Tag: domination

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Fear

Belle was giving me what I wanted last night. Specifically, pain. Specifically, testicle pain. I was on my back this time and that allowed her to get in there with more force than past attempts. A couple of times (and one time in particular) it hurt. Like a motherfucker. In fact, it kept on hurting well after she was done.

Ah, bliss.

I’d writhe and moan and groan and tenderly cup my assaulted body parts while she just laid there and watched. It was awesome. But, the pain was so intense I found myself afraid of her and what she might do next. I found it very difficult to open my legs back up to her and I was flinching whenever she moved her hands near my balls. Her modus operandi involves gentle, lingering strokes followed by hard whacks so it’s hard to always tell the sweet touches from the hard ones. A few times, she used her fist.

And that’s when I felt it. Fear.

This is what I wanted. It’s what I craved. For her to push me to the brink of what I can endure. To stretch my boundaries. Again, bliss. I was genuinely scared of her and told her as much. Admitting the fear only made it more delicious. Only made the cock throb harder.

Once or twice, I more than flinched. I actually closed my legs for protection.

“Looks like next time, I’m going to have to tie you down.”

Oh, mama. Would you?

But really, I think it’d be even hotter if she didn’t. If, when she noticed me assuming a defensive position, she ordered me to separate my legs.

“Stop that!” she’d say, “Show me those nuts. Yeah, those. I’m going to hit them now. Really hard. Really, really hard. And it’s going to hurt.” Wrapping her fingers around their base, stretching the skin and exposing the sack’s contents completely. “I’m going to hit you right here and it’s going to fucking hurt. You want me to? Huh? You want me punch you in the fucking balls?”

Oh god, yes. Please.

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Hot WiFi action

With regard to my recent observation of how hot the idea of Belle having a paramour makes me, I thought I’d share some thoughts about a couple of sites I found by sifting through the incoming links to this blog. One of those led me circuitously to another blog called Hotwifing Exposed (which, at first glance, reads like it might be a technical site dealing with the intricacies of WiFi networking). They don’t link to me directly, but the blog Subservient to Her does, as well as to Hotwifing.

There are two relatively recent posts on Hotwifing that deal with his and her perspective on the same encounter. I have to admit, reading them got my blood pumping in a way no porn has in quite a while. Seriously, I could feel my carotid artery throb. Heat rose in my face and the old plastic pal in my pants was doing its job, double time (I was packing at the time, but not right now). No doubt about it. This shit gets me hot.

Asking Wikipedia about hotwives redirects to an article about swinging, which is considered an umbrella over it all , I suppose. The distinctions are subtle, but the primary difference between cuckolding and hotwifing is, from what I can tell, that the cuck is much less a player in the wife’s escapades than is the husband with a hotwife. The cuck is deeply subservient to the wife and her other sex partner while the husband with a hotwife isn’t necessarily (though Ben, the husband from Hotwifing, does refer to his wife’s lover as the “alpha”). I don’t pretend to grok it all, but that’s my impression.

These differences are easily seen in how the two talk about having sex with their wives. Here’s how M, of Subservient to Her, describes the end of a recent (and rare) sexual encounter with his wife:

As i rolled off of Her and kissed Her breasts and shoulders in thanks, the reality of the situation began setting in. It had felt wonderful to have that experience with my Mistress and i felt gratitude, but i also felt some regret for having soiled Her glorious Cunt with with my lowly, filthy seed. For Her to receive it seemed beneath Her somehow, and the meaning of the moment was clear to me…She loves me and recognizes that i am working hard to be Her good little slut-slave. She wanted to reward me, even if it meant letting me fuck Her with my poor little excuse for a cock…and even if it meant allowing me to sully my True Mistress with my cuckspew.

Wow. I mean…just wow. I’m sure M’s a great guy (he’s commented here before, so he must be), but it’s so hard for me to understand his POV that he might as well be writing in a foreign language. I DO NOT JUDGE, but I also cannot relate. For me, a big part of my turn-on is derived from the idea that I am totally worthy and by all rights should be able to fuck Belle to my satisfaction, but that she doesn’t let me. It’s not so much a concept of relative personal worth as it is power exchange – hers absolutely over mine.

In comparison, here’s Ben from Hotwifing:

I have to admit that when I got back upstairs (record time after locking the door behind Jerry) the first thing I had to do was lick Anna’s pussy. Not a first, but boy was it wet. I couldn’t hold on long though and was soon climbing up between her legs to feel the indescribably beautiful silky smoothness of a pussy full of Jerry’s cum. Anna was super aroused by the time my cockhead arrived at her cervix and she was pulsing away around my shaft. I could clearly feel the extreme wetness of the puddle he’d left deep inside her. We had the most delicious, slow, intense, grinding fuck, making good use of what you see in the picture above to ease the motions, and it all ended in our speciality simultaneous orgasm as she hoisted her knees high up to let me in as deep as I can go and I offloaded her second injection of cum in the evening.

This guy, I get. No fucking around with personal pronoun capitalization, no self-deprecating comments, and no doubt that he absolutely gets to fuck his wife (at least as soon as the other guy’s done, anyway). The sex Anna gets from the other man actually increases both their desires for one another.

Each of these relationships seem to be rooted in a desire to give the female as much sexual satisfaction as possible and, in both cases, the women end up with a lot of power over the men (though in the case of Ben it’s negotiated away while in the case of M it’s just given).

Steve over on Glow Inside touched on hotwifing recently and came to an entirely different conclusion than I have:

I have absolutely nothing at all against it if other couples decide that the woman can go out and get screwed senseless while the man says at home locked up and waiting for her to come home. I can happily fantasize about there being women in the world who are like that. For some reason, that’s hot.

But I cannot fantasize about being the guy in that situation without everything going pretty soft and and unresponsive down there in Dickland. And if it won’t work in a fantasy, it certainly isn’t going to work in real life. There…that’s my totally phallocentric view of the whole thing.

In a previous post, I posited that my ability to get off on the idea of Belle having a paramour might be rooted in my focus on ensuring her satisfaction (and not only in the bedroom) over mine. However, Steve’s got that in spades (more than me, certainly) and he’s unable to find a way to get exited by it in real life, but I am. So, what is it about a person’s mental state that allows them to be stimulated by the prospect of their partner getting it from someone else? What combination of kinks is required to get hard (or wet) from the idea? Certainly, confidence is required. Confidence in one’s self but also in one’s relationship. Obviously, Ben and Anna have a great deal of confidence in their relationship (and it appears the swinging has only made it stronger). But, does M have confidence? On the surface, one might doubt that he does due to his obvious inferiority POV, but I suspect that in practice he and his wife have a very strong, if admittedly non-standard, relationship.

Well, that’s all I have for the moment on this topic. I’ll stop processing it in public now…

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The rabbit returns

I’m back. Miss me?

So last night, the first full night of my return, was full of talking (and a little sex – I’ll get to that in a minute). Belle was somewhat put off by my lack of subbie Belle-oriented behavior. Funny, she thought, since our “arrangement” was my idea and now she’s so accustomed to it that when I’m not in the proper state of mind, she’s annoyed with me. Unfortunately, she really didn’t say anything about it until we were in bed at the end of the day. She was right, of course. I hadn’t been focused on her in that way, though I certainly was horned up and wanting her in more mundane ways. My excuse (such as it is) is that I was so far out of my headspace after a week in the woods and 18 hours on the road getting home, that I couldn’t just snap back into the groove. As I’ve said, I’m not by nature a submissive person. It’s a state of mind I need to work on in order to achieve. Had she said something about it – made it clear that I was underperforming and that she was disappointed – I think I would have fallen back into the groove (or started to, at least). She feels she shouldn’t have to say anything, though that’s difficult for me. Hearing her assert her dominance over me gives me quite the charge. She suggested that I had been out of the device for too long and I felt a combination of foreboding and excitement that always exists within me after being free for a while. I value my freedom but also crave her control. She neglected to say when she’d put me back in.

After that, we talked about my trip. The one rather important thing I neglected to mention here on my blog was that the The Other Woman was also on the hiking trip I took (along with eight other people, including her fiancee). As I’ve said previously, I met her through a group of wildlife enthusiasts – the same group I was hiking with. My participation in this trip was always kind of up in the air. Belle and I are in a very different place than we were nine months ago when I was unfaithful, but still, it was difficult. It was difficult for Belle and it was difficult for me. In any event, Belle wanted to know how it was. How I felt, etc.

What I decided once and for all on the trip – something I’ve pondered quite a bit over the past three-quarters of a year – is that the dominant paradigm of monogamous life-long relationships is not the only entree at the buffet. In fact, I do still have feelings for TOW, but they’re entirely different that those I have for Belle. As I told her last night, Belle is my mate. My other half. She completes me. I have never wanted anything other than to be with her for the rest of my life. She really is the love of my life. My feelings toward TOW are clearly inferior to those I have for Belle. They lack depth, richness, and complexity but they exist. I don’t know that I’d call it love. If love is what I feel for Belle, then it’s not exactly that. I feel like I need a new word. More than like, less than love. In any event, these feelings don’t in any way detract from my feelings for Belle. If anything, they enhance them. During those moments over the past week where I felt a resurgence of my feelings for TOW, I felt even more in love with Belle. I can’t say I fully understand how that works, but there it is. I know in my heart of hearts that TOW is no threat to what Belle and I share, even though I continue to carry these feelings around for her.

I also wanted Belle to know that I didn’t regard these feelings for TOW as representative of anything lacking in my relationship with Belle. They are separate and parallel and in no way competitive. I do not want to leave Belle and/or replace her with TOW, but the affection I feel for her is real. Is this polyamory? I don’t know. Perhaps. I can’t say I fully understand the concept enough to be able to say that’s what I’m experiencing.

What I am capable of saying, however, is that the idea of Belle having a little piece on the side seriously turns me on. Like, seriously. I told her as much. As soon as I brought it up, I felt myself stiffen considerably. Unlike Belle, who loses energy to the perceived competition TOW represents, I feel that I’d gain energy from her having a paramour. It’d make me want her even more. The competitive energy would convert to a greater desire on my part. Again, I can’t explain this. It runs entirely against what we’re all taught by society as to the model of the perfect relationship. I’m sure a part of this has a lot to do with where my head is now with regard to her sexual satisfaction. We’re not equal. My sole purpose is to ensure she’s totally sated at all times. In fact, according to Our Covenant, “Belle Fille claims the right to achieve sexual satisfaction in any way she sees fit.” When she decides she wants a vibrator over her cock, that’s a major turn-on for me since she’s sacrificing an element of my pleasure to ensure hers. It reinforces her position. If she took that several steps further and replaced the vibrator with the cock of another man…well, I get somewhat light-headed just thinking about it.

All this talk of cuckoldry had me well and truly worked up. She instructed me to close the bedroom door and remove my clothes. As she laid on her back, I was again looming over her body on all-fours. She gently rubbed and stroked the stiff flesh between my legs, my balls, and – eventually – even my exposed crack. Sweet Jesus, that felt glorious. I flexed my hips in order to fully expose myself and told her, even though I knew it more than a little squicked her out, I totally wished she could fuck me. Feeling her fingers glide smoothly over my puckering little hole sent me into a drooling stupor. I was snapped out of that when she slapped my nutsack. She didn’t hit me hard enough and in the right place to cause the level of pain I really crave, but she got a few good one’s in there.

After being reduced to a simmering pot of sexual energy, I pleaded for a chance to do something to her. Anything. Please.

She pulled up her top and I latched on to her nipple as though my life depended on it.

“Gentle,” she reminded me.

“Yes ma’am. How would you like to come?”

“I can’t decide,” she replied.

“Your cock is available,” I reminded her.

“I don’t want to hear your lobbying.”

“I’m not lobbying. Just making a statement of fact. I know how much you like it.”

“Yes, but your fingers are so sweet.” She removed her bottoms, now totally nude. “Put them in me.”

I obeyed. She was incredibly wet as I ran my fingertips up and along her slick contours. She moaned.

After a few moments, “Stop! I’m going to come too soon.”

My fingers retreated from her snatch, but continued to stroke the inside of her legs while my mouth stayed on her breasts.

“Oh god, you’re going to make me come without even touching me. STOP!”

I pulled away entirely. She was significantly turned-on. It had been more than week since her last orgasm (she neglected to use her vibrator while I was away) and her body, now that it had become accustomed to regular relief, had a lot of pent-up energy. It didn’t take much to put her on edge.

She climbed on top of me, but didn’t put the cock in. She just rubbed her outer lips against it like an animal in heat and almost immediately came (hard). My desire reverberated within me. I felt a pang of regret for not getting inside her, but also a thrill at how turned-on I could make her.

After she had a few moments to bask and glow, I asked, “Can I put it in? I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Sure.”

I grabbed what used to be my cock and positioned its head between her lips and pushed it home with my hips. Holy fuck, that felt good. Her moist heat sent the reptile brain within me into autopilot and I began to slide it in and out like a piston.

“I promise not to come.”

“Liar. You’ll come.”

“No, I won’t. I promise,” as I continued to fuck her.

“Liar.”

“I swear I won’t come without permission!”

“Good, because you don’t have permission.”

And I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. Crude, half-formed fantasies about her non-existent paramour flashed though my brain. I can’t imagine my desire could have gone any higher. I so badly wanted to come, but knew it wasn’t allowed. I had to stop once as I got close to the edge, but had plenty of time to pull back before starting the steady rhythm again. I could have gone on like that all night. At one point, I opened my eyes to see her head being propped up by one hand, a bemused and somewhat bored expression on her face.

“You’re being so kind to me,” I told her. “Thank you for humoring me…uhhhng…oh, that feels soooo good.”

I had to stop again as another orgasm approached and she decided to pull the plug.

“OK, that’s it. You’re done,” she said as she lifted off me. I felt her hot wet pussy start to slip away and I lifted my hips in order to keep it inside her as long as possible. She pulled completely clear of me and I felt her soft wetness slide its last over the head of her cock as it fell back and bobbed, so hard and so desperate for more of her, suddenly cold. It flexed on its own volition. So, so desperate.

A short while later, after she had put her pajamas back on and the majority of my desire had eaten itself, I said to her, “I bet you’d let your boyfriend come.”

“Who says it’d be a boyfriend?”

Oh, fuck!

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Wednesday night smackdown

This is quite likely my last post before leaving on my trip. I can’t imagine I’ll post again before the 29th. Belle might post while I’m gone, though I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. For the next week, I’ll be communing with nature (read: hiking, camping, fending off mountain lions and bears, crapping in little holes).

—

Last night was all about the talking. For various reasons, issues related to my infidelity to Belle were raised and had to be unpacked and repacked. I think it all went well, but I admit to feeling frustration that these areas are revisited at this point in our relationship (which, as it turns out, is a very typical point of view from the unfaithful male). I try to be understanding. I work through whatever it seems like needs to be worked-through. Last night, we left things better than we found them.

Toward the end of the conversation, I was able to relate to her something that had dawned on me earlier in the day. I was grocery shopping and listening to the Masocast (this episode) when I started to wonder what life would be like if I was a young submissive male looking for love (not unlike Axe). I know how lucky I am having my Belle who is eternally GGG and does things for me she’d probably never think of doing on her own, but just imagine how much more complicated the entire “dating” thing would be if, at a point 10-15 years ago, I had realized what kind of sex I liked and was looking, not only for a compatible mate, but a mate who was also comfortable topping me.

And you know what? I can’t imagine anyone else doing that. I don’t have any fantasies of being dominated by anyone other than Belle. I have never seen another person and thought, “Oh boy, wouldn’t it be great if they did [insert dominant act here] to me?” All the things I still want to do that I haven’t had a chance to do, I want to do with Belle. And yeah, I am the luckiest SOB in the world that I not only uncovered this side of me that I find to be extremely satisfying, but I uncovered it while married to a person I’m comfortable exposing it to. Is it possible I’d want to be submissive to other women (or even men)? Sure. But the point is, for me it’s all about her.

Which also led me to tell her all I really wanted was for her to smack my nuts around. I’m totally free and unlocked, so they’re just hanging there (lower than they used to) and begging for abuse. She was on her back and I was naked and on all fours over her, kissing her, telling her I loved her, etc., when she started to land her blows. The first one was, as always, shocking, but not really painful.

“That didn’t hurt,” I said, knowing it would goad her on.

Smack! SMACK! WHACK!

She finally landed a good one. I dropped like a sack of kumquats onto her as the pain raced up and though me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her close to me and feeling the throbbing reverberate everywhere. I started to laugh. Then she started to laugh. Hell, it was funny.

“OK, now I can’t breathe,” she said.

After a minute or two of giggling at the pain, I started to lift myself back up on all fours again. I felt the part of my brain responsible for self-preservation fire off all its alarms and try to stop me, but the other part of me – the pain slut – fought back and kept me moving. I assumed a position where my legs were well-spread and she smacked at my nuts again. Not as painful as before, so I found myself actually lifting one leg trying to give her a clearer shot.

“JESUS GOD, MAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” yelled the little safety director in my head, but I ignored him. Feeling that conflict within me – desperate for more abuse while struggling with my body’s autonomic need to protect itself – is so fucking hot.

In any event, we had talked for a long time and it was getting late. I could have gone on for hours (or, at least I think I could) but she was tired, so we stopped. I spooned into her, erection pressing stiffly against her ass, hot, buzzing, feeling the last of the testicular pain ebbing away…wishing for more.

—

P.S. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite post of Dev’s. It’s like she wrote it just for me: ball smacking, domination, biting, orgasm denial and forced orgasm…all in a nice tidy package. Yum.

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Cut me, Mick.

Belle gave me a signal on Friday that she was going to let me out on Sunday. To be honest, when I know my release is imminent, I start to lose patience with wearing the device. As long as the release date is nebulous and uncertain, I’m able to maintain an attitude that allows her to keep me locked-up indefinitely. I knew (or, at least, was fairly certain) she was going to let me out by Thursday before I left on my trip, but once I knew the actual date, I really started counting minutes.

In any event, the package was nice and tight Sunday morning when I got up to help relieve some pressure. Belle stopped me before I left the room and removed her lock from where it had hung for all but 15 minutes over the previous two weeks. In the bathroom, I slid my still-swollen member from the tube. The feeling of slithering out of the thing after a long period (and especially when more than a little erect) is hard to describe, but the sudden onrush of sensation on sensorially-deprived flesh with so many tightly-packed nerve endings is dramatic. The cock looked more than a little like Rocky Balboa in that scene when he asks Mickey to cut him. Red, shiny, puffy in odd spots (where the shaft is exposed between the ring and the tube, where it protrudes through the vents, and where the head balloons through the slot in the end), and generally somewhat disfigured from the angle of the tube and the presence of the KSD-G3. He looked a mess, but little trooper that he is, was ready for action (not unlike the Italian Stallion). After I wiped a week of tubal grime off of it, I went back into her bedroom.

“It looks so weird to me like that now,” she said after instructing me to remove my pajama bottoms. “I’m used to it being all locked up in plastic.”

“Yeah, me too,” was all I could muster in response.

Moments later, I was lapping at her nipples and fingering her and wondering when she was going to make use of her recently available toy. She rolled me over and mounted the battered yet unbeaten (literally) meat. The warmth of her took my breath away. I focused on her breasts and thought about anything other than how wonderful it felt to have her moving over her cock. Apparently, it felt good to her, too.

“This is what I wanted,” she whispered in my ear, “to feel my cock…”

It’s the talking that always does it to me. I can stay in my little zone, but once she starts talking, I lose my concentration.

She started to chant, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” as she approached orgasm.

That did it. I was so close, too.

“Oh no. Oh no, I’m going to come!” I warned, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to…”

“Come with me,” she said, finishing my sentence, “Come (thrust)…with (thrust)…me…”

And I did. And it was glorious. My first really enjoyable orgasm in two months. I didn’t even try to stop it. I just let the feeling wash over and out of me and into her. I emptied myself in a half dozen fat, juicy squirts.

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Funny bunny

I looked into Belle’s eyes knowing I radiated abject horniness. I didn’t ask with words since that’s not allowed, but looking up at her, my eyes were pleading for…something. Anything. Contact. Attention, for her or me. Any outlet for my weeks of accumulated desire.

Her beautiful green eyes could not have been more different. Cool. Clear. Calm. She fingered the hair over my forehead and I could see her debating my fate. I was dangling at the end of her string and it was apparent she wasn’t sure in which way she wanted me to jump. What was so important to me appeared to be nothing more than a trifling whimsy to her.

God, I loved that. Everything we’ve worked for crystallized into that perfect moment. Me craving, aching, desperate. Her, unmoved by my desperation. No hint of my fate. No hurry to release me from my anticipation. Deciding what she wanted, in absolute and total control.

The 45mm ring of the device bit into the root of my surging erection while it’s cage and the extra plastic it contained to ensure my entrapment clamped like a vice. The meat fought back the best it could and pushed the prison up and away with all its might. My scrotum was pulled painfully tight, its contents crushed from behind by the thick plastic ring. I groaned. She laughed.

“You’re funny when you’re pathetic,” she said, laughing some more.

I groaned again.

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Fast four

A couple of quickies…

First, Belle needs to find a proper place to hide the key. I got to thinking about it while dressing this morning and wondered if her hiding place was as obvious as the one we use to hide the kid’s teeth after the Tooth Fairy visits, and yeah, it is. Sitting in the front corner of her dresser drawer. Mind you, I’m not a snoop and wouldn’t have gone looking for it beyond opening her drawer, but now I know where it is.

Second, I woke up in an interesting state this morning. Not only had the cock sealed itself so completely in the tube that I literally couldn’t squeeze any piss out of myself at 4:50 this morning, but my PA ring had decided not to drop through the CB6K’s slot as it usually does when the cock’s erect and instead was turned and trapped against the inside of the tube. It does this every once in a while, but the magnitude of this morning’s erection made it especially uncomfortable. Not painful, just weird. Also got a nice kegel exercise once a little of the internal pressure had bled off.

Third, I can report that my clinginess and gropiness have dropped dramatically in the past 36 hours or so. I’m still a major horn dog, but the earnestness of the feelings have subsided. Also, I’m doing my best to grapple those urges down a couple of notches so as not to annoy Belle Fille. Figure since I’ve got over three weeks yet until my next orgasm, I should act more like a marathon runner and less like a sprinter. Thankfully, the body’s playing along.

Fourth, it was nice to see a shout out to Belle over on OutsideVanilla. Seems that she’s given Sandy over there an evil little plan which, it turns out, was not based on what Belle actually did with me, but is amazingly hot just the same. I link to it because it’s so hot and, frankly, I wanted an excuse to get it in front of Belle. Never hurts to plant a seed now and again.

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Morning cup of angst

Denial makes me emotional. That’s a well-established fact. It makes me feel more connected to Belle and causes my feelings for her to intesify. Check. And, of course, it makes me horny. Kinda the point, right?

Well, for whatever reason, all these feelings and sensations are ratcheted up this time around. While professing my everlasting love to Belle for the 4,625th time last night, I felt on the verge of tears. Not from sadness or anything, just from the power of my emotions. It’s never been like this. I was denied almost a month last time, and it never got like this. What’s different? As Belle put it last night, how have the ingredients been mixed differently this time?

For one, she was away from me for a few days which allowed me to put myself into a frothy state with dirty pictures, nasty stories, and some self-inflicted genitorture. Also, looming in the not-so-distant future is my hiking trip which will take me away from Belle for more than a full week (and not just physically since phones won’t work were I’m going). I truly dread the prospect of being apart from her. In addition to that, we’re not likely to get any quality time for the next four days. She’s got work events, I have work events, we’re babysitting the infant nephew on Saturday, and she’s got a volunteer thing on Friday. It’ll be Sunday before we can really connect. Oh, and of course, I don’t know where the key is anymore.

On top of all that angst, I find myself starting to dread the time away from Belle for another reason. I won’t be allowed to come again for almost four weeks, but in the middle of that time I’ll be alone, in a tent, unlocked and horny out of my mind. Belle says I’ll just need to man up. She’s right, of course. And I’m the one who always says her control isn’t made of plastic, it’s made of brain matter. Yeah, that’s great as long as I’m wearing the plastic. For more than a week, and at the moment I pass my personal orgasmless record, I will have free, unfettered, and unsupervised access to her lonely, swollen cock.That’ll be much more dangerous than any bears, cougars, or coyotes for this little bunny.

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The bad bite

It’s been much cooler than normal here in the great northern wastes for the past few days and that’s left Belle with cold toes at bedtime. Therefore, she slides them up my leg and buries them in my nutsack, then has me close my other leg over them to warm them up. Sometimes she wiggles her toes. Happy to be of service.

That’s how last night started. Toes in my nuts. Happily, it was all up from there. We kissed quite a bit and I said many things, mostly related to how exceptionally happy she makes me, how beautiful and sexy I find her, how lucky I count myself to have a wife who will manage my orgasms, etc., etc. I was feeling pretty emotional. She really is the most wonderful mate any subbie bunny could have.

The kissing got more intense and that eventually led to her squeezing my toe warmers nuts pretty hard. I told her, breathlessly, how badly I wanted her to hurt me there.

“I am trying to hurt you,” she said. “That doesn’t hurt?”

“Well, yeah, sure, it’s uncomfortable. It feels really great, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like I want to be hurt.”

Which led to a quick tutorial on how to inflict pain to Thumper’s testicles. First, I gave her a little tour of each area and its relative sensitivity. The back of my nuts are the least sensitive. The bottom only slightly more. Sure, you can hurt me there, but you’d really need to give them a good thwack. The front of the sack (the part shielded by the tube hanging in front) is good territory. Much more tender than the previous two sections. It is hard to get to with all the plastic in the way, but totally worth the effort. Finally, I showed her the ultimately tender areas on each side. Also difficult to get to due to plastic and the fact that I have legs. A well aimed, forceful shot on either side will leave me squirming.

With that out of the way, she started flicking each testicle with her finger. Starting lightly and then with more intensity. It was good. Jolts of pain shot through me, but only a little of it lingered. And that’s what I’m looking for. Lingering, aching, internal pain. She’d be hard pressed to give me that just by flicking her finger, so I showed her how encircling the sack with fingers pulls it tight and exposes and entraps the two testicles like a couple of shaved bunnies in a cosmetics testing facility. Then she started hitting them. Again, more gentle than necessary at first, but with more force as she went on. She did create some lingering pain before it was over, but god, I want so much more. I want to know just how much pain I can take there. How badly can she hurt me? I hope she ties me up and tries to find out. Soon.

All the nut slapping had me lathered up (“Is it hot in here?”), so when she eventually gave me the green light to pleasure her I had a pretty good head of steam behind me. I was in my feral sex beast mode and wanted nothing more than to consumer her essence. All that energy that previously would go into getting the dick wet has nowhere to go and occasionally goes to my head. It’s not too surprising then that not too long into it, while I was sucking her nipples like a newly born calf, she cried out.

“OUCH! That hurt!”

“What? What I’d do? I’m sorry!”

“You bit me! That hurt!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Please, I’m sorry! Are you OK?”

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be hurt.”

“No, of course not. I’m so sorry!”

“This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

SMACK. She didn’t hit me, but it felt like she had. Of course, she was right. I had lost control. I let my animal lust get the better of me. I don’t recall biting her, to be honest, but I had been struggling with the urge ever since she started smacking me around. I felt horrible. Really horrible. Not only had I hurt her, I had let her orgasm become more about me than her. Too much an outlet for my desire. As I said, I lost control. Totally.

After that, it was as though she had thrown a big wet blanket over me. Before, I was lost in a buzzing headspace of pure sex, but after I was totally cognizant of my every action. Total control. It was all very measured and gauged toward what would give her the most pleasure. I still feel very guilty for hurting her.

The orgasm was intense. I don’t really understand how it works inside her, of course, but she said it could have been so intense as to actually be painful, so she backed off of it a bit. She had already had too much pain. Ironically, the pain she caused me came back to her through my heightened desire.

Early this morning, I laid in bed, tube throbbingly full and waves of repressed sexual energy reverberating through me. It’s been a quite some time since I’ve been so horny. So abjectly, pathetically, profoundly turned on. The cock was flexing rhythmically almost all by itself. I could will it to stop, but it would start again if I wasn’t concentrating on it. It was as if some autonomic process was trying to push out ejaculate, because eventually I felt a surge of fluid leak out. Nothing like the amount in an orgasm, and nothing at all like an orgasm, but a good little slug.

I feel like I’m in uncharted territory, and it’s still another month before she’s said I’ll be able to come again. She makes me so, so happy.

Posted on

The pirates are the point of the ride, idiot.

So I hit “Publish” and wandered away when a paragraph from the preceding post kept pulling on my brain stem:

I’ll stop right here and say my feelings were not acceptable. Natural, understandable, but not acceptable. Or, at least, any hint that I was feeling them was unacceptable. It’s like I can’t figure out what I want. On the one hand, I crave her control. I want her to rule the cock. I crave submission. On the other, I want to fuck. And those two conflicting objectives often clash within me.

Not my finest work.

Not only were my feelings entirely acceptable, they are, in fact, the whole fucking point. The clash between my animal sexual desire and her cool, feminine control over it is the crucible from which all the emotions I crave emanate. I can’t figure out what I want? Rubbish! I want to feel that conflict rage within me! I want to crave the feeling of her hot, wet pussy wrapped around the cock and not get it. Jesus, what I wrote is like saying Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland is my favorite ride but I’d like it to have fewer friggin’ pirates!

Somebody slap me next time I say something so stupid.