Tag: domination

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Belle’s return

Belle’s return on Friday was fantastic. Not that anything really mind-blowing happened, just that she was here. With me. When we’re apart, I’m not unlike a compass that can’t find North. When together, I understand my purpose for being.

While she was still en route, I cut out of work early so I could come home and tidy up. Something like a nesting instinct came over me, except instead of being a 8.5 month pregnant woman, I was a naked 40-something guy with an expensive tube of plastic locked to his unit. Yes, even though we have vast expanses of windows in our house (all with working blinds, I should point out), I felt the need to be as nude as I currently can be while performing the household tasks. More than that, I even went so far as to insert my trusty old Doc Johnson butt plug which, owing to the paucity of backdoor action I’ve experienced in the past several months, left me feeling satisfyingly full in spite of its modest size. You’d think the nakedness, the aloneness, and the hunk of rubber shoved up my ass would conspire to distract me from the tasks at hand, but in fact, I imagined the whole time that Belle was observing me in that condition and that succeeded in keeping me focused (and buzzing). Since we live with two kids, the opportunities to perform these kinds of tasks for her in the buff have numbered exactly zero. Now that I’ve imagined what it would feel like, I’m going to keep thinking about it until it happens for real. I’ve said lots of times that being naked before her with the device clearly visible still leaves me selfconscious. The thought of being forced into that position, while servicing her through household tasks, all in the bright light of day was, clearly, arousing. Basically, being naked before her for no reason other than she wants me that way is enough to set me spinning.

In any event, I folded all the laundry, made all the beds, cleaned the kitchen and bath and generally picked up so that the house looked maybe the best it’s ever looked upon her return from a trip (with the movements of the plug causing the occasional burp of precum to ooze out of me being my modest reward). I know that some people feel eroticizing housework is misogynistic, which it may be, but it’s also a potent turn-on for me when I’m in the right state. Belle’s said it turns her on, too, so my position is, misogynistic or not, we’re gonna keep doing it.

She looked amazing standing on the curb at the airport when I picked her up. She shone among the herd of tired, stressed, and impatient travellers. Once I had her in the car, in our own world, whisked away from the craziness of everyone else, I was in heaven.

Later that night, she allowed me to bring her to orgasm, but not before abusing me un peu: pinching (and pulling, and twisting, and general evilness) to the nipples, some scratching, and fingernails driven into my ass. Bliss. When it was her turn, I found her to be incredibly wet with open, inviting lips. God, I missed her body. It’s sudden naked, aroused, and ready presence made me ache inside. The intensity with which my inner sex lizard demanded I replace my fingers with the cock desperately trying to achieve full erection between my legs was strong enough to leave me feeling slightly dizzy. It took a disappointingly short time to get her off. The lizard was not happy.

All day yesterday I was coming on to her with a zeal that would cause a strict interpreter of our Covenant to cry foul. Every kiss, every touch, every long look filled my plastic tube with frustrated desire. Device or not, it was my clear intention to fuck her that night with whatever piece of me I could get into her. I was beyond simple desire. I had crossed over into biological imperative territory. An entire generation of internal passive rabbits was at stake.

However, Belle had a different agenda. After dinner, she had me clean up while she read a book in front of the fire the unseasonably cool day had caused us to light. Lights low, Madeleine Peyroux on the iPod, fire cracking, and several glasses of pinot grigio conspired to leave Belle supremely relaxed. After our daughter was asleep (the boy being at a sleep-over was out of the picture), I sat on the floor near her head while she luxuriated on the couch, our dog laying on her torso. I looked at that dog and felt petty jealousy rise within me. He was getting the attention and body contact I wanted. Damned dog. I was on the floor while he was getting scratched behind his ears, head resting on her breast. Fucking dog. He looked at me with an expression that seemed to ask tauntingly, “Who’s alpha now, sucka?”

She didn’t ignore me, though. I was getting some gentle stroking that clearly wasn’t heading anywhere fruitful which eventually turned into scratching. To be honest, I don’t always enjoy the scratching she inflicts upon me in these unfocused ways, but the fact that she has the right to hurt me in any random way she wants makes up for that. In any event, I was getting impatient. The clock was ticking and with every passing second she was moving further and further away from a state that would result in me getting some action. Finally, she handed me the dog to take outside for his final piddle of the day. He and I exchanged words outside that clearly reasserted his position at the bottom of the social order, and as soon as I got back upstairs to Belle, she handed me the foot lotion and towel.

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.

I had already lit every candle in the room, so it was fragrant and warmly glowing when she told me to undress. As I did so and the usual quick flush of embarrassment that accompanies the exposure of my condition washed over me, I had the palpable feeling of the device no longer being a separate thing. It was not quite a part of me, but it was, in fact, my normal state. It’s contents securely locked away, impotent, unneeded, and inconsequential, I was as I should be. Especially at that moment when we were clearly not headed toward any kind of sexual contact. The fact that I even had a penis attached to my body and was suffering from the side effects of it was purely my problem and not germane to the situation. Potent, heady stuff. All felt in the flash of a second before I knelt before her feet and started my work. Had it been possible, I would have been sporting a raging boner.

After her feet were well rubbed, I was back laying next to her and her hands wandered over me. I suggested it was time to sleep as a way to signal she didn’t need to continue if it was only on my account. I knew the score (which is to say, I knew there would be no score that night). She agreed, but didn’t quite stop. She didn’t really open her eyes, but her hand found its way to my crotch. Unexpectedly, she smacked at my balls. It was too light a tap and in the wrong spot to hurt, but my reaction suggested otherwise (gasp, jump). I laughed at that and told her it didn’t hurt (which caused her to do it again, this time causing just a twinge).

“Can I show you the right way to do that?” I asked.

“Sure. Later. Time for sleep.”

I got up and blew out all the candles. While on her side of the bed, she said, “You’ve got a cute ass, Thumper.”

Fat lot of good it does me, I thought as the last of the little flames went out.

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Almost sleepless

It’s only been nine days since my last orgasm, but in my current state, it feels longer. I always seem to accelerate when apart from Belle. First, of course, I miss her. Terribly. She doesn’t travel as much as she used to, but that’s little consolation. Now that she owns the cock and everything I can do with it, I feel her absence that much more acutely. Second, my consumption of sexually stimulating content (aka, porn) goes through the roof. That has always been the case during her trips, but in the old days, her return found me totally sexually spent from multiple marathon masturbatory sessions. Now, she gets to come home to a buzzing bundle of hormones with a swollen prostate and grabby hands.

At some point before she left, Belle suggested I might not come again until July 4th, leaving the entire month of June an orgasmless dessert (for me, anyway). If her fixation of holidays continues…then what? Labor Day? Conveniently, that falls on my birthday this year. After Labor Day, the next date of significance is our anniversary in mid-October. Thanksgiving would be about six weeks later. Six weeks. That’s a long time. After Thanksgiving…well, I’m sure you have a calendar.

Anyway, I have a hiking trip coming up in a few weeks which will take me away from Belle for about a week. It’s entirely impracticle to imagine she’d keep me locked up while hiking the Rockies with a group of friends, though she did make an evil joke in that direction at one point. It’s really going to suck being so far away from her and unlocked.

As you can see, I really don’t have much of significance to talk about today. I did smack my balls around quite a bit last night. It’s a bit tricky with all the plastic in the way, but I’m figuring out some techniques that allow maximum vulnerability and minimum accidental ring contact. For some reason, slapping, punching, and otherwise bruising my nuts is a barrel of fun, but pinching them against the ring with an errant blow puts me on the wrong side of pain street. Bad pain, good pain. Belle’s done a little exploratory teste abuse, but nothing like the levels of force I use against myself. Interestingly, since I know the blows are coming, they don’t seem to be as shocking as those Belle delivers, even though hers are much lighter. I think she’s still worried about seriously damaging me down there. In any event, what I’m looking for is not necessarily the sting of immediate impact, but the long, slow burn of the ache that creeps up out of my nuts and sits in the pit of my stomach. It never seems to linger long enough. Somehow, through the alchemy of intense sexual frustration, the worst kind of pain a man can experience in his most vulnerable spot has magically transformed into something I truly crave. I could have done it all night.

But, as I’ve learned several times already, sleepless nights are no fun afterward. At about 12:45 I popped a single Tylenol PM and waited for it to do its work. Eventually, maybe and hour later, I fell asleep. Thinking of Belle, wishing she was with me.

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Berry tickling

Typical of my nocturnal activity when Belle’s away, last night I surfed a little chastity porn (and was just as discouraged and depressed and disappointed as I usually am), checked out a couple blog posts, and otherwise dicked around on the web looking at things like the search results that lead people to this blog.

For those interested, the number one term is the supremely unimaginative “denying thumper“. Happily, I rank first on that one. Then, there’s a number of variations (still) on the Birdlock chastity device. The reviews are in, people. It’s not all that and a bag of chips. Move on. Then, there’s a whole bunch of others you might expect, including “CB-6000”, “ruined orgasm”, “orgasm denial”, etc., etc. While exploring some of the unique variations, I stumbled upon a page I haven’t seen in quite some time.

The second website I ever visited looking for information about enforced chastity and orgasm denial was Tickleberry, and I’m very glad I found it so soon1 . It’s a veritable wealth of info for the chastity-curious. The page I found (again) last night is called “Wearing a chastity device: How does it feel?” Six or eight months in, I find myself nodding in agreement at most of what they say.

Physically the first thing you notice when you wear a chastity device is that it adds some extra weight to your penis. This can seem a little unusual at first. Not painful, just different.

It also means that your penis is pulled downwards a little more than normal. After a while it can feel very comfortable, once you’ve got used to wearing it you’ll soon come to enjoy the physical sensations of your confinement, even the beginnings of an erection will remind you of your loving keyholder.

Some men who are used to long term lock up actually feel “naked” without their chastity device.

The CB6K isn’t all that heavy, really, but I’m sure the metal cages they sell are. In truth, I’d love to be lugging a heavy steel cage around, but I’m stuck with the polycarbonate for now. And no, once it’s properly fitted and lubricated, there’s not much pain over the course of the day. There is some pain, but some of us also kind of dig that. At this point, wearing the device about half the time, I agree that’s it very comfortable. It’s surprising how quickly one can adjust to wearing something so foreign and weird in such a tender, confined space, but I have. There are times I totally forget I’m wearing it. And yes, I do find myself enjoying the confinement. I also enjoy not being confined, but agree that not wearing it does feel stranger to me now than going commando (at least for a period of time immediately following an extended lock-up).

Once you’ve become accustomed to wearing a chastity device at times it will feel as if the cage of the chastity device is “caressing” your penis.

I have never, ever felt like the device was “caressing” the penis. Not once.

The beginnings of an erection will feel more like a nice “erotic pain” rather than being unbearably painful.

I have grown to adore the sensation of being aroused and hard while wearing the device. It does hurt, but not as much as it did when I first started, and it’s fantastic.

Does a Chastity Device Prevent Erections? Strictly speaking – No.

No, no, NO! Not just strictly. This is a big pet peeve of mine where people on blogs or community sites or in porn will suggest enforced chastity prevents erections. It does NOT. Now, after a while, I will say I think the confinement reduces the number of erections one would have normally (which, I think, is the result of the body being trained not to waste the energy since nothing will come of it), but you will still get hard when stimulated sufficiently and nothing at all short of a medical condition will keep you from getting hard at night.

Wearing a chastity device and having less orgasms means over time it’s possible that you will mentally tune in more to other erogenous zones; such as your neck, your nipples, your ears, your balls, and perhaps your anus. Through Chastity and orgasm denial you may become a more tender, more considerate, more sensitive and a more passionate lover. Gaining a better appreciation that your cock isn’t absolutely necessary for good sex. You learn to enjoy the pleasures of your own body without orgasm or direct touch to your penis. You become a better lover by discovering new ways to arouse and excite the body of your Mistress, and overall you discover that your pleasure is to be found in your Wife’s pleasure. Pleasing and pleasuring your Goddess is your reward – a reward that may earn you release and even orgasm.

Oh, fucking hell, yes. The penis is in no way necessary for a satisfying, intense, and passionate sex life. As a recent letter to Dan Savage points out (third one down), removing penetration from the picture can result in some hot monkey sex. I agree with every single word in the above paragraph (excepting the whole “goddess” thing, perhaps).

At the beginning of the year, Belle and I agreed (via our Covenant) that she’d lock me up 50% of the time. That’s 183 days out of 2009. To remain on schedule, that means I’d need to be locked up 78 days so far this year. In fact, after doing the math last night, I find I’ve been confined for 77 days in total (with the longest stretch being the last one at 18 days). I would have guessed I was in more than 77 days, but I’m glad we’re so close to the goal.

To be honest, and at least for me, I’ve found the entire experience of enforced chastity so rewarding (not only for me, but for Belle, too), that I think 50% should be viewed not as a goal, but a minimum requirement.

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1 Though I still often wonder, which/what “berry” is being tickled, and who is tickling it?↩

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Seperate and unequal

There is a definite correlation between my sexual frustration and level of energy I’m able to put into the blog. More frustration equals more blogging. The more she lets me come, the less I have to say here.

So, since I’m here, I must be frustrated, right? In fact, Belle hasn’t let me come in about a week and on Sunday she put me back on the CB-6000. Then she took off to New York until Friday. So yeah, I’m getting there.

In fact, she let me come three or four times in the period around Memorial Day, but none of the orgasms were especially good for me. Either I was fighting them to allow her to come first or I was wearing my shiny new chrome cock ring which, it turns out, is tight enough that it restricts the flow of the ejaculation in an uncomfortable way. It’s dead sexy and makes the cock harder than it would normally be, but the spunk doesn’t fly as much as it kinda oozes after slamming into the hard metal’s constriction. It’s better than a ruined orgasm since I do get a portion of the emotional release, but it’s far less enjoyable.

As usual, I’ve found myself in a bit of a post-denial funk that sets in after she’s let me come a few times. I’m curious to know if this is primarily a mental thing or if it’s due to the release of all the hormones that’ve built-up during the denial. Whatever the cause, I am happier, more energized, and more connected to her when I’m not achieving orgasm. I don’t remember if I wrote this already (or just thought about writing it), but I’d like to figure out a way to maintain and level out these feelings. Since one orgasm after two to three weeks without usually doesn’t totally satisfy my cravings, I’d like her to try limiting me to a single spurt next time she lets me. Yeah, I get so fucking horny, but at the same time, I like it. The lows suck, but the highs are fantastic.

I’ve also been thinking about how she lets me come. I’m really pleased that she’s recently started to use the cock to get off, even when I’m not going to come (and even when I’m otherwise locked-up), but when she eventually does let me come, she always lets me do it inside her. This is, of course, entirely her prerogative, but in thinking about it, it does elevate my orgasm to the same level as hers since they happen at about the same time, in the same way, and look a lot like lovemaking. I do want to make love to her, but my sexual satisfaction is totally unrelated to that act. In fact, we make love at least a couple of times a week, but I only come about every tenth time. So, when she lets me come inside her, it kinda punctures the idea that my sexual release is less important than hers. Coming inside her during the act of making love knocks me out of my sub headspace.

There was one time where she let me fuck her and come, but she kept her breasts covered, didn’t come herself, didn’t let me pay attention to her in any way, and kept the lights on the whole time. It was less like lovemaking and more like maintenance. That time, I stayed in my headspace. In fact, coming like that put me deeper into it. I wasn’t being treated like a sexual equal and we weren’t sharing an emotional experience, she was just managing me. Also, in that case, she didn’t follow it up with more orgasms in the coming days. It was a single spike of sensation. In short, it was awesome.

So, to sum up what I’m saying, I’d like her to keep me to a single orgasm per release. Really make it an event. Also, I’d like my orgasms to be seperate and unequal to hers. Yes, I fully admit that this might strike some as topping from the bottom, but try to remember that Belle and I are still new at this whole Dom/sub thang. I need to give her feedback, right? She’s not coming to this dynamic with tons of experience (nor, for that matter, am I).

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Defining vanilla

“I just want to have plain, vanilla sex,” said Belle Fille.

“Vanilla as opposed to…?” I asked.

“You said you wanted me to hurt you, but I don’t feel like that right now. I just want sweet, vanilla sex,” she replied.

“OK, I can do that.” And I did. Plain, missionary, sweet, wonderful fucking. However, vanilla or no, she still needed to come before me. Always. Cardinal rule. I felt myself getting closer and closer and sensed she was getting there, too. It was going to be a photo finish.

I came, but again, fought it to give her more time. Turns out, she came, too, at the same time. We seem to be doing that quite a bit (well, maybe not “quite a bit” because I’m certainly not coming “quite a bit”, but when we do both come, it seems like we’re doing it at the same time more often than not).

“You can come now,” she purred into my ear after I stopped thrusting.

“I did,” said I, only slightly miffed she failed to notice. “We came at the same time.”

“You didn’t have permission! Who said you could?”

“What do you mean? You said we were having ‘vanilla sex’. That means I get to come.”

“Cheeky. You only come when I say you come.”

“But you did say I could come!”

“Yeah, but not until after you already did.”

Sigh.

OK, note to self: “Vanilla” no longer means “vanilla”. In truth, we don’t have “vanilla” sex any more. Under no circumstances will I have an orgasm without prior, explicit permission.

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Expectation

Many times on Friday Belle dropped hints that we were going to have sex that night. Pretty much the only thing she didn’t say was, “We’re going to have sex later.” According to her established pattern, this would be expected on the second day following my release from a prolonged period of denial. Unsurprisingly, we did have sex.

With candles lit, I started to get undressed at the foot of the bed. As soon as my underwear dropped to the floor, she said, “Who said you could do that?” Oh, it was going to be like that, was it?

I sheepishly stammered some half-formed thoughts and pulled my underwear back on.

“Can I get naked, Belle Fille?”

Pause for effect. “Yes, then get into bed.”

I finished stripping and got into the bed, on all fours, burrowing my head into her side and the bed. That’s my “sorry, mistress” position.

“We’re going to have sex now. Get started,” she said (or something to that effect). It was to be another session where I was primarily there to pleasure her where very little energy would be expended tending to mine. My heart sank a little at this as I’ve developed a hunger for her attention, in spite of my otherwise subservient position. She assumed a posture of repose, expecting and requiring my services. I got to work.

After a few minutes, she may have noticed that my initial erection had flagged a bit because she grabbed the cock roughly and said, “Get this ready because I’m going to fuck it pretty soon,” followed by a severe tug on the meat. I felt the blood surge back into the cock. She was in a mood.

However, the ministrations of my fingers over her clit proved a compelling distraction. She teetered on the verge of letting me bring her to climax manually. I felt the stiffness of the meat she had manhandled earlier start to waver and whispered, “Your cock is ready,” to let her know as subtly as possible that she needed to make a decision.

“OK, I’m going to fuck you now,” she replied. She’s going to fuck me. I guess, since she’s the only one of the two of us who currently owns a cock, that’s the correct way to say it. A thrill ran down my spine.

Even so, she continued to linger on my fingertips for a few extended moments before indicating it was time for me to get on my back (another symbol – those fucking are on top, those being fucked are on the bottom – the last four times I’ve penetrated her have been from underneath). She positioned herself so only the outer lips of her pussy made contact with the hard cock. I reached under a few times to try to get it lined up for penetration, but it never seemed to make its way in. I tried a couple of other maneuvers with my hips with no success. I could feel the head of the cock rub against her clit and if I could only move up a few inches, I’d get inside her. I so badly wanted to get inside her.

Finally, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get it inside you.”

“Well, knock it off. It’s good just where it is.”

OK, I thought. I’ll get it in there as soon as she’s done. Yes, at this point, I fully assumed I was going to get to come again. It’s usually the case that she lets me come several times after a prolonged denial and I expected I’d get to do so again very shortly (and was quite looking forward to it since my last orgasm was unsatisfactory). As she worked her clit over the swollen member, I projected myself forward to a moment in the not-so-distant future where I’d feel it slip inside her, slide in and out, and eventually erupt in a torrent of mind-blowing passion. Jesus, I wanted to fuck her so bad. I could already feel it happening.

She came and collapsed onto me. (It’s almost time!) She basked, breathing heavily as the waves of post-orgasmic pleasure washed over her. (Just a little longer – let her do the afterglow thing.) She laid there, sighing in total satisfaction. (Patience!) She…continued to lay there. (Um…hello?)

“Thank you, Thumper,” she finally said. It wasn’t what she said, but the way she said it. That was it. We were done. Impossibly, it was over.

Fuck! Goddamn it! FUCK FUCK FUCK! AAARRGGHHHH!!!!

“Thank you, Belle Fille,” I replied in the only way I could, doing my best to stifle a whimper.

She eventually got off and I pressed desperately into her, still hard. I ground into her more than would be usually permissible. Despite my best effort, several whimpers did escape me.

“Relax, Thumper,” she said firmly. Translation: knock it the fuck off, rabbit boy.

Eventually, I did relax. I felt the crest of my anticipation and frustration and desire slowly seep away, and with it, the erection which had insistently refused to depart. I slept.

The next morning, we both awoke at about the same time. I snuggled into her, kissed her, slipped my hand under her shirt.

“You tricked me last night,” I said, “It’s not nice to trick people.”

“I did not trick you,” she retorted, “Who said you were going to get to come? Sounds like you need to keep working on when to expect things you have no control over, huh?”

“I guess so.”

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Double release

Thursday night, after we had driven four hours to the family compound in the North woods, Belle let me out of the device. On the one hand, I was surprised because she had dropped zero hints leading up to the unlocking, but on the other hand, I fully expected her to unlock me at some point over the course of the weekend. Yes, it would have been nice of her to do it before we left home and the fucking A-ring got to ground my balls to pulp for four hours, but whatever. I hardly have room for complaining. Eighteen days in the box is over.

And I went right into my new chrome cock ring. I had received it earlier that day from Stockroom.com. It was on sale. Anyway, it’s the same diameter as the A-ring I had just been released from. I’ve found I’ve become accustomed to feeling something holding my root and miss it when it’s not there. The substantial weight of this thing is hard to miss (like, if it was chucked at someone’s head with sufficient force, it’d probably kill them). It was too late to actually fool around, though. Time for sleep.

Sleeping all loose and floppy is actually more distracting than being locked up once you get used to it. It seems like the dick gets hard more often. It gets to feel all those exciting new sensations from rubbing against the sheets, Belle, etc., plus, of course, it’s out. It seems to me a chastised dick gets hard less often than an unchastised one because it knows there’s no point in doing so. In any event, it was plenty hard for most of the night and kept waking me up like a puppy wanting to play. The next morning, its hardness was accentuated by the fat silver ring. I practically begged Belle to let me give her an orgasm, which she allowed me to do.

All I wanted was to feel her come. I did not expect I’d come, but after a few moments of the usual manual approach, she told me she wanted to come on her cock and that she expected me to come, too. My heart leapt as she rolled me onto my back and mounted her hard, throbbing, nearly-four-week-denied cock.

I didn’t last long. I really was doing my dead level best not to come before she did, but I knew I was allowed to and all of my usual barriers were gone. I could feel my juices bubbling up inside me practically from the moment her soft wetness enveloped me. Two or three minutes later, I was fighting for my life trying like hell to stop what had, at that point, become inevitable. I was fighting so hard, I didn’t notice she was coming at the same time and hardly had a chance to enjoy it. On a scale of one to ten, I’d rank that one about a 3. Twenty-six days where nary a drop of precum had leaked out of me were capped by another pathetic squirt.

I told her immediately afterward how hard it had been to resist the orgasm. That her telling me I was going to come somehow released all the safety mechanisms inside my head.

She told me I was like a well-trained dog, coming when called.

“Good boy,” she said while patting my head.

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Morning angst

Belle had a business dinner at what’s probably her favorite restaurant last night. While she was dining, I dragged the kids off to Target to stock up for our Memorial Day weekend trip north then did my best to haul all the crap into the house and get it put away. Oh, and did I mention it’s in the high 90’s here? Flippin’ hot.

Anyway, I was laying in bed after getting both kids down for the night panting for the wrong reason and watching the Daily Show when Belle got home. She got into her jammies and plopped down next to me and immediately closed her eyes. I, of course, was hoping for some kind of interaction with her since I hadn’t seen her all day, hadn’t come in three weeks, etc. She did tell me to strip which I appreciated since it was so damned hot.

So there I am, naked except for the CB6K, laying next to her, both of us above the sheets due to the heat. I’m still somewhat self-conscious when totally exposed in the device and being in that state automatically drops into a subbie mentality. But, as soon as Stewart was done, she rolled over to go to sleep. I got nothing – no talking, no touching, hardly any attention at all, really. She wanted me to spoon into her, but it was too hot. That, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

Figuring out how to deal with the feelings of disappointment – even touches of resentment – is something I really need to do. I’m better than I used to be, but far from where I feel I need to be. I hate that I still have expectations with regard to her attention. If I was being true to my stated goals, I’d stop doing that. The constant craving for her interaction with her should be rerouted into more productive avenues. It’s OK to crave her, but not to expect anything from her. But it’s getting harder (pardon the pun) every day now. The incline of my denial is getting steeper and steeper.

And yet, I fear my own eventual orgasm. I don’t want to lose the way I feel right now. I like how denial keeps me focused on her and I don’t want to wait the week to ten days needed to build back to this point. No, I don’t want my feelings to get so strong that they become an impediment, but at the same time, losing them is also an impediment. I’d really like to find a way to skate the seam between overwhelming frustration and satisfied apathy.

Anyway, there you go. A piping hot heap of angst to accompany your morning coffee.

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Easy access

Reader ritemate left the following comment to the post Tube Talk:

One thing I don’t understand: How are you able to switch rings when you’re locked? Shouldn’t Belle keep the keys?

To which I replied that Belle doesn’t hide the key or keep it with her. It hangs on its chain with the rest of her necklaces. I let myself out about once a week for cleaning and general maintenance and lock myself back up, usually in the morning after she’s gone to work. This has never seemed to bother either of us since the device is just a symbol of her control over the cock. The actual control is between my ears.

But ritemate’s question has been lingering in my mind. I assumed, since Belle doesn’t like to wear the key all the time (regardless of how hot I find it), that it was only natural that she’d keep it with her other jewelry. And, since my intentions were pure, it was OK that I occasionally let myself out without her specific knowledge, as long as I had a reason.

But here we are three weeks and a day following my last orgasm (a new record) and two weeks and a day since the start of my lock-up (the longest period this year) and I heard myself thinking this morning that maybe I needed to get out after Belle left so I could…could…well, just because. Because I could shave, clean, etc., but also so I could simply touch myself. Wouldn’t that feel nice? Just for a bit. Then, right back in. Yes, my precious. That’s right. Nasty dommeses wouldn’t mind. You have a right to touch the cock, don’t you, precioussss….?

Yikes.

So, before she left, I asked Belle to hide the key. Now I have no idea where it is and there’s no way for me to get out of the device absent real, honest cheating. And you know what? The whole thing just got about 14% hotter for me. Now I will only get out when she consciously decides I will. No more sneaking around behind the Hobb– er, I mean, Belle’s back taking advantage of a vague technicality. In actual fact, there’s no real reason I have to get out, anyway. I can clean very well using the little angled squirt bottle thing I have and can shave well enough around the device. Unless she wants to play with it, she can keep it in there indefinitely at this point.

Now if I can only figure out how to deal with my sudden urge to take a bite out of a live fish…

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The choice

Saturday night, Belle gave me a choice I didn’t want. She told me that she was going to unlock me so she could play with her cock but, as long as she got what she wanted, she really didn’t care if I came. Those are the words she used.

“I really don’t care if you come or not.”

She was trying a new tack – that of “casually indifferent domme”. She was casting me in the role of inconsequential accessory which, normally, I’d totally appreciate, but, since the bedrock of our relationship paradigm is her control over my orgasms, to say she really didn’t care kinda sorta knocked the foundation out from under my motivation. I instantly felt this. If she didn’t care, why hadn’t I come in three weeks? If she didn’t care, what was all the suffering for? In fact, the suffering is for her, but now she’d basically said she didn’t want it. Of course, I knew I had taken it to the nth degree – beyond what she intended – but that’s how my hormone-addled brain processed it. She wasn’t really saying she didn’t care. It was just part of the scene. I should have said something but I was in that weird subby headspace that stops me from telling her when something doesn’t work for me and I remained silent.

As we started, I was having an internal debate. Should I come or not? She had basically given me tacit approval to do so, but she didn’t actually say I could. Also, I didn’t want it to happen this way. Not through her apathy (feigned or not). I come when she says, “you can come,” not before. I needed her to let me. So I decided I would resist and try to keep it inside.

What followed was pretty hot. I started out rather clumsily and distracted since I was having that “should I or shouldn’t I” debate in my head, but before I could get too far along, she took over and told me she wanted to be on top. I rolled over and she took it from there. I lined the cock up with her pussy, but instead of sliding right down and getting on with it, she eased onto it s-l-o-w-l-y and then stayed down, moving subtly with me completely inside. Then, again slowly and purposefully, she’d go up, then back down – like regular fucking but in quarter time. I tried to engage her nipples, but she said not yet, leave them alone. I tried to get into a reciprocal fucking rhythm, but she told me to stop. I looked up and saw her head back, a rapturous look on her face. She was fucking the cock, not me, in her own way and as she wanted. I was just the thing her dildo was mounted on. The thought of that almost made me shoot my load. In fact, seeing her enjoying me in that way brought me very close, but she slowed and paused at exactly the right moment and I avoided falling in. My breathing was coming in short, shallow pants. It was all incredibly sensual. After a bit, the pace quickened, but not as fast as it would normally be. I was allowed to engage her nipples and from that point on, I was all business. I could, of course, still feel her sliding up and down on the stiff meat, but I was in the zone. My near-come had pushed the urge back.

After she climaxed, I felt instant regret at not coming myself. I felt like a dupe for not taking the chance I had. I laid there, confused and more than a little anguished with a steady, insistent erection. By the time I worked up the nerve to ask if I could ruin an orgasm (if, for no other reason, than as a consolation prize), she had already drifted off to sleep.

I’ve grown enough in this role of denied horny guy to not let the resulting disappointment get me too far down. Yes, the whole “I don’t care” thing did leave me an emotional slag heap, but I also knew that my feelings were par for the course. It is expected that I’d feel this way from time to time (if not most of the time). If anything, I could take pleasure from the knowledge that Belle has gotten really good at taking the initiative and doing what she needs to do to get off, regardless of my satisfaction (or if I’m even involved). That’s where I wanted her to be (and it’s a place I wasn’t really sure she could get to). So, annoyed at myself just the same, I was able to turn the disappointment back on itself and feed my submissive little rabbit with it. I was pathetically horny. She was blissfully satisfied. All was right in the world.

The next morning, Belle slept in, so I went and replaced the CB6K. She had said she wanted it back on me “sometime” on Sunday, but I wanted it back on as soon as possible. I wanted to reassert the control she pretended to cast off the night before. Later, once she was awake, I brought her a cup of coffee and the Sunday Times. As soon as seemed appropriate, I told her how the previous evening’s vibe was wrong for me. I told her I was worried she’d feel guilt or that the misstep would feed lingering insecurity. She told me she recognized the issue and wouldn’t take that approach again, but that she felt no guilt whatsoever. You win some, you lose some, seemed to be her point of view. What else matters except that she got what she wanted? Suck it up, rabbit boy.

Damn, why didn’t I just fucking come when I had the chance?!