Tag: domination

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Push me, please

The other day Belle said she wasn’t sure what I meant when I said I wanted to be pushed. As in:

First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

I tried to explain that there’s a desire within me to go far beyond my comfort zone if for no other reason than she’s asked me to do so. I pointed her to Maymay’s post related to this (is there anything he’s not written about?) and also sent her a couple of Sarah Jameson’s emails that, I think, touch indirectly on it.

Sarah Jameson, for those who don’t know, writes the Male Chastity Blog. She’s a “normal” woman, not unlike Belle, with a husband who likes abnormal things, not unlike me. She writes with confidence and, while I don’t always agree with her, find that she’s right far more often that not (at least IMO). Besides the blog, she also sends out a multi-part email newsletter on the subject of…wait for it…male chastity. Why an email, I can’t tell. If it were me I’d put it all on my blog and not make people wait for it all, but whatever. I recommend it, especially for those just starting out.

So anyway, in part 11 of her series, she asks, “Just how long can a man wait?” Her initial response sends an electric shiver down my spine:

Well, the truth is… your man doesn’t have to orgasm ever. As in NEVER.

But then she give what I think is the best advice I’ve read on the subject:

Over time I’ve come round to the way of thinking that you should keep your man in orgasm denial for at least 50% longer than he asks for and thinks he can stand.

Why?

Because in the early days, while you’re still working out the ground rules, he’ll be basing his own estimation on insufficient knowledge. To HIM, fresh into male chastity, even a week seems like an eternity.

So if he thinks a month, make it six weeks; if he thinks six months, make it nine months; and if he thinks a year… woe betide him.

This is nothing to do with domination – this is to do with playing the game he’s asked to play and keeping HIM within the rules.

I don’t agree, however, that is doesn’t have anything to do with domination. I think it does, at least for me, because it certainly has something to do with submission. My submission has no value if it entails only that which I am willing to do on my own. It only gains value, to me, when it crosses out of my fantasy bubble and starts to make me squirm. It would become zen-like to be taken far out of my zone – to be made to truly suffer – for the benefit of my top. Often, I feel as though Belle humors me and, as soon as I seem to become uncomfortable or inconvenienced or whatever, she’ll pull back. But that’s just when it’s getting good!

Her next message, conveniently enough, covers “what to do when he claims he can’t take it anymore.” This, I thought, was particularly insightful:

He WANTS to orgasm as a fleeting thing; but he CRAVES denial long-term. It’s how it works with most men. And when they’re begging with their blue-balls, they really do mean it.

But if you don’t give in, he’ll thank you, I promise. Don’t feel sorry for him – he’s getting what he wants, and that’s more than most people in the world ever get.

Belle specifically asked me to explain this bit of ironic drama the other day and I couldn’t. Sarah doesn’t explain it, really, but she perfectly captures it. In the moment, there are times when I want the orgasm badly. Palpably. Like, life and death. But, what I want even more is for Belle to deny it to me, especially if I really, really, REALLY want it. See point number one above.

The next bit is also terrific advice:

I know from John [her husband] that feeling of wanting to come all the time is amazing for [men]. Yes, when you’re making love at that point it can get a bit uncomfortable, but it soon passes. Rather than feeling sorry for him, try empathy: share his feeling without taking responsibility for it or for making it better.

Yes, yes, yes. “Oh, poor baby, I know it’s hard…” Not guilt, not confusion, not sympathy. More like, “Look, fucker, you asked for this so you’re going to get it and, while I can empathize with your situation, there’s not a damn thing I’m going to do about it other than pour honey on your agony.” But, you know, nicer than that.

Or not, because, in fact, that would be a fucking hot way to put it…

Of course, I’m talking about more than just orgasm denial. I’d like her to require me to wear the device past the point I beg for it to be taken off. I want to provide any and all service to her (house, body, whatever she asks) past the point of comfort or convenience. I don’t want her to be a bitch or some über domme, just to set for me very high goals and expectations. To understand that when I’m in a place where most people would be unhappy (and even if, in that moment, I am unhappy), that I’m actually where I need to be.

I know this is hard for Belle to wrap her head around. It’s all very weird and alien and a million miles from how she’s wired to interact with the world (and her husband). I can’t expect her to understand why I am the way I am. I don’t understand that myself. But if she can figure out what all the buttons and levers do – how to leverage my kinks – I think we can use them in a way that will make both of us more satisfied.

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Woodsy

In about a week, I’m leaving for a 10 day camping trip. I only mention this because Belle had told me I would be left unlocked while I was gone since I’ll be with a group of folks who are otherwise unaware of my…condition. But then, night before last, she told me she wishes she could leave me locked. And honestly, I wish I could be, too.

The device and I are on pretty good terms at the moment. The first night she put me back in it, I was so excited that I didn’t fall asleep until 3:30. Last night, I fell asleep OK but woke up several times for the customary reasons. Eventually, I’ll sleep right through that stuff, but I’m still in adjustment mode. I’d feel the steel ring and tube containing the straining meat and a happy little ball would start bouncing around inside me and I’d be wide awake for a while until things settled down. Right now, the device, as a symbol of our dynamic, is on the right side of things. I’m happy so I love it. Wearing it because she wants me to makes me feel very good. She told me last night she liked my attitude better when I’m locked. A small thermonuclear detonation went off inside me to hear that. I know we’re back on the right track. I can feel it.

So anyway, I was thinking about what she said. She wished she could leave me locked up on my trip. And I think it’s possible. This won’t be like last year’s trip when I backpacked into the Rockies. This time, we’re going to be driving into Northern California. In fact, I’m driving all the way out there, so nasty TSA metal detectors aren’t a factor. Also, I’ll probably be sleeping in the bed of my truck (inside the camper shell – what, I don’t seem like the truck type?) so I’ll have a modicum of privacy. I can bring the soapy water I need with me (even though it will be verrrry cold) and take care of things out of sight and sound of the others.

That’s not to say there won’t be other inconveniences. I’ll need to make sure I’m properly shielded when answering the call of nature, for instance. And we’ll have to see how the Steelheart likes hiking around. But, as far as I can tell, it’s all perfectly doable. Remember the part about pushing me? This is a perfect example. She wants me locked. She shouldn’t really consider my inconvenience if that’s the way she wants things. That’s pushing.

Besides, worst case, I’ll still have my emergency key.

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Weekend sex

We did have some nice episodes this weekend and since it’s been so long since I wrote about the sex parts, I’ll relate them to you now…

On either Friday or Saturday, I went to bed highly expectational that something was going to happen. I was sporting the free meat so almost anything was possible. She told me to get naked and I snuggled up against her, nuzzling her tits through the fabric of her pajamas and running my hand over the outline of her mound. She lifted her top and I latched on to her nipples, licking and sucking each one in turn. My blood rose pretty quickly and the soft spot just under the high point of her crotch that told me I was on her clit. I pressed down with a circular motion. Just seconds later, she started to come. I could feel her heat and dampness through the fabric and flicked my tongue over erect nipple as her head went back and she whispered in breathy insistance, “I going to come.”

And she did. And it was really fucking hot. She said it made her feel like she was 16 again and we were fooling around in a car. It was all so rushed and determined. I was left feeling like the man of steel and, after allowing her time to bask a bit, I asked if I could enter her. She seemed to hesitate and I thought for a second she’d refuse, but she pulled off her bottoms and opened up for me.

This was the first time I fucked her with the new ring in and, more so than any other I have, I could feel its gravity move though the head of the cock and slide against the wet walls of her pussy. My PA piercing has  taught me there are nerve endings inside the cock as well and, that night, as I fucked her slowly and deliberately, trying to feel every centimeter of her sex slide against mine, all the little nerves were firing. I love that new ring sofuckingmuch.

In the hight of the passion, as the urge to speed up and spew reached its zenith, the fact that I was not allowed resonated in me like a struck bell. I felt suddenly and immensely grateful that I was with a partner willing to take on control of my release. I thanked her for accepting my cock and reiterated how right it felt that she decide when I come. As I was fucking her and as I was grappling with the rising, desperate need to ejaculate, I embraced with all my being her right to refuse me the pleasure. It was not going to happen.

I fell asleep pressing as much of me against as much of her as possible, hard, sticky cock between us.

The next night, or maybe the one after that, she abused me. She started off slow and gentle, just how I like, caressing every part of my desperate sex and stroking the cock until an orgasm was just beginning to bubble to life. Then she started slapping, lightly at first and then with more determination, my balls. Eventually, she was striking them with force and I was gasping for breath, drawing my knees up instinctively, and clutching at my aching sack. The pain would radiate for ten, twenty, thirty seconds or more before receding, then I’d slowly open my legs again. That’s the most delicious part. My higher brain, with its weird chemistry and crossed pleasure wires, fighting my lower reptile brainstem’s blind protective instinct. Each millimeter my legs moved apart was a minor internal battle. Then, she’d place her loose fist against my nuts, draw back, and strike them again.

This kind of pain is, for me, the beluga caviar of masochistic pleasure. Certainly an acquired taste, it’s also very intense. I couldn’t do it every night, but sitting here now, encased, reliving the unique radioactive agony…I want it again. A lot. I’m getting all dreamy just thinking about it.

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Reboot

I ended my last post (of any significance) from almost a month ago this way:

I desperately want to find myself back in the pre-London subspace. I don’t think one weekend can fix everything, but I hope it’s the beginning to the way out of the particular rough patch.

The weekend I was looking forward to and those that came after – until the one just past – did not see the situation improve. In fact, it got worse. So bad, in fact, that there were times I thought our 21 month experiment in power exchange was coming to an end. But it didn’t.

I don’t even know where to begin. To be honest, I have no desire to retell the past three plus weeks. Short story is, as I’ve been eluding to for a while, things just lost steam. I felt like Belle had started to take things for granted and wasn’t really exerting much effort to maintain my headspace. As if, once set upon my subbie trajectory, I’d just keep coasting indefinitely. My chastity started to feel like incarceration. My desire to server her evaporated. Finally, when we had sex, I shed any submissive or denied pretense. I fucked her like the old days and came. Then, when she told me it was time to get back into the device, I refused (politely). Clearly, the lowest point of our new D/s dynamic had been reached.

Then, sometime last week, we finally had The Talk. Even though unlocked, I had refrained from orgasm – too afraid really to let go of the last tattered shred of our arrangement. I was getting horny, though, and we were going to have to come to some agreement. We were either going to end this chapter of our sex life or we’d have to address the issues at hand.There was a lot of emotion and she cried and I felt like shit. We hadn’t really moved forward, but I felt like the barrier had been broken. Something was going to happen, just not that night. This past weekend, we talked some more. It was better this time. More constructive. Things are back on track. I still haven’t come, though she has, and I’m horny as hell and, maybe most importantly, she’s locked me back up and I’m OK with it.

While it may not be popular in some circles for me to say this, the fact is my submissive feelings need to be tended. The more she denies me and teases me and pushes me (more on that later), the more deeply I feel my submission. I have attached to myself this rabbit metaphor, so I’ll stick with. My subbie side is not unlike a rabbit in that it’s easily spooked and difficult to get out of its burrow, but once coaxed out, it can be tamed. Stop feeding the rabbit, and it’ll leave again. That’s how my submission works. That’s not how everybody’s works, but it’s how mine does.

So I suggested a few things. First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

Second, not all of this needs to fall fully-formed from Belle’s imagination. She lives this role in a very lonely state. We hardly talk about her side of it and she has no peers to turn to. It’s all internalized and, when she starts to slip, it only builds and builds until she assumes she’s a failure at it. Then, instead of talking about it, she tends to lock up. Hard feelings on both sides get exacerbated. We spiral downward. Instead, I asked her to think of our dynamic like she would a superior/inferior relationship at work. She can’t possibly have all the answers all of the time. When she feels herself at an impasse, I’ve encouraged her to ask me for ideas. Just like at work, she’ll choose the one that feels right to her and I’ll go along with it. Also, I’ve encouraged her to come here and write about what she’s thinking or struggling with. I know there’s no end to the advice she’ll get from readers like you. In short, there is no need for her to shoulder her role all on her own. And I honestly do not expect her to always know which way to go next.

Finally, I poposed some guidelines with regard to sex. I think, on average, it’d be nice to have 2-3 sexual encounters a week. These can be fairly simple to more involved, but one every seven to ten days (especially when I’m locked up for weeks at a time) just won’t work for me. I’ll get depressed. The little subbie bunny will go back into his burrow. Neither of us want that.

Good god, look at the time. I started this post not just because it’s been a long time coming but also because being back in the device and back on the path to subdom left me distracted and sleepless. There’s much more I could say and what I have said I’m sure I could have said better, but now it’s time for sleep.

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A reader’s questions

A reader sent me an email chock full o’ questions and, since I can’t get motivated to write about anything else, I thought I’d reply to them here…

Have followed your postings for some time and really enjoy them.

Thanks. I enjoyed many of them myself.

Does Belle control your appearance and grooming…hair, body hair, nails etc.?  Does she ever groom you or tell you how she wants it done?  How are they kept?

Not any more than any other wife. She likes me to look a certain way, but it’s not always the way I want to look and also not always appropriate for work (don’t get carried away – she like me on the scruffy side, is all). I probably would modify my appearance for her if she asked me to.

Ever get into bondage or cock and ball torture?  How have you been tied or what have you had done to cock and balls?

If you’ve followed me for some time, you’ll know I’m very into CBT and bondage. I’m not always in the mood, but when I am (or when Belle pulls me into it), I like it a lot.

As far as what’s been done, Belle’s punched me in the nuts, applied Icy Hot to them, pinched and squeezed them, affixed clothespins in and around the area, and (while tied up) rested a bag of ice on the entire package. I have a fantasy of her really kicking or kneeing them, but have thus far not pushed it because I’m not sure where the line is. I have grown to really appreciate testicle pain (again, while in the right mood), but am afraid of actually damaging them.

Now that I think of it, I recall that, prior to being with Belle, my masturbatory habits included wrapping a light chain (dog leash) around my cock and balls in order to cause constriction. In what was probably a strong foreshadowing of my future kinks, I liked the sensation of binding and squeezing. At some point, I lost the chain and used other various objects such as boot laces.

Ever get tied, tortured or used by another guy?  Interested in that?

No, I haven’t. Interested? Well, sure, in the same way I’m interested in any guy at this point. I’m not going to be acting on my interests since the rules of my relationship don’t allow it, but I think the dynamic differences in being topped by a guy versus a woman would be fantastic to experience. Guys have the ability to penetrate in a way that’s very obviously dominating.

Do you find yourself more bi as you are in chastity without cuming longer?

I am not any more or less queer when in chastity, but I am metric tonnes more horny. I feel as though I’m a perfect Kinsey 3 in that I’m usually equally attracted to women  and men. My level of frustration doesn’t change the direction of my attractions, though it can make them much more intense.

Ever made to service other guys or women?

I’m up to anything, but Belle’s not interested in sharing, as far as I know.

Sure these seem like random questions…I appreciate your answering them.

No problem.

I’d like to learn more about you.

Obviously!

Chastity is a huge turn on to me.

Me, too.

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Belle free

Sometime, things just don’t work the way you think they should (or want them to).

A couple of examples. First, that nifty little keysafe thing I got to keep my emergency keys in. Yeah, well, that broke the first time Belle opened it. Quality. Then the penis plug I ordered showed up. Yeah, that ended up being too fat to fit up my urethra. And trust me, I tried. At least it’s a quality piece of stainless. If nothing else, it’ll look great dangling from my keyring next to the car keys.

Then there was Belle’s cock. It started to feel a little weird in the tube in that overly sensitive and irritated way it does after it’s been in for a while. In this case, it had been three weeks exactly. She let me take it off to inspect the hotdog and, while there were no visible signs of wear, she let it stay out for the day to recuperate. That night, she wanted it back in. Not only because she was about to leave town for a few days (and she never leaves me alone anymore with free meat) but also because she expects and prefers my default condition to be locked.

But I asked not to be. Truth is, I was kinda sorta miserable. I can be locked indefinitely and enjoy it, but absent any external stimulation, it starts to become monotonous. So, even though she was going to be gone, she agreed to leave me out as long as I didn’t go overboard with the jacking off to porn. And, of course, I wasn’t allowed to orgasm.

In the past couple of days, I did manage to fit in a significant amount of self abuse. I really enjoyed the edging and took myself to the brink innumerable times, but found, after a while, a little voice creeping in to my mind as I did it. It wasn’t exactly telling me I should go ahead and come, but it seemed to be trying to distract me at the very worst moment so I’d accidentally find myself all gooey. Make me miss half a beat until the moment of no return was passed. I didn’t come, but it seemed as though I was crossing the admittedly vague guidelines she left me with. Time to stop.

But, of course, I have terrible self-control. So, I decided to lock myself back up. I know it’s not the same as when she’s around since I know exactly where the key is, but the device is serving as my deterrent. Also, the edging – even though Belle wasn’t part of it – was just what I needed. I don’t need any more at the moment, though I really want it. Once I was back in the device I felt an odd sense of wholeness descend. Not like last time where it felt alien and intrusive. This time, being out felt out of sorts and being back in felt normal. The device has become my security blanket.

In any event, I look forward to the next few days very much. The kids are going to be out of the house for three nights and Belle and I are spending one of them in a lovely B&B we’ve gone to in the past. I really, really need to have sex with her, and more than once. I need, in the very bottom of my soul, to feel her come hard. I desperately want to find myself back in the pre-London subspace. I don’t think one weekend can fix everything, but I hope it’s the beginning to the way out of the particular rough patch.

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Prisoner again

It turns out, she did fuck me. She hadn’t had her cock in such a long time and as she slid down onto it, she moaned and purred in appreciation. It felt hot on the skin of the cock – hotter than I remember. And yeah, I came. I held back as long as I could, but there wasn’t any stopping it. She felt me come and that just made her all the more enthusiastic, but she was still a ways off from her own. The head of the cock felt like it was on fire in its post-orgasmic hypersensitivity, but she fucked it anyway. Fucked it until she came and I was a panting, sweaty pile of meat beneath her.

Beforehand, she had told me she didn’t care if I came. I really hate that. “I don’t care if you come” is, like, the exact opposite position I want her to have. I can think of several things I’d have rather she said. Such as, “you can come, but not until after me,” or “you can’t come and if you do I’m locking you right now,” or “if you come I get to punch you in the nuts three times/burn your nuts with Icy Hot” – just about anything other than I don’t care if you come. That’s the worse.

Before this fucking, we had talked about “taking a break”, but couldn’t really define what exactly we’d be taking a break from. There are things she likes about our arrangement that she just doesn’t want to live without and will not easily agree to giving up, even temporarily. Personally, I wanted to come more. I wanted a period where I was allowed to come pretty much whenever I wanted. I found that, the more I came the more I wanted to come. Not withstanding anything I wrote in my last post, each orgasm seems to push away my desire to be in the device or denied in general. After nearly three months of nothing, I wanted a change of scenery. I still do think that most of the time I should live without and with as much desire for them as possible, but it’s also the case that we only appreciate the things we don’t have when we – you know – have them, at least for a little while.

But she wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel I was being sufficiently worshipful what with my two orgasms and being out and all. She wanted me back in. But, just like in London, for some reason she never pulled the trigger. Each day it was going to be tomorrow. I did not want to get locked up again. Even if I couldn’t come, I still liked having the option to jack off. But, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lock me up, it was very important to her. One morning last week, after she had already left for work, I locked myself back into the Steelheart.

All that day, all I could think about was what a pain in the ass it was. Heavy, bulging, pushing my nuts around (sometimes painfully). I’ve said before how it has felt like the device and its contents become one unit. How the shiny steel shell starts to feel like my natural state. Well, on that first day especially, it was very clearly two separate things. A prison and its prisoner. Unnatural and invasive. Even though I had done it willingly, I can’t say I was very happy about it.

That night, when she discovered I was in, she was very pleased. Her pleasure caused the tube to pressurize. And, from that moment on, I became more like she wanted me to be. I am a different person when I’m locked up and, as each day passed, that other person – Thumper – has come to the fore. It’s hasn’t been a complete conversion. Sometimes, I still feel myself rebelling against the steel. And my desire to have access to the cock has an edge to it that it didn’t before I came. But this is what Belle wanted, so this is how I am.

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2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

That’s as far as I got. Two months, three weeks, and five days.

The end began with me getting Belle off. She was on her period and I was locked, so it was your regular nipple sucking, clit fingering affair, except when it was over, my motor got stuck revving at about 5,000 RPM. Belle had been slapping my nuts around a bit and, if I remember correctly, had placed little chrome clips on my nipples. I was rubbing and pulling and stroking the hard metal tube, grinding my butt into the sheets, and generally tripping out on my own desperation.

“Oh, god, I want to come,” I moaned, almost against my will.

She reminded me my time wasn’t up yet. I said it again. She repeated herself. I did, too.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t want to read your whining on the blog about it later and feeling all sorry for yourself.”

I pondered. On the one hand, I liked begging only to be refused. That’s how I had started, not actually expecting to be allowed out. I enjoy it when she makes me suffer. But, as I laid there, I found I really and truly wanted to come. I needed to.  Two months, three weeks, and five days was a really long time. I wanted to go to 100 days, and I was almost there, but the reptilian maleness had taken notice of the chance it was being presented with and pushed me onward. The rational side of my brain, also desperately horny and wanting very badly to come, said that the 100 day thing was never Belle’s idea in the first place. I had come up with it. If she was OK with me coming now, and I declined, then who, exactly, was denying who? I almost had to come in order to preserve the order of things. Yeah, that’s it.

So anyway, I took her up on it. She got the key and I removed the metal and immediately started stroking while she looked on. Right from the start, it didn’t feel at all like the last time she let me beat the meat. This time, I knew, was going to be productive. There would be gobs of sticky white stuff all over me when I was done, not a rapid release so I could retreat from the edge of bliss. I felt the cock swell and the internal gears lock into place. In maybe just a minute, I could feel the point of no return rushing towards me, then fly past me. I started to come.

It was very intense. So intense, I can’t remember how many slugs I shot, but it was many. I felt a prickly wave run from my scalp down the back of neck and into my shoulders. I wanted the surging hot goo to never stop coming out of me. Never. I just. Wanted. To come. And come and come and feel that crescendo of orgasm last forever.

But, of course, it didn’t. In fact, just as suddenly as it started, I felt myself slip off the peak. I was still milking the meat, squeezing every last drop out, but the shores of Climax Island pulled away from me at sonic speeds. And, while not remorseful at all, I was disappointed. I felt almost immediately a sense of loss. Like I had been swindled into a transaction that I realized was a con the second my money left my hands.

This is beyond kink now. I do like the tease, the torture, the bondage of the device, and all that very much. But now that I live without them, I find the actual orgasm to be rather empty. The anticipation, the craving, the heightened sexual existence that comes from their nearly total absence is more rewarding, many times more, than the squirt it all revolves around. I feel so much when I’ve been denied – so much more alive – that the post orgasmic period feels nearly vacant of any feeling. The edge is all gone. The texture of my everyday horned up, locked up life is obliterated by the explosion of ejaculation. There’s no way the actual event of orgasm could ever live up to it.

In fact, I felt very little for several days afterward. Belle would ask how I was doing and I gave her noncommittal kind of grunts because, in fact, I felt very noncommittal. Neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, up nor down. I just was. Again, I wasn’t at all remorseful. Just kinda empty.

My feeling about it now is that infrequent ejaculation is necessary. Like an oil change or something. I need the occasional squirt to reset the levels and the vague emptiness it leaves me with is just a part of the cycle. I do know that, as I am once again starting to regain my sexual desire, I no longer like the feeling of what I once called sexual satisfaction. Living in a state of always wanting more is far better.

—

The other night, I was in bed with Belle, naked as she told me I could be and feeling the first inkling of sexual desire return. In the distant past, this feeling would have sent me into the bathroom to quickly and quietly rub one out over the sink, but that not being an option anymore, I was grabbing Belle. She had left me unlocked since the end of the two months, three weeks, and five days, so anything was possible. I made my move and was typically guy-like in my bluntness.

“I like you better when you’re locked up,” she said in exasperation. Just like that. I like you better when you’re locked up.

Almost immediately, she started to back away from the comment, hemming and hawing as if she had said too much. As if it would bother me to hear it. Finally, she corrected herself and said, “I like us better when you’re locked up.”

That might be true, but my actions would not have caused her to express that particular sentiment. She meant what she said originally: She likes it better when I’m sexually compliant. When the device she locks onto my body leaves me far less aggressive. When my frustration has no where to go and, in desperation, I seek only her climax as a surrogate for my own release.

And, of course, I was immediately very hard and way more turned on than I had been before her true feelings slipped out. I wish she’d own these feelings more and not be worried about my reaction to them. Hell, that’s exactly how I hope she feels. Hearing her say it – that she liked me better when I was under her control and unable to express myself sexually in any way other than in service to her – filled me with excitement, and not all of it sexual. I know that I occasionally push her up to her position of dominance (like so many other men in my situation) and that it hasn’t always come naturally to her or been something she’s comfortable with. But here she was, really feeling it. She hadn’t thought at all about what she was saying before she said it. It was awesomely honest and in no way contrived to elicit a certain response from me.

—

As I’ve been writing this, Belle asked me what I was doing. I told her and then I read to her the first 800 words or so. I’ve never read out loud to her what I write here and doing so was equal parts embarrassing, exhilarating, and revealing. I hope she asks me to do it again sometime.

In any event, I’m hoping to get the dick wet tonight. It’s been a really long time since she fucked me and I’m thinking a lot about how it’ll feel. She’s told me I’m going back into the device tomorrow, though she hasn’t said for how long. Nor has she said how long it’ll be before I come again. Perhaps she’ll let me tonight. I wouldn’t fight her on it. Even though I want to live without them, I feel the need for one. I want to feel it again. Just as much as I want to keep on feeling the need. She could start me on another period of extended denial and I’d like that, too.

Either way, I’m good.

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Whack job

So I’m back out and for pretty much the same reason as last time, though the symptoms aren’t as bad. I woke up Monday morning with an odd twinge on one side where the PA fixing is and a mildly irritated sensation down on the corona. I asked to have the fixing taken out and figured I could deal with the other part, but by nighttime it was approaching the super annoying stage. She let me out (after a brief time of not being able to find the key) and I again saw the same kind of redness around the corona and on the glans as before. I don’t know if this is a new issue or if it’s the same as last time that didn’t properly heal, but whatever, it’s back.

Monday I felt kind of crappy otherwise and fell asleep early (even forgetting to make Belle’s coffee). Last night, though, I was feeling a lot better. The free meat was urging me to make the moves on Belle. These urges don’t feel the same as when I’m locked and know I’m not coming out. First of all, in those cases, I find I don’t usually get really hard until either my face is buried in her pussy or she’s moaning and writhing around. I respond to her and my impetus is to feel her reflected pleasure. But when I’m free, the cock gets hard way earlier in the festivities and my driving motivation shifts subtly. I still want to feel her come, but the cock (an eternal optimist) starts sending up suggestions and dropping little hints. I find myself grinding into Belle and acting much more like a regular guy as opposed to what I really am.

Belle even called me on that last night saying my actions didn’t suggest her pleasure was at the heart of my actions. I guess it’s true. I had a hard, free cock for the first time in a month and really wanted to feel something with it. Call it a moment of weakness, but the cock’s imperative loomed large.

Turns out, Belle didn’t act on the opportunity. She said she was actually turned on by denying herself the chance to fuck me. I have no idea what to do with that or even how it makes me feel. Her denial is, of course, mine and I’m wired to want her to have everything she wants, but if what she wants is to deny herself…it’s an unexpected loop. She did place her hand over the hard meat and I gyrated into her palm, just happy to have that stimulation. I was really hard and really turned on, but shortly, she was pretty much asleep.

As she turned over to go to bed, she said, “Since you did a good job today, Thumper, you can play with yourself.”

I immediately wrapped my hand around the erection and said, “Oh, thank you Belle Fille. Thank you.”

“Of course, you can’t come.”

“No, of course not. Thank you, Belle Fille.”

“Try not to stay up all night,” she added, “and you’re going back in tomorrow.”

I was amazed at how quickly I found myself at the edge of orgasm. I couldn’t stroke the full shaft more than maybe a dozen times before my prostate’s payload was locked and ready to fire. I was able to make rapid short strokes just under the head of the cock for more extended periods, but even then I was on the edge relatively quickly. I didn’t pick up any porn and instead just laid there luxuriating in the sensation of jacking off. It was a chance for all my senses to absorb the moment: my whole body felt the bed gently vibrate at my motion and I could hear the wet smacking sound of the precum-lubed slit. As little beads of semen were squeezed out, I picked them up on the tips of my fingers and placed them on my tongue where I swirled their unique viscosity over the roof of my mouth. When I’m that hot and milking myself so freely, I absolutely adore spunk. My hunger for it knows no bounds. In fact, that’s how I judge whether or not I’ve had an orgasm. I think, “Would I eat that?” If I don’t recoil at the thought, then it wasn’t an actual orgasm.

Anyway, I soon found that I was getting way, way too close to coming to keep going. Even after pausing to let everything ooze back down, I’d be right back at the edge after two or three strokes. Also, the skin on the cock’s shaft just wasn’t used to that kind of abuse. One of the ironies of prolonged device chastity I’ve discovered is that the longer you go inside, the less you’re meat is able to withstand the amount of jacking you want when it’s free. The skin loses the toughness it has when it’s constantly rubbing against the inside of my underwear or my clenched fist.

I eventually wound myself down and discovered I was exhausted. I laid on the very edge of sleep for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually did have a fairly restful night. This morning, I can still see little angry spots on the corona which I’m sure weren’t helped by all the whacking the night before. They don’t bother me, but I’ll leave it up to Belle to decide if I’ll go back in. Honestly, even though I had a nice time with it, I don’t really trust myself to be alone with the cock for an extended period of time. Not in the state I’m in now. I’d rather she put it back where it belongs until my time’s up. It’s just simpler that way. I only hope it decides to go quietly.

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Needing it

Belle and I hadn’t had sex before last night since a week ago up at the cabin. She had been enjoying the warm waters of the hot tub while I was with the kids when she came in and told me she needed me to do something for her in the bedroom. I left the boy playing video games and the girl with her art while I walked to the back of the cabin to see what Belle wanted. As I entered the room, she closed and locked the door and dropped her towel.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said.

Holy crap! It’s daylight! The kids are awake in the other room! I’m…all dressed and stuff. Regardless, she laid back on the bed and told me to get my face between her legs.

Her pussy, fresh from the hot bubbly water, was so clean and wet that it almost didn’t feel like itself under my tongue. It was flavorless and smelled of chlorinated water and it took a few minutes before I started to taste her juices start to flow. She told me to get pink and shove it all the way inside her while I licked her clit. I could still hear the little vibe thrumming away, muffled by her soft flesh, while I sucked on her outer lips, reaching up and fingering her nipples, and trying not to grind my stiffly sore tube into the mattress too much.

Eventually, she came with my mouth on her tits and pink sliding all over and into her snatch. Then she told me to leave so she could take a nap. It was all so sudden, hot, and over. I went back out into the living room and pretended like nothing happened, tube thumping in my pants.

Then there was a week where nothing really did happen.

Then there was last night. There wasn’t anything especially interesting about the sex. Functionally, it was like most of what we have: She came while I fingered her and sucked her tits. It was a nice orgasm for her, but like I said, not unlike most of what we do. The difference was how hot I was for it beforehand. I told her, as she informed me she was going to share an orgasm with me, that I wanted to fuck her. I didn’t think for a second that I would, but I wanted to fuck her so bad.

There’s a little rhyme she’s been saying ever since I met her. “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Outdoor fucking starts today!” But upon hearing me whine about how badly I wanted inside her, she changed it up to “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Too bad about your cock today.” Needless to say, I wasn’t going to fuck her.

So then I started with the tit sucking and clit fingering and she came. It was a good one for her, but as soon as it was over I was absolutely out of my mind obsessed about feeling her pussy wrapped around what used to be my cock. I could feel it, warm and wet. Seriously, I’m running out of ways to say just exactly how profoundly fucking horny I was. It almost hurt, I was so horny. Come to think of it, it did hurt as the steel ring bit into the stifled erection’s root.

She got out of bed to pee and I was left there alone, like so many times before I stopped having reciprocal orgasmic rights. In those days, I’d feel the cock, semi-flaccid, laying heavily against my upper thigh, cold and sticky wet with the combined juices of her passion and my climax. The dank smell of semen would be hanging in the air as the ropes of wakefulness fell away and I drifted groggily into a restful sleep. I could feel it all as if it was just yesterday, but really, I can’t even remember when it was anymore. So long ago. Months and months, at least. Maybe longer.

It was another night of restlessness, tossing and turning and semi-wakefulness, always with a full tube. Sometimes, painfully so. I wanted to always be touching her body, either spooning fully into her or, if she was facing me, then at least touching her foor with mine. I craved her contact. I craved her attention. Even in sleep, I wanted all of her.

And I still do this morning. I woke up just as horny and just as desirous of her attention. I’ve been locked up (with the exception of that one day) for a month and have more than another month ahead of me before there’s any hope she’ll let me come, let alone get out of the device. That will be well over the hundred days I offered her back in March. Far, far longer than I’ve gone before between releases. She’s hinted that, when my time finally arrives, that she might let me come more than once. She’s even suggested “a lot.”

It’s all I can think about. Yes, I want to be denied, and yes, I asked for and even offered her this, but I want to come. I want to fuck and come and feel my hand and her pussy wrapped around a fully realized erection. Even if she only gives me one, I need it. Bad.

Just five and a half more weeks.