in there somewhere, right?). He writes well and the way chastity has affected his relationship has always seemed to mirror ours (more or less). The main difference between he and I involve tone (he comes off a lot more serious than me) and his inclusion of a lot of NSFW images as a way to punctuate his posts (which is not to say I’m not a fan of NSFW images…I mean seriously).

Recently, he posted his “personal manifesto”:

In order to understand me — not necessarily male chastity, or submissiveness, or anything except how those things apply to me and my life with J, you have to understand the following principles we’ve come to embrace, and, tentatively, subtly, espouse to others. Please don’t take anything here personally or as an invitation to an argument. I can only speak for me, and how J and I are growing in our relationship. Also, please don’t get the idea we’ve sat around and hashed out the wording of this. This is all merely my thinking. A man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.

First off, I am not going to be arguing with him. My intention is only to react and reflect similarly and give his observations my personal spin. I really like the line “a man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.” That’s for damned sure. Hence this post. Second, I totally appreciate what drives his need to espouse. I’d love to espouse (as I said in my last post) so I get what drives the desire to write a manifesto. Maybe this is just me doing the same. I dunno, but I do know I’m not arguing. Just…commenting.

He begins…

1. Women are superior to men: intellectually, physically, spiritually, emotionally. At first this idea held only erotic attraction to me, but the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became to me, and I now consider it to be a general truth.

I do not consider women to be superior to men. That’s not a PC statement, it’s an opinion based on over 40 years of observation and interaction with both genders. Men are really good at some things, women at others. That’s just common sense. While this is clearly the largest disagreement he and I have, I don’t think belaboring the issue would be time well spent. Suffice it to say, I’m not that kind of chastised man.

2. In any relationship between a man and a woman, the natural place for the man is in subservience to the woman. In a marriage, the woman should as a general matter be acknowledged as the dominant partner, and the man’s role is to accommodate her needs and desires.

I’m a lot more on-board with this one, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say any relationship. Mine and his, obviously, but I have no idea if everyone should work this way. What about submissive women, for example? Or gay couples?

Anyway, I have noodled with the idea that men should, as a matter of custom, give women control over their orgasms when they commit to them (with or without devices). This is something cricketed touches on later, but the benefits of permanently attaching one’s partner to their sexual release have, for us, been tremendous. I wish it were more common. I think the “woman should be the dominant partner” and “the man’s role [should be] to accommodate her needs and desires” parts flow from that, but also require the man not to be an idiot in the first place. As has been noted elsewhere ad nauseum, chastity and orgasm control cannot fix a broken relationship or make you a beter partner than you already have in you to be.

3. Orgasm control is essential for the healthy sexual expression of principles 1 and 2. A man’s unfettered access to his own penis is cancer to his personal relationships.

Sentence number one, yes. I agree. Maybe not the only essential thing, but a big one (IMO). Second sentence, I’m not so sure about. “Cancer” is a very strong word. Also, I don’t necessarily blame the penis but the fact that access to it could, as it did with Belle and I, loosen a couple’s physical bonds to each other. Because I could jack-off, I eventually stopped trying to get Belle to have sex with me. Because we weren’t having sex, I eventually had an affair. It was a nasty little snowball that rolled along for a decade before nearly knocking over our marriage. Had she been controlling my release the entire time, who knows what would have happened.

4. Men are unable to control themselves regarding their own orgasm, and require a woman’s control in order to abstain from masturbating.

Men certainly do like their orgasms, don’t they? Millions of years of evolution have designed them to have frequent emissions. However, not all of them are unable to control themselves. Steve from The Glow Inside (a moment of silence, please – I miss Steve) was 100% mental with his chastity. Head on over to FetLife and you’ll find a bunch more like him lording over those of us under lock and key their superior self-control.

Yeah, it’s a whole hell of a lot better when she’s involved. In fact, absent a women (or any partner, for that matter) I’m not sure what the point of orgasm control would be. Were I single, I’d be coming every day (twice on those with vowels in their names). I am not one of those who believe lack of masturbation and orgasm makes me a better person. Better within my relationship, yes. Better in general, no.

5. Without orgasm control, a man’s thoughts and desires are unmoored and scattered. With it, his focus remains constant and unyielding on the goal of continually pleasing the woman who controls him. The dynamic of orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.

My experience is totally the opposite of this. My thoughts are way more scattered after a couple of weeks orgamsless. I’m easily distracted and find myself thinking about sex way more often than usual. I am a ton more focused on Belle, but that’s at the expense of everything else. It’s not debilitating or anything, but very noticeable.

As I said yesterday, I totally agree with the sentiment that “orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.” I believe that entirely.

6. A man’s resistance to the principles set forth above is rooted in arrogance. The current standard cultural definition of masculinity is profoundly flawed, and is a product of the insecure arrogance of men.

Sentence two, I agree. Our culture doesn’t recognize or value submissive masculinity at all. Not, at least, as it pertains to relationships with women. Some might point to military dynamics as an example of submissive masculinity that’s seen as worthy, but the context is all wrong. Men who submit their masculine prerogative to a woman are weak, period. I wish that perception was otherwise.

Sentence one. Maybe it’s arrogance for some or maybe it’s just that it’s not their thing. While I do think a great many men (and their partners) would benefit from a chastity lifestyle, I don’t pretend that it would be right for all men everywhere. We’re just too diverse a species for that kind of blanket thinking

7. A woman’s loving humiliation of her husband, including but not limited to the use of a chastity device, will over time act as an antidote to his arrogance. Masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you.

Not every guy wants to be humiliated. And why should chastity be seen as humiliation? Yeah, it’s power exchange, but that’s not humiliation. I admit that I’m unclear where humiliation fits in my personal set of perverse triggers, but I know that it’s not central to my chastised experience and not even among the top five things I like about it. In fact, I can say pretty confidently that Belle’s never humiliated me, even though there might be a little tiny part of me that would like it.

That being said, “masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you” I like a lot. It goes directly to my issues with our restrictive definition of it and also seems much more a “one size does not fit all” kind of statement than anything that came before it.

8. A chastity device is a symbol of fidelity, a reminder of submissiveness, an expression of love, and a piece of decorative jewelry. It shouldn’t be forgotten that all of this is fun and erotic and hot and beautiful and lasting and real.

Total agreement with all that. 100%.

TELL HER TODAY: I did a little more than a year ago, and guess what?

HAPPINESS

Yeah, same here, though it’s been almost two years for me. It has made me, on balance, a much happier person.

To conclude, I want to reiterate that I’m not picking on cricketed here. I think there’s a lot of truth in what he says, but I also tend to get hives whenever anyone speaks with such zeal and authority regarding The Truth™ (regarding matter of sexuality or anything). My truth is not his truth is not that guy over there’s truth. There are a multitude of paths to happiness and the experiences of any one blogger will never be your path. You have to do what feels right and good and enjoyable for both of you. If I have a manifesto, I guess that’s it.

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Permission

“Just so I’m clear,” I said, embracing Belle with my arms and legs and pressing my face into her right breast, “I’m allowed to fuck my ass and torture my nipples while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“How about my balls? Can I abuse my balls? Can I make them hurt?”

Silence.

“No, you can’t do that. You need something to look forward to for when I get back.”

“You’re right, Belle Fille. Thank you.”

—

Belle’s off to NYC until Thursday leaving me alone with permission to do the things I used to do anyway back when it was up to me. Sera said in a comment to a previous post, regarding Belle’s appropriation of just about every one of my physical outlets, “Glad to hear Belle is rejecting the myth that cock=male sexuality,” and I guess that is the best summary of what she’s done. I think even I had fallen into that trap.

I had been lobbying Belle for another chance to make her come on Sunday night since she’s going to be gone for most of the week and well past the 72 hour no-fly zone that follows her orgasms, but as I laid there and held her, even with a full tube and a quivering desire fluttering around in my chest, I felt very calm. I’ve felt this from time to time before and I should probably bookmark this post for when I stop feeling it in the future, but it was one of those crystal moments when I totally accepted my place and her power to decide what was going to happen. I think this is due to her flexing her control and the acquisition of her new powers. The number of technicalities I was able to carve wiggle room out of have been drastically diminished by her. It’s almost refreshing to know I can’t do anything to or with my body without her permission. In any event, it focuses the mind quite a bit.

Which, in fact, is all I have left: My mind. Of course, it would be very difficult for her to control that to such an extent that I couldn’t use it to at least work myself up (not that I think she wants to or that I want her to or that it would be in any way good for our relationship). I still have blanket permission to consume porn which, at this point, it purely a mental exercise. That’s just about the last thing I can do all on my own that involves sex. I suppose she could require that I ask permission before engaging in it, but I do so at a frequency I’m sure she’d find both alarming and annoying if I asked her each and every time. Maybe if I had to ask each day or something. I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t even talk about it. Yeah, let’s change the subject…

Saturday night, I almost made her come without ever touching her pussy. In fact, I know I could have. It had been two and half weeks since my last opportunity (due mostly to my trip) and she was ready. I started out playing extra special attention to her nipples, licking and sucking each while rolling the other between my fingers. Her nipples are so wonderfully big when she’s really horny. I camped out. Her hips were digging into the bed forcefully before I pulled her pajama bottoms down.

But then, instead of moving right in and stroking her clit, I ran my fingers lightly over the skin and taut tendons to each side of her pussy. She moaned and purred like a kitten.

“Ohhh, you’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

It was an unexpected reversal. She was so hot I know that if I had kept at it for 30 more seconds she would have exploded. But, as soon as I realized how close she was, I slipped my fingers onto her dripping clit. Turns out, I wanted to feel her pussy as much as she wanted me to. Seconds later, she was coming. My only regret was she was so worked up and she came so fast that my pussy time was incredibly short. She had a fantastic orgasm, though. I was up for hours, but she slept like a baby.

So anyway, the njoy Pure showed up today. I got home a little early and had time to myself to give it a spin. Short story so far is the thing is fan-fucking-tastic. I’m counting the minutes until I can play with it again.

And with that, I think I’ll go take advantage of my permission.

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Eminent domain

In the beginning, I gave Belle the cock. Not only the cock, but everything associated with it including my balls, all the fluids they produced, and any opportunity to use those things to achieve sexual pleasure. So, it made some sense that she’d then – just last week – claim control over my ass. It is, after all, how I gain access to my prostate which is yet another part of the system I had already given to her. No, I hadn’t specifically given her that very special gland, but it is an integral part of the rest and so closely related to the production of the system’s output and my sexual pleasure, that I’m sure any court would have agreed and said she was well within her rights to regulate my access to it.

But how can I square all that with her latest land grab? Last night, she told me I wasn’t allowed to play with my nipples without her permission (where, of course, “play with” means “torture”, “abuse”, and “reduce to quivering puddles of painful pleasure”). So yeah, what’s up with that? They’re, like, two feet (or something) from the cock and not physically connected in any way. Well, except for how what happens to them directly affects the status of the cock and how much of the tube’s interior volume it’s trying to occupy. And how the pain stimulus feeds some kind of direct endorphine-like current deep into my brain in such a way as to make my mouth go slack and my eyes defocus. And how, even as the most intensely torturous, twisty, biting and burning abuse I think the plump pink meat can stand before ripping right off my body is inflicted upon them, not only is the sensation immediately converted to raw pleasure but I’m driven to stretch their tender and bruised little beings right back into the waiting jaws of the vicious little clamps I got from fucking Old Navy, of all places, and…and…*GASP!*

Yeah. OK. I can see her point. She’s not just in control of the cock or the ass or the nipples or, in fact, any one physical aspect of my body. She’s claiming control over every expression of my sexuality. And yes, as she points out, this is the logical extension of what I wanted when I first gave her the cock. What else should I expect? If she’s going to do it, she may as well do it right.

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The christening of Mr. Darcy

Belle Fille likes penetration. Yes, she also likes my tongue and my fingers and her vibe, but she really likes fucking her cock. Which, of course, presents a problem. The first and most obvious is that she also likes to keep her cock locked in a steel chastity device. That makes fucking it rather inconvenient. The second problem is, when she lets the cock out, it’s usually been a while since it’s come and my stamina is for shit. If I don’t maintain total concentration, I’ll squirt. Easily 3 out of 4 times, I’ll come before she does, nearly always without permission.

Which is what led me, several months ago, to buying a strap-on cock. Belle’s very particular about what’s put inside her and claims the cock on me is the perfect size. As has already been established, I am five and five eighths inches long when erect and about one and a half inches in diameter. Not huge, but nothing to be ashamed of either as it places me at the very top of the penis length bell curve. As luck would have it, Vixen Creations offers a little bit of heaven that measures almost exactly the same size as me. They call him Tex. So I bought him and a vegan harness with straps that go around both my legs so as to leave room for my steel tube in between.

And then it sat. For months. Belle knew I was going to get it, but she wasn’t eager to try it out. I’d bring it up occasionally, but when the opportunities presented themselves, she’d demure and have me do something else. I remained (mostly) patient.

In an attempt to entice her to give it a shot, I gave Tex a new name. Belle’s favorite author is Jane Austen and her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. In that book, there’s a character named Mr. Darcy who, in the BBC television adaptation, was played by Colin Firth. Colin Firth is, according to my Belle, a fine looking man and is on the list of the three men she’d be willing to have sex with other than me (the other two are Pierce Brosnan and George Clooney, so the chances are pretty slim). So anyway, I naturally named the dildo Mr. Darcy.

Then, after months of gentle prodding and subtle cajoling, last night was to be the night. Belle Fille would finally allow me to pleasure her with Mr. Darcy.

We started out very slowly. I had already lit all the candles to help set the scene and she had already had me remove my clothes. We laid in bed and talked for quite a while. So long, that I was sure she was getting cold feet again. I prepared myself for this so I wouldn’t appear disappointed. It is, after all, entirely her decision if, when, and how she’ll come.

After a bit, she asked, “So, is it best for you to have it on during the whole event or should you make me wait in the middle. I don’t like waiting.”

“Then I’ll have it on the entire time.” I inserted Mr. Darcy through the rubber O-ring and made sure the curve of his erection was centered just like the real thing. Then, I put my feet through the harness and pulled it up over my hips. I had already adjusted it to be snug, but not too tight. The two leg straps nestled in between both sides of my nutsack and my legs, then met up along my ass crack. The base of the dildo sat on my pubic bone and pushed the biocock down and out of the way so that it was very close to a natural positon.

Not wanting to move too quickly, I laid on my back next to her and let everything soak in. It all looked so real. I saw my legs bent at the knees in the background and my hair-covered chest in the foreground and in between was sticking up a very familiar-looking cock. Its color was lighter than my skin, but its shape and proportions were perfect. We both sort of marveled at the sight.

As we laid there, continuing our little chat, I found myseld holding it and squeezing it just as I would Belle’s cock.

“You’re such a guy,” she said.

As we started to kiss, I had to will my hands off the thing. I wanted to keep stroking it even though it wasn’t about to go soft and I couldn’t feel anything anyway. It just felt nice having that familiar shape in my hand.

I started in with the typical pre-game activities and soon found my fingers flitting over her clit and probing her pussy. The natural fluids were doing their thing, but I was worried about there not being enough lube. As I moved up over her body, I put saliva into my hand and rubbed it up and down Mr. Darcy’s shaft. The material from which it’s made feels remarkably lifelike when wet. It’s soft and spongy on the surface and more firm in the middle. Not unlike an actual cock.

I lined Mr. Darcy up with Belle’s waiting pussy the best I could. For not the last time, I realized how much of the feedback from the biocock I rely upon when fucking. Of course, with a real cock, you always know if you’re lined up and she’s hot and wet. With Mr. Darcy, I had to use my fingers to make sure everything was in place. I ran Mr. Darcy’s head up and down the soft, wet lips of her pussy and she moaned just a little. Then I slid it into her.

I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the past few years and I always knew, logically, that I wouldn’t feel anything. But still, it was very strange being in this familiar position, making these familiar motions, and feeling absolutely nothing. I could feel her body moving receptively beneath me just like when it was me inside her, but that’s where it ened. It took a few seconds to make sure he was lined up inside her properly and his angle of insertion was correct. It was close to being in the right spot on me, but was off just enough that I had to shift my normal positon slightly. This allowed me to suck on her nipples more easily, though.

As I was fucking her, I had to reach down occasionally to make sure I didn’t pull all the way out. Again, with no sensory feedback, I was sorta flying blindly. Her reactions were good, but after a few minutes she asked, “What if I want to fuck you?”

Which I took to mean me. As in, the cock on me. “You’d have to unlock me,” I replied.

“No, what if I want to fuck you? As in, on top.”

“Oh! Well, tell me to roll over.”

“OK, roll over.”

So I rolled over and made sure Mr. Darcy was lined up as she slid down his already slick shaft. I started to buck my hips in a reciprocal fashion, much more so than I dare to when she’s actually fucking me. I found it difficult to keep up the right rhythm since – again – I couldn’t feel Belle move over the cock she was fucking. I eventually figured out that if I placed my hand on the small of her back, I could maintain the correct pace.

The next way I realized strap on fucking was different than the other kind was that I was getting tired. The actual work that fucking entails seems to be masked by the sensation of doing the fucking. Absent that, it’s all just a lot of moving around and I felt myself starting to tire, though not enough to stop. I just think it’s funny how much work fucking your wife turns into when it’s not actually you getting up inside her.

I sucked and licked her tits as she rode Mr. Darcy freely. Looking up at her, I saw her face contorted in pleasure, her eyes mostly closed and her mouth in a permanent O shape. She was obviously enjoying herself, but not in the way she does when fucking me. I could tell it felt different to her. I could tell she was fucking a different cock.

After a bit, it started to become apparent that something was not quite right, though. She had been going too long. Eventually, she called it and rolled to my side. To finish her off, I brought out Pink. She came so hard that she dug her nails into the side of my throat, clutching my carotid artery. I took it as long as I could before crying out in pain.

As I took the harness off and pulled the wet Mr. Darcy through the O-ring, I couldn’t help myself but suck his length into my mouth. I cleaned Belle’s juices with my tongue before placing him back in the nightstand. Can’t do that with a real cock.

The postgame report is good. While he didn’t make her come, Belle enjoyed Mr. Darcy and says we’ll get to use him again. Next time, she’ll let me stay on top longer to see it that helps her get off. Also, if I find myself beneath her, I’ll probably not fuck back with such vigor. In any event, I hope that with practice Mr. Darcy will be able to give her the kind of pleasure I can’t when I’m locked up and not allowed to come.