Tag: domination

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Your sandwich, Mistress

Last night was one of those choreographed movements of people only those with multiple children can really appreciate. The boy and I had a ballgame to attend, Belle had an after work bar thing, and the girl was hanging with the in-laws. The original plan was for Belle to go get the girl at about 8:30 since she figured the boy and I would be at the game until later, but, as is usually the case, after a few hours of baseball, the boy was ready to go. I texted Belle to tell her to stay and have fun and I’d deal with the kids.

She didn’t get the text until she was walking to her car, but when she did, she turned around and headed back to bar. She called me and, and since we were in my car, the Bluetooth picked it up and she was on speaker.

“Thanks for getting the kids, Thumper.”

“No problem. Stay as long as you want. Have fun.”

“You’re the best husband ever,” she said with a particular tone in her voice, “I want you to light the candles, because when I get home…”

My fingers flew to the phone to take her off the speaker. Did she forget the kids were listening?!

“Um, yeah? What did you say?”

“I said, when I get home, I’m going to reward you.”

Wow. Nice! Get in the house, kids! Time for bed!

I guess a little back story is necessary. In the past, the frequency, duration, and activities surrounding these after work drinkfests used to annoy me. Sufficiently that we’d argue afterward (or get close) or I’d stew. I’m not going to get into all the reasons why, but it was mostly thanks to the fountain of resentment that existed in our sexless marriage. Now, with her pleasure being my first priority, I wanted her to stay and live it up with her girlfriends/co-workers.

Three hours later, she came home. Previous resentfully stewy me would have been pissed, but current submissively Belle-focused me was happy she was happy. I did not expect any “reward” since it was after midnight and I had already drifted off to sleep. I heard her out in the kitchen making noise for longer than seemed necessary, so I went out to her to see what was up. I found her stooped over a take-out box containing BBQ ribs from the weekend, gnawing on the slabs of bony meat they contained.

“Didn’t they feed you at this thing?”

“No. I’m starving. I’ll be back there in a minute…” *GNASH* *CHOMP*

I went back to her bed and kind of floated between states of consciousness until her carnivorous moment was over. She crawled under the covers, still smacking her teeth and smelling of alcohol and food.

“Get your clothes off, Thumper.”

Mkay. Done.

Punch in the nuts.

“Miss me?”

“Ungh.”

She then proceeded to inflict several types of abuse on her cock. Presumably, my reward. I could tell the evening’s libations had left her in a different mood than usual. She was being much more forceful. Cruel, even.

At one point, she grabbed the loose skin near the end of the shaft with two fingers and pinched and twisted it in the most hurtful, wonderful way. That was new. The attacks to the balls were not the usual tentative slaps, they were balled-fist punches. She was really trying to hurt me. I found myself closing my legs and involuntarily grabbing at her arm. It was crazy since I did not will myself to do this, it just happened.

“Open yourself to me, Thumper,” she said in a cool, even tone. It sent a warm flush through my body. I slowly opened my legs, exposing myself to her blows.

Then she started abusing the shaft of her cock. Punching, slapping, squeezing and cruelly bending and twisting it, even in it’s hard state. Any previous inhibitions she may have had with regard to inflicting raw pain on me had dropped. There were no intermittent loving strokes or touches mixed in with his action. It was all about the hurt. I was feeling wonderfully spacey from it all.

She grabbed my nuts and started to squeeze. Hard. Harder. My face twisted in agony. It felt like my scrotum was going to burst.

“You like this, Thumper? Is it doing anything for you?” Harder still, a cruel, almost mocking tone to her voice. Where was this strength coming from?

She released me and I could breath again.

“God, I love you so much,” I panted.

“I know.”

After a moment to collect myself, I asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she said, thoughtfully, “Go make me a turkey sandwich.”

Not exactly what I expected, but her wish is my command, right?

“And use the swiss. It’s in the bottom drawer on the left…”

So I got up and made her a sandwich. Never has a turkey sandwich played a role in one of my sexual encounters, but it’s at least nice to see she can still surprise me after nearly 12 years of marriage.

“Here’s your sandwich, Mistress,” I said three minutes later as I reentered her bedroom.

She was asleep.

“Belle?”

Nothing.

I smiled at the absurdity of the scene. Candlelight everywhere, the cock between my legs engorged, me holding a turkey sandwich, her asleep.

I put the sandwich in a baggie in the fridge, blew out the candles, and curled up next to her in bed. Happy.

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Good Thumper

Just after Belle decided it was time to go to sleep last night and had rolled over, she commented that she had noticed what a good job I had been doing lately with regard to being of service to her. I had been feeling slightly sleepy up to that point, but upon hearing those words – I was doing a good job – I found myself on high alert, cock hard. I can sit outside myself now and think how fascinating that is. I’ve been conditioned to become sexually aroused (and not just a little) simply by her giving me a little pat on the head and saying, “Good boy.” My entire definition of sexual stimulus and gratification seems as though it’s being rewritten.

I told her in return that I only wanted for her to be happy, but realized as I said it it wasn’t quite right. Yes, of course, I want her to be happy, but more than that I want her to be pleased. Pleased with me and my performance. If she’s pleased with my service, she will be happy. I also told her I wanted her to hold me to high standards. Truth be told, I don’t really feel like she’s taking full advantage of me at the moment. More often than not, I’m the one who’s reminding her of ways she can utilize me. I’m still waiting for her to take me for granted, which, on the surface, sounds like a bad thing, but somehow in my hormone-addled brain isn’t. However, I do know I’m trying really hard and it’s very, very nice to hear her acknowledge that.

She also mentioned how impressive my attitude was considering I wasn’t in the CB6K. The device, as she correctly observed, focuses me on her and, yeah, not wearing it has made the recent past a very different experience for me. I touched on this in my last post, but the device has many salutatory affects on my behavior, not the least of which is its ability to remove the cock as any kind of distraction for me. When it’s locked up, it kind of ceases to exist from a sexual standpoint and becomes more of a maintenance item needing to be cleaned, etc., responsible only for the removal of waste products from my body. I can’t use it on her, I can’t play with it. In a very real sense, when I’m wearing it, the device becomes the cock it contains. If it wasn’t see-through, I’m sure the sensation that the cock had been replaced with the device would be even more acute.

So all this leads me to wonder when she’s going to lock it up again. I haven’t asked her this question because I don’t want to influence her. I am, in fact, of two minds. Being free is much more convenient than not. I’ve been out for so long now (over three weeks) that I kind of forget what it’s like being in and what it does to my most basic routines. On the other hand, the feeling of her constant control is very appealing to me. To be clear, I am not advocating either state as it’s clearly not under my control and not something I feel comfortable having a say in. I’m just wondering. How much longer will she allow me to be free?

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The new bunny

While at the the cabin a few days ago, I decided that Belle needed to step up from the basic, entry-level vibrator we got for her several months ago to something more full-featured. Don’t get wrong, Pink is a terrific little vibrator, but it’s just that. A little vibrator. As I said last time, Belle’s orgasms need to be as “frequent, spectacular, and celebrated” as possible. Therefore, I figured it was time to upgrade the hardware.

Never having needed a vibrator myself (simple slabs of latex shaped like various porn stars’ dicks were always enough for me), I used Belle’s best friend’s experience to help me pick one out. No, I didn’t call her up and ask (that’d be an interesting conversation, wouldn’t it?), but I did remember Belle relating to me that she had and was very happy with a rabbit-style vibrator. Shopping around, I found that the issue with many of these kinds of vibes is that they’re friggin’ ugly. Either they look like they were slapped together out of random parts or their design suggests they were left here by visiting space aliens (sometimes, both). I wanted Belle to have one that looked like it was made by Apple. Sleek, clean lines, well made, and pretty. Yeah, those are the expensive ones.

I settled on this model. It was pricey but well-reviewed and, of course, Belle’s worth it. Its smooth, dolphinesqe form appealed to our shared aesthetic, but the real clincher was that the clitoral stimulator looked exactly like a little pink rabbit bowing to the power of the clitoris. Sold. Unfortunately, since we weren’t home and I didn’t think a UPS guy showing up at the cabin with a plain, unmarked box that I quickly ran back to our bedroom with would look all that great in front of the in-laws (assuming UPS would even deliver that far back into the boonies), Belle was denied trying out her new toy until last night when we got back.

Upon opening the box, I was initially impressed with the thing’s heft. It’s not really big, but it’s got some density to it. I’d say it has about a half inch more insertable length than me and is maybe a quarter inch wider than me. This worried me, not because my fragile male ego wouldn’t be able to deal with her preferring it over my original equipment, but because she’s always going on and on about how she thinks I’m the perfect size for her and doesn’t want anything bigger, yada yada yada. As far as I’m concerned, this thing should be better than me since, you know, it vibrates and the head rotates and shit. It’s got R&D and modern microelectronics on its side. All I have is a few million years of evolution. In any event, I want her to dig it. If she ends up liking it over her cock, so be it.

So anyway, once the boy finally went to sleep, we broke out the new bunny. From what I’ve read (I may not have mentioned previously, but I don’t actually have a vagina of my own), rabbit-style vibes are a little trickier than others in that they stimulate multiple regions at once. While it’s possible for me to use little Pink on Belle with great affect, it would be harder for me to use the new bunny without actually seeing its successful application by Belle on herself since each pussy is unique, like beautiful snowflakes, etc. I prepared the sleek dildo with a bit of Astroglide and handed it to her.

There were a few candles lit, but the majority of light in the room was from the near-full moon streaming in through the open windows. With the cool blue light of the vibe’s controls mixing with the clean, white light of the moon on her skin, she began. At first, she fiddled with the controls and played around with the different vibe settings and head rotation speeds. She found a combo she liked and settled on the correct angle of attack before doing something I had not expected. My personal experience with artificial dongs involves their rapid, piston-like movement through well-lubricated orifices, but once she found the sweet spot, she closed her legs on it and just left it there. I guess that makes sense in retrospect since her clit was being stimulated on the outside while the head of the thing was rotating from within, but I though there’d be more athletics.

Nevertheless, she seemed to really be into it. At one point, she pulled her top up which, I’ve learned, is her way of telling me to suck her tits. Of course, I was way happy to oblige. My punishment from last week’s unauthorized orgasm was over, so I was free to play with myself, but she had neglected to give me permission to take off my clothes so I was more or less covered in all the strategic places. Skin on skin contact with her was better than anything I could do to myself.

Shortly after I started sucking and playing with her nipples, she came. It sounded good, but not the most sky-shattering orgasm I’ve ever seen her have. As soon as it was over, she removed the vibe and said, matter-of-factly, “It’s definitely bigger than you.” And I think that’s good. She made all these sounds about how it wasn’t better, only bigger, etc., but ultimately, the size was not a problem for her.

After she came, I was seriously horny. I’ve been out of the device for three weeks now and unenforced denial is very, very different from the other kind. If I had been locked-up, I’d have been feeling some discomfort from the stifled erection, but wouldn’t have had any specific urge other than to boil in my own hormones and wait for them to be internally consumed. Not being encumbered left me with a throbbing erection enhanced by a solid chrome cock ring around its root. I wanted to jack-off so bad I could taste it.

“Please, Mistress, can I jack-off?”

She said yes because she’s so very good to me. While she put her pajamas back on and got up to pee, etc., I laid there, underwear pulled down around my thighs and Astroglide poured over her cock, and beat the fuck out of it. It felt so, so wonderful as the bulbous head of the cock slid under the tightly encircling fingers and the remainder of my foreskin stretched up and over the ring through my PA on the reciprocal stroke. I came very close to shooting several times – the last when she was laying next to me rolling my nipple between her thumb and finger – before a great feeling of selfconsciousness came over me. She was sleepy. Her eyes were already closed. Instead of focusing on her and whatever post-orgasmic needs she had, I was instead selfishly stroking myself for no reason whatsoever except to indulge my animal lust (since, of course, I wasn’t going to come). My desire to continue was shed from me like a dirty t-shirt and I got up to clean off her new toy and put it in its proper place.

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Right this second

Sometimes, I start to write a post meaning to say one thing and end up saying something else entirely without even realizing it. That happened yesterday. I related the fact that we were in the hot tub but got all carried away with her furtive little kicks to my groin and forgot the Really Big Thing™ we talked about.

In my opinion, there’s always been in the back of Belle’s mind the idea that what I really want – the thing that’ll make me most happy – is to actually come like a fountain at the end of all the teasing and denial. Maybe, once upon a time, that was true. But not anymore. We both agree that when I’m in the phase I’m in right now that we’re both happiest with the D/s. The power of my sexual frustration has stripped away my self-centered mantle just enough so that I’m especially attuned to her needs. I’m not going to try to get too psychological about it or fall into any of the typical Femdom stereotypes, but there is something to the idea that a woman can harness her man’s need for sexual release and focus it on more productive (for her and the relationship) pursuits. That’s where I am now. I know I’m not the same person when I’m like this. Well, the same, but a different version perhaps. I act very differently. She’s used my desire to change my behavior, and I like it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I’m a “true” submissive or if the denial just makes me one. I still think it’s the case that I’m not a real submissive, but the truth is, I like being turned into one by her. Just the idea that my natural urges are being used to modify how I behave is a huge turn-on. Plus, I recognize that she’s happier with me and the relationship when I’m in this state. I’ve touched before on how maintaining the sweet spot between the more selfish apathetic condition of my normal self and the leg-humping horndog of me carrying way too much pent-up sexual frustration should be our goal.

So, back to what I really want. In fact, what I know now is I never want to be sexually sated ever again. I never want to be in a position where I’ve achieved so many orgasms that I’m totally uninterested in maintaining a submissive position with her. In the past, she’d give me lots of release around special occasions or, once she let me come, she’d let me come a lot. Recently, she’s moved away from that strategy and I’ve found that, yes, there is a hit to the sub energy after I’ve come, but the bounce back happens much more quickly if they’re singular events.We are both so much more happy with how things are right this second that we should make right this second the model or our relationship and not some ideal espoused by the dominant phallic-centric popular paradigm of sexual perfection.

Also, with regard to “special occasions” (such as romantic get-aways or birthdays or anniversaries or what have you), I think what they offer is a special opportunity to make the denial even more effective. Yes, the romantic anniversary trip we’re taking to Mexico in the Fall is a classic scenario where a normal, sexually equal husband should expect lots of terrific orgasmic sex. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t get any. My orgasms, as I’ve said in the past, should be the opposite of special occasions. They should be perfunctory and banal. Everything special should be focused on her. My orgasms are to be regarded as unavoidable maintenance events to be put off as long as possible while hers should be frequent, spectacular, and celebrated.

In retrospect, this may not seem like a Really Big Thing™ to anyone who’s been reading the blog for more than a week or so. The concept isn’t what’s really big. Disabusing her of the idea that my craving for sexual release means I’d be happier once I achieved it – that’s the big thing. For both of us.

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My Mistress

Belle and I spent a nice portion of yesterday in the sun, floating on two innertubes bound together with a bungie, Coronas in hand, tethered to a pontoon in the middle of a northern lake. The water was chilly but the sun was warm on our skin as we let the gentle breeze move us around. It was lovely. Afterward, back at the cabin, I found Belle in the hot tub all alone.1

After asking for and receiving permission to join her (the kids were upstairs getting their fill of Sponge Bob, the in-laws doing whatever it is they do), we soaked in the bubbly warm water. Lately, I’ve felt the need to gush endlessly about how happy she’s making me. I told her – again – but also added that I find her to be a remarkable woman. I know from reading enough guysub blogs that the majority of SOBs like me out there don’t generally find their spouses amenable to a D/s arrangement (or, just as often, they don’t have the nerve to even find out). Yet Belle has been wonderful. She and I have found a way to relate inside this headspace that makes me over the moon happy. My only fear is that I’m happier than she, but she tells me that when I’m feeling very submissive (like lately) and my urge to service her in every way is running its highest, that yes, she’s very happy, too. So I’ll just need to be happy and try to accept that she’s also as happy as she can be. Constant communication is, as usual, one of the secrets to our success.

So, back in the tub, I was down toward her feet, holding them, rubbing them, massaging her calves, when she realized our relative positions gave her feet a perfect vector into my balls. Up until this point, she’s always used her hands when hitting me there, but I’ve fantasized about her kicking me. There wasn’t enough room for a full-on kick in the balls, and the water slowed her movement somewhat, but she managed to make a few connections without me even asking (one of which that was especially painful). By the time she needed to get out, I found I was unable to do so due to the massively hard erection she had produced (and the cock ring had enhanced). I bobbed around in there all my myself for a while until I was presentable to any in-law or offspring I might have happened upon as I exited the water.

Later, in bed, I told Belle that I have been feeling the need to call her something more formal that just “Belle Fille”. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but yesterday when I wrote in my previous post that she and I didn’t have any formal honorific for me to use with her, I think I finally realized how much it meant to me. In the past, we had discussed our options, but none of them seemed to strike her fancy. This time, I said to her that I needed to call her Mistress. My Mistress. Mistress Belle Fille. Even writing it out embarrasses me, so imagine how saying it to her made me feel. In any event, I got it out and she acquiesced. From now on, I will, in the appropriate setting, address her as Mistress. *blush*

I can’t say for certain why this is suddenly so important to me. I like how it makes our power exchange more formal. I like how it elevates her. I like how, in my mind, when I think about what I should or should not be doing (either with her cock or just in general), she’s not just my Belle Fille, now she’s Mistress. The female version of Master. I am mastered by Belle Fille. And I like it.

So after that was decided, I asked my newly minted Mistress if she’d punch me once in the nuts. I know what you’re thinking. WTF is it with all the testicle pain? For the love of god, isn’t there anything else to do? My answer is twofold. First, the ROI of testicle abuse is quite high. Very little effort (and no tools or toys) can result in enormous pain. I dig that. Second, and this is the part I really can’t explain logically, I find my desire for nut torture goes up in direct proportion to how long she’s denied me an orgasm. Of course, my overall desire for pain increases as well, but in particular, testicle pain in something I find myself craving. Dreaming about. I am simply addicted to it at the moment.

In any event, I asked.

“Will you punch me in the nuts if I hold them? Just once?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly. My heart raced and my breathing became heavy. I wasn’t sure which way the answer would go.

She pulled back the covers exposing my crotch. I encircled my nutsack with my fingers, pulling the skin tight and causing my testicles to be completely exposed. They could be no more vulnerable.

“Now I’m scared,” I said, looking into her eyes. She touched the cock gently, lightly, as she ran her fingers over the engorged meat. Her calm green eyes seemed to say, “It’s OK.” I kept my gaze fixed upon them, the eyes of my Mistress, my tormentor, my love.

She has never hit me harder and caused me more pain. One strike on my right nut. The pain irradiated my whole body. Lovely, glowing pain. I fell asleep as the dull throb ebbed in my groin, clutching her tightly to my naked body.

—

1 We have it rough, don’t we? ↩

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Time out

The Thumper clan is enjoying the extended 4th weekend at the family lake-side rabbit warren (first referenced in the three part saga, Crossing the Rubicon). It’s a smaller than usual family gathering. Only me, Belle, offspring, and Belle’s parents. In the in-law lottery, I have to say I did pretty well. They’re great people.

In any event, Belle was luxuriating on the couch on the screen porch while I sat at the other end with her feet on my lap. It was just the two of us, so I started to massage her feet. After a little while, her mother came in the porch and sat down in another chair. Then her dad showed up. All four of us sitting there, and me sort of absentmindedly rubbing Belle’s feet.

“Does your husband often massage your feet?” my mother-in-law asked Belle.

“Oh, yes. Several times a week. Whenever I want.”

Now, there’s nothing especially odd about a husband rubbing his wife’s feet, but the act, for me, is connected to my submissive side. To hear my Belle discuss is so calmly, that I not only rub her feet but do so several times a week. Whenever she asks. I admit, I was feeling very self-conscious.

“In fact,” Belle continued, “he even got some special foot cream to rub my feet with. He’ll massage my feet, my neck, my back. He’s a wonderful husband.”

I changed the subject.

—

Later that night, I massaged her feet properly: With lotion and no prying eyes from the in-laws. As usual, she was fully dressed in her bedclothes while I was naked except for whatever she chose to have attached to her cock. In this case, the chrome cock ring. I was down at her feet, kneeling, with her feet in the V-shaped space created by my legs.

“I think my mom’s jealous about the whole foot massage thing,” Belle said lazily.

“Hrmmm,” I replied. I’m very fond of my mother-in-law, but any connection between her and my sex life is a non-starter.

I gave her the best massage I could. My hands, already strong, seem to be getting stronger with all the rubbing she’d been having me do. In the past, I’d be aching from the effort after 15-20 minutes, but not any more.

When I was done, I was laying next to her and feeling a great swell of sexual desire build within me. I’m still being punished so didn’t except any Thumper-centric action, though I held out hope I’d be able to watch her pleasure herself.

“Is there any thing else I can do for you?” I asked. I ask that and, I’m sure, she hears “can we have some kind of sex now?” but I really and truly do want to know if there’s anything other than sex I can do for. And, of course, I want to know if we can have some kind of sex.

“No, I’m good, Thumper. Thank you for the foot massage.”

“Thank you for letting me give it to you,” I sincerely replied. I crave contact with her. I crave the opportunity to give her any kind of pleasure, even if it’s not sexual. When I’m as deep in my headspace as I have been the past few days, brimming with roiling sexual desire and a full charge of static submissiveness, being able to touch her skin in a pleasurable (for her) way calms me.

That being said, I thought I’d try my luck at a little somethin’.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it, Thumper?”1

“Can you hit me? In the nuts?”

She took her finger and ran it over my scrotum, the cock ring making it and its contents more prominent than usual, and then down the length of the turgid cock. She took my breath away.

“Oh, no, Thumper. He’s in a time out, isn’t he? He’s been bad…”

“But,” I stammered, grappling with the sensation of her finger on my neglected flesh, “you made me come. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know, but you didn’t have permission. So no, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Whimper.

“I don’t want to hear your pathetic whining, either.”

“I’m sorry, Belle Fille.”

—

1 We really do call each other Thumper and Belle Fille, even in real life. I don’t have any other kind of honorific to use with her like “goddess” or “mistress”, so I always call her Belle Fille when I’m feeling the submissive mojo.↩

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Real life

A reader calling themselves gasmaskpipe (there has got to be a story behind that one) left the following comment to my post Ramifications:

Erm, sorry, but the bit where you say “but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh” left me feeling that you don’t really appreciate just how lucky you are to have a woman who is not only controlling your sexual activity, but also modifying it in a way most of us only dream about. Stop moaning and start appreciating what you have. I’m sorry if this message seems harsh, but you need telling!

Now, I’m not trying to single out gasmaskpipe for a whippin’ (for all I know, they’re not even into that kind of thing), but the more I thought about it, and especially after Dev’s comment in reply, it’s occurred to me that I had something more to say on the matter.

This blog is about my real life, not some porn fantasy femdom cartoon1. There are so many blogs not totally unlike mine out there and very many of them are very much alike. However, I like to think the thing that sets mine apart (and a couple of others) is that I’m not writing about some paradigmatic male submissive relationship. I am not a stereotype. I am a man in a relationship with a woman and we’re stumbling along as best we can down a path neither of us knew was in our future. I think the measure of success we’ve had up to this point is because we are traveling our path, not the subculture’s definition of one. That means, on occasion, I’m going to come here and sound a little whiny or a little ungrateful or a little sad. It means I’m going to write about decidedly unsexy stuff like marital infidelity. And yeah, it means I’m not going to strike the expected tone of others chronicling their version of the standard femdom tripe.

I reread that paragraph and realize I come off sounding angry or bitter or something. I’m really not. The bottom line is, I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing2. Belle and I are trying to strike a mutually enjoyable sex life and, I think, succeeding more often than not. Sometimes, that’ll lead me to recount incredibly sexy scenes (at least, incredibly sexy as far as I’m concerned). But not always. And certainly not always according to your expectations.

Getting back to GMP’s original point, yes, I count myself incredibly lucky. I’ve said as much here many times. I am really nothing more than yet another dime-a-dozen man who’s uncovered a submissive side in the midst of an otherwise vanilla marriage who, unlike so many others, has had the great fortune to be married to a woman willing to indulge my needs. I tell her all the time how happy she makes me and how lucky I am and how this is the most excited and most engaged and most happy with my sex life I have ever been. And it’s all thanks to her. God, I love her for it.

So did I whine? Sure. Am I ungrateful? Never. Not even for a second.

—

1 Well, at least portions of my real life. I spare you the tedium of hearing about my work, political leanings, and child-rearing adventures.↩

2 And neither, it seems, do some of my favorite bloggers on the subject – which may help explain my attraction to them.↩

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HNThumper II

OK, I admit it. There’s something slightly intoxicating about the prospect of hundreds of strangers getting a look at me that’s usually withheld for Belle or my doctor. I do like the idea that unknown eyes are on my body (and even some known eyes). It feeds my latent exhibitionism and I suppose is similar to the motivation that’s behind the obsessive blogging of my life’s most intimate details. In any event, I’m following up my last foray into HNT with this sequel.

Conceptually, it’s the same deal as before except this time I’m not in the CB6K. You can make out the profile of the circumcised cock I gave to Belle beneath the tight white fabric (even the bump caused by the ball on the curved barbell PA jewelry near its head). What you can’t see is the heavy chrome cock ring I’m wearing as a reminder of her control. At least, not until you click past the jump…

Sans plastic

Continue reading “HNThumper II”

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Ramifications

In my last post, regarding my forced yet unauthorized orgasm, I said:

I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything.

What I meant was, Belle was acting nonchalantly about the orgasm she pulled out of me against my will that she had not given me permission to have. It seemed, if I needed permission to come, that there should be some kind of consequence for having come (even when she basically made me do it). I would have expected the “court” to take into consideration not just the crime, but also the circumstances surrounding it. Punishment, yes, but tempered.

Well, it turns out I’m married to a hanging judge. Here’s my punishment:

  • No sexual contact with Belle or her cock, unless otherwise and specifically directed, until Monday, July 6. I can barely touch her anywhere on her body without permission.
  • No participation in Belle’s orgasms, other than observation, until Monday, July 6.

Sounds simple, but in reality it’s tantamount to the nuclear option. Six days of not being allowed to touch her (or myself) is bad enough (especially since she still hasn’t placed me back in the device), but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh.

However, Our Covenant is clear. First and second on the list of “Punishable Offenses” is unauthorized orgasms and failure to provide Belle an orgasm when she requests one. I committed both at the same time. Not only did I come, but she had to finish herself off with the vibrator. Also, the punishment for these things leaves a lot to her discretion:

c.    Punishments
The punishment Thumper receives for violating a rule will be determined solely by Belle Fille. This can include extending periods of orgasm denial or chastity or revocation of his ability to participate in her sexual gratification or the infliction of pain beyond the threshold he finds sexually gratifying.

d.    Determination of guilt
Determination of Thumper’s guilt for any offense is made at the sole discretion of Belle Fille. Thumper is not allowed to argue Belle Fille’s determinations of guilt or sentences lest they be doubled.

So yeah, I’m screwed. And – just so we’re clear – I am not fucking arguing the sentence, OK?

Not only did I have to lay there last night while she fucked herself with Pink (which, BTW, took much longer than when I do it), but, after she came, she was so spent by the experience that she fell asleep on her back (very usual), right after telling me I was only allowed to touch her once she rolled over onto her side to go to sleep. Which she did not do. So. No participation in her orgasm and no physical contact with her afterward. The bunny was totally shut out.

We’re heading north tonight for the 4th weekend and she’s said she’s bringing Pink along for the trip. Realistically, she could have three more orgasms and leave me out of them. Three more extended periods of listening to the vibe move over and into her, the little moans that escape her lips prior to the big ones upon climax, and three more throbbing hard, no-touchy cock moments for me. All because she made me come.

I love my Belle Fille.

Posted on

Stupid penis tricks

I think this is neat, though I assume you’ll find it gross. I figured out yesterday that, if I remove my PA jewelry and pinch the head of the dick closed, I can pee just fine through my piercing. What do you think, future HNT material?

I only mentioned that because it made me think of this post’s title and I wanted to use it in the worst way.

More talking last night. We are doing so much talking lately. Mind you, I don’t have a problem with talking. Shit, I can write a 2,000 word blog post like nobody’s business, so talking certainly isn’t a problem. I over analyze and bellybutton gaze with the best of them.

Turns out Belle is still processing anger and hurt from six months ago when I was her lousy cheating husband and not her fuzzy little bunny. I respect that and want to do what I can to help her, but I simply cannot comprehend where she’s coming from. Where we are now is so much better than where we were prior to The Troubles. Personally, I have never felt more love for Belle or been happier in my marriage. In addition, I’m more sexually fulfilled now than at any time in my life. Not exactly satisfied since, you know, that kinda of goes against the paradigm and all, but my sexual relationship with Belle is more honest and open (even with myself) than any I’ve ever had (and, in my younger years, I had plenty). I am so very happy.

But Belle still has sadness. Moments of great sadness. And I can’t understand it. I can’t relate to the time travel required to revisit the hurtful, painful times in the past. Right now is wonderful for both of us (she says), so why dig up when things sucked? We know why the affair happened and what we needed to do to fix it. It’s been fixed. We’re not the same couple we were nine months ago.

I used an oyster analogy. Oysters get sand in them and it pisses them off so they do what they do and eventually what they get is a pearl. It’s a lovely, wonderful thing (at least to us humans) that all started with an annoying, painful thing. And it’s still in there, beneath all the layers. It never goes away. I get that. But it’s built upon and eventually becomes the foundation of something so much better. That’s our relationship right now. At least, that’s how I see it.

I’m not dismissive of Belle’s feelings. I try to talk her through them and do what I can to be supportive. Any time she needs to cry or talk, I’ll of course be there doing my best to understand.

Somehow, we ended the conversation with her still wanting the back rub she asked for before we went to bed. I was tired, and figured she was, too, but I had the oil and the towels and the hands, so rub away I did. I was really horny at that point. The slick oil on her naked back, the erection held securely by its chrome cock ring pressing against her ass and back…it was heaven. Again I found my hands moving against her skin and the feeling that I was masturbating in my mind. Somehow, the similarity of the motion combines with my heightened arousal and I feel like I’m jacking off. She really has become the focus of my sex. When I touch her, when I pleasure her, when I get her off, I’m touching, pleasuring and getting myself off.

When the massage was over, she again surprised me by asking for Pink, the little vibe. It was still in my drawer from the last time she used it, so I was able to get it pretty quickly. I never actually turned it on, though, because after a few moments of feeling my fingers, she announced she wanted to get off on her cock.

“I want to feel my cock in me. I want to watch you suck my tits while I ride my cock. Can you handle it, Thumper?”

“I think so,” I stammered.

“There is no think. Do or do not,” she replied, channeling Yoda.

“I can do it, Belle Fille,” I said with more confidence than I felt. To hedge my bet, I let my fingers become more insistent hoping she’s come that way and I’d avoid the risk of an unauthorized orgasm.

No dice. She really enjoyed the finger action, but nonetheless rolled me on my back for her main event. As she slid down on top of me, I tried to think about anything – anything – other than what was happening. After a little bit, I felt the familiar tingle and placed my hands on her ass to slow her down. She stopped for a moment and the urge passed, but then she started back up again.

And almost immediately, the tingle started back up again. I tried everything I had read about postponing orgasm. I bore down and applied internal pressure to the general area and that helped a little. Doing so caused my abdominal muscles to tighten, which she felt.

“What are you doing, Thumper?”

“Trying not to come.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh…OK…I guess.”

“Good, because I’m going to fuck my cock for a good long time…”

Mother.

I knew I was doomed. The tickle grew and started to coalesce. Orgasm was imminent. I placed my hands back on her ass and pressed down, trying to make her stop. She did, for a second, but then started gyrating over the fully engulfed member.

“Oh god! Oh no! I’m going to come!” I was pleading for her to stop, but she wouldn’t. I felt the wave crash over me and a half dozen thick spurts of ejaculate surged out of me. I tried to fight it, to a point, but she was still gyrating. I was helpless. It was as if she pulled the orgasm from me, totally against my will.

A few moments later, she rolled off. “Give me Pink,” she said. I ripped through the bedsheets and under pillows trying to find the damn thing. My head was spinning with the sudden release and the guilt and the feeling of disappointment. Finally, I found the vibe and made a move with it toward her pussy.

But she grabbed it out of my hand. She pressed the button and I heard the thrumming little motor sink into her semen-lubed pussy. I left my hands off her until the very end and then it was only to rub the nipple closest to me. She didn’t push my hand away and finally came in a cascade of “oh, fuck”s.

She said afterward that she didn’t care if I came. It wasn’t her concern. She was getting her pleasure and that’s all that mattered. She didn’t feel like stopping so she didn’t. Very simple. I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything. Then again, she knew what she was doing. Knew I was helpless to stop it. I don’t know. I’m confused.

In the mean time, I’m still pretty horny. And feeling guilty. I wish I had last night to do over…