Tag: domination

Posted on

I want

We leave today for our three-day, two-night, adults-only trip to the charming B&B next to a river in the boonies somewhere. Apparently, there are things to do around the B&B, but I don’t care. If it were up to me, we’d never leave the room and stay naked the entire time. It would be hour after hour of debauchery and dirty, nasty sex punctuated with occasional beatings (and maybe some sleep).

Belle has been keeping me on a pretty short leash. It’s been days since I’ve been allowed to have sexual contact and last night she told me that was on purpose. She says I need to become stronger. More motivated to see to her pleasure. That’s why she only let me massage her feet, even though she had made enough comments during the day as to my obviously desperate state to lead me to hope I’d get some action (which, of course, is code for “she gets some action”). I rubbed with abandon. At one point, I was practically masturbating her feet.

I feel as though the cock’s hard all the time now. I’m so desperate for any kind of sexual or even sensual contact and she knows it and does nothing about it. I can’t give her just a peck. When she’s near me, I want to give her deep, reaching soul kisses and I find my hands on her tits and migrating south to rub her mound through her clothes. I can feel the static sexual charge crackling up and down my spine.

This afternoon, when we’re in the room, I’d want her to tie me up and hit me. Besides the sex, I’m craving pain. I want to be tied up, hit with various objects, have my nipples clamped cruelly, the cock slapped, my balls squeezed and crushed. Oh, Jesus, I almost want to be hurt more than I want the sex. It’s been so long. I want to be tortured and used and abused. I want her to tie me up and then sit on my face until she comes. I want her to ride her cock to orgasm, but every time I get close to coming, I want her to slap my face or reach back and crush my balls. I want her to cuff me and leave me that way all night. I want to be collared. Oh god, do I want to be collared.

Then, of course, there’s my ass. Whenever I’m like this and locked-up for a while, my ass (which, for me, is a valid and available sexual organ) beckons – “Always open!” it says helpfully. She’d never do it, but I’d also like her to violate my ass while I’m tied to the bed. If we had a gag, I’d want her to put it on me so I couldn’t complain or tell her to stop (note to self: get gag). I want my ass pounded, fast – really fast – and hard until my prostate sings and my entire body burns with the feeling of it.

Can you tell? Can you tell how surreally horny I am?

But, when it’s over, when all the reservoirs of frustration are drained and I come off my hormonal high and back to earth, I just want to fuck her. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck her in the sweetest way. I want to be in her body like when we first started to date. And then I want to take a week off from all this. I want to be able to come on to her like any other man can with his wife. I want to have normal, vanilla sex a half dozen times just so the sturm und drang of denial leaves the memory of my body and my Belle gets to be just my wife for a little while.

And once that’s done, I want her to tie me, beat me, and lock me because where I am right now – seathing in my own sex – really isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

Posted on

Defining my sub

In a comment to a previous post about submissiveness, I said…

The flavor of submission I like is the one where I feel her actively subjugating my sexuality until it falls under the sway of hers. There’s more of a conquering of my masculinity going on as opposed to me giving it up to her willingly.

Belle read that and wanted to know what active subjugation was. I told her I chose the word “subjugate” very carefully.

sub⋅ju⋅gate
-verb (used with object), -gat⋅ed, -gat⋅ing.
To subdue, and bring under the yoke of power or dominion; to conquer by force, and compel to submit to the absolute control of another; to vanquish.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not by nature a submissive boy. My submissiveness is a byproduct of my sexuality being brought under the control of Belle’s. I like how that feels, though I also can feel myself fight against it.

So, to answer her question, “active subjugation” is when she uses her power over my sex to mold and shape my behavior to suite her own needs. Tease, chastity, orgasm denial – all of it. And yeah, I do fight it internally, but there’s a point at which, as I said the other day, I stop pushing to serve her and the desire to serve starts to drive me. The mentality of it flips. Then, perversely, my desire to make her happy becomes her accomplice in the denial. I start to want it to continue so my will to serve will strengthen. My desire for sexual gratification becomes a desire for her sexual gratification. It’s something like the Stockholm Syndrome. My sexuality, captive to hers, starts to see things her way.

This is fucking hot.

Posted on

Doesn’t sound lame to me

Occasionally I find something and all I can do is nod my head as I read it. Axe posted something like this today. I encourage you to read the entire thing, but this part in particular resonates with me:

I’m finding that giving myself to someone for whatever is on their kinky list, to be just as (or more) powerful than getting whatever I’m hoping for. When I give myself over to whatever she has in mind, it never feels like anything is missing. In the past I’d always hope for something specific and it was great when it happened but kinda “eh” when it didn’t.

Leading up to it I have lots and lots of dirty thoughts and hopes of what will happen. When the moment arrives however I’m a big blank slate. I want to say “just do whatever you want, I don’t care what, just do it.” [Emphasis mine.]

I know that feeling.

Posted on

In the temple

I’m wiping down the counter top last night and Belle tells me the combination of the smell of the stuff I’m using and the visual of me actually doing it in front of her of gets her motor running. That wasn’t her term – “gets her motor running” – but it’s my interpretation. And, of course, hearing that gave me the familiar tubal pressure. Not that I needed the extra stimulation. I’m really fucking horny now and bobbing around nicely in my pool of sub energy (if you want to imagine me in water wings and goggles, feel free). I’m no longer pushing myself to serve her and now find that need pushing me. This was evidenced by my attitude later that night in bed.

At some point, and for a reason I can’t recall, she suggested, as we lay there, that I was disappointed about something related to what we were doing (or were about to do). Quite the contrary, I said, I was not disappointed. Not at all. Yes, I badly wanted to feel her pleasure at the end of my fingers or tongue – my sexual arousal having achieved its cruising altitude sometime that day – but I reiterated that sex is for her, not me. Whatever she wants, she gets. What I want should be immaterial. Honesty, there’s no other way for me to operate when I’m this horny. That’s the one huge lesson I’ve learned in the past few months. If you’re going to be denied, you’re fucking well denied and cannot attempt to make it otherwise. To do so is to work counter to the entire paradigm of her control. In any event, I assured her I wasn’t at all disappointed. I actually felt very calm inside and was prepared for whatever she decided she wanted to do.

Happily, she wanted to come. We groped and kissed for a little bit (that is, I groped – she had her arms around me, but that’s about it) before she made the motion I’ve grown to love. She simply lays back, spreading her arms and legs, in a position that says quite clearly, “Pleasure me.” Fucking hell, unleash the hounds! After a few minutes of nipple sucking and clit fingering, she started talking. That’s somewhat unusual in itself, but even more so in that she was describing a fantasy scene in which she was a goddess laying in her pillared temple and I was a warrior chosen from many as the only one worthy and able to bring her to climax. In a remarkable parallel to how it actually feels to me when she allows me that kind of access, she said the orgasm I was bringing into being was how she wanted to be worshiped. I found the whole scenario to be pretty fucking hot so, when she asked, “Are you hard?” I could barely squeak out a muffled, “Uh-hurmph!” through my mouthful of nipple. Hell yeah, I was hard. The CB6K was biting with unforgiving ferocity.

It became clear, though, that my fingers weren’t going to be sufficient to the job at hand. I realized she wasn’t really climbing the mountain, regardless of how I fingered her. She brought out Pink to finish the job, but didn’t hand it to me (as I thought she would), instead going to work on herself with it. Now I was disappointed, but I didn’t say anything and instead redoubled my work on her tits. I could hear the little vibe go in and out of her wet pussy and the fact that it wasn’t me using it caused my desire to ache in its confinement. She brought herself to climax and roughly pushed me off her breast immediately afterward. She was done and didn’t need my mouth on her anymore. All I could do was gather her in my arms and hold her as she basked in the afterglow, my own arousal feeding-back and eating itself. That’s the moment of the unorgasm, the cresting and washing back of unfulfilled and unneeded desire that, regardless, leaves the tide of arousal just a little bit higher after it passes than before.

The night that followed was restless for me. I wanted to have contact with her and repeatedly put my arms around her, but then found myself aroused to such an extent that the straining meat between my legs hurt and I couldn’t fall asleep. Turning over in the other direction, all I could do was think about how badly I wanted her. These weren’t random sexual thoughts. They were about her. I wanted her pussy again, either under my fingers, in my mouth, or surrounding the cock. Unsurprisingly, it never happened.

Posted on

Saturday morning fill-up

Wow, with a title like that, I bet you’re expecting something pretty good. “Saturday morning fill-up” evokes so many possibilities! Well, sorry, it’s pretty mundane.

The fill-up to which I refer is yet another reference to my reservoir of subbie goodness. At a couple of points on Friday, I was feeling little flares of angst not uncommon at the beginning of another round of chastisement, but it wasn’t until this morning, when I woke up and laid there next to her, morning wood straining against the polycarbonate, hands on her sleeping skin, body pressed against hers…well, that’s the fill-up. I started feeling it again, mingled with and fueled by my harnessed lust. She wasn’t buying, so I eventually got out of bed and went about my business.

Which, mostly, involved working for her. I made the beds, put in more laundry, folded the other laundry (good god, but we produce a lot of f’ing laundry), all while she sat at the kitchen counter and made me a more detailed list of tasks she I needed to accomplish over the course of the day. Every once in a while she’d let me grab her, grope her, kiss her, nibble on her neck a little. All very nice.

That being said, here I am again, staring down the teeth of another Saturday night, and trying not to think too much about what might or might not happen. She’s busy doing the seasonal closet change-over and the sister-in-law is bringing the baby over again tonight so she and her husband can go have dinner. All very nice for them, of course, but I can’t imagine it’ll bode well for my chances at a sexual escapade (infants being known black holes of romantic intentions).

So, 300ish words just to say my sub tank is about a third full. Feels good. Real good.

Posted on

Just wondering

The currently vaporous state of my submissiveness tank has me thinking. Which comes first, denial or submission? Is there such a thing as a “natural” submissive? How are they different than one “created” by being denied?

The thing is, I’m not normally a submissive person. In fact, in all other areas of my life, I’m a natural dominant. People look to me to lead them and I do it without even thinking about it. I take direction poorly, mostly because I think I know the best way to do things. I enjoy directing others. I exude confidence, even when I’m not feeling it. Nothing about me would lead anyone to think that, once I got home, I enjoyed having the boot of Belle’s sexuality stand on the throat of my own.

In addition, I have no long history of fantasizing about being dominated. I have always enjoyed porn involving transference of power and sadomasochism, but not from any particular point of view until recently. I totally get off on being controlled, tied up, abused, etc., but, just as easily, I could see myself getting off on being the controller and abuser (though not with Belle – imagining us in that dynamic is the most dick-shriveling idea I can think of). I guess that makes me a switch, though in another time and place, I could easily see myself as a total top.

So, all that being said, I love how it feels to be dominated by Belle. I do crave the return of feeling submissive. But, that feeling is not one I have unless she’s exercising her control over the cock. I don’t carry it around with me all the time until I’ve been forced to live without access to the cock for a couple of days and am sitting on juicy prostate. Is it like this for everyone? Can some guys come and come and still feel this way? These are not rhetorical questions. I’d really like to hear from readers on that.

I also wonder if, as the porn seems to suggest, all men can be brought to this place. I’ve always been an attentive lover and pretty much always want my partners to be getting as much out of the act as I am (at least, I’m that way with my female partners), but I wonder if a total pig of a man – who’s never made a woman come and really doesn’t care if he ever does – who feels the woman’s place is anywhere she’s not blocking his view of the game, could that guy ever be brought to the same place I’ve been? Probably not since, outside of fantasy pornword, you’d never be able to get a guy like that to go along.

Anyway, those are some of the things I’m wondering about on a lazy, sunny Friday afternoon.

Posted on

Running on empty

It’s remarkable to me how much orgasm denial changes who I am. Of course, these changes are well documented just about everywhere, but I still find it fascinating how accommodating and attentive I can be made simply by denying me access to the cock. And, conversely, how quickly it all goes away after a couple of orgasms.

The first orgasm of the week was Sunday’s. The very nature of how she allowed that one and the length of time it had been since my last one left my reservoir of submissive energy pretty well full. Tuesday, she rode her cock to an orgasm and then immediately allowed me one, too. It was just as intense as the one from Sunday, but it left my bathtub full of sub energy totally drained. I can’t tell if that was because it was a second event so close to the first or because if it was the nature of it (basically, in conjunction with giving her an orgasm). The Sunday event wasn’t a “shared moment of passion” as much as it was a carefully choreographed demonstration of her control.

In any event, I found my entire attitude changed. I’m still going through the motions of the FLR lifestyle (laundry, cleaning, dishes, cooking, etc.) but I’m not getting anything out of it. In fact, it’s kind of pissing me off. Last night, I really should have folded the clothes that have been sitting downstairs for two days, but I couldn’t gather the motivation. Also, I notice my need to be constantly touching her has lessened. I’m not as interested in finding unexpected ways of serving her.

No, I’m not saying I’m over the whole thing. Not by a long shot. I still want to get back to that subbie frame of mind. It’s just that, right now, on the flip-side of a couple of orgasms, I’ve lost my motivation. And, as I said, it’s really amazing to me how frickin’ simple men are. You control this one thing and you control their entire being.

Yesterday, she put me back in the device. She noticed I had been putting my hand down my pants quite a bit (absentmindedly – hard to avoid) and felt my freedom has gone on long enough. She also wanted to help me refocus on the important things (her). She told me if I was good, she’d let me out during our B&B weekend (a week from today). I’m not sure if she’s seriously threatening to keep me locked up for what was planned to be a romantic weekend of debauchery or if she’s just talking. Before, I would have thought her to be too sympathetic to my plight to actually carry though on that kind of threat, but now I’m not so sure.

In chastity mechanics news, I’ve swapped out the segment ring from my PA and replaced it with a curved barbell with 5/16″ balls. Since there’s no way I can used the ring to enhance security, I’ve decided it took up too much room in the tube. Sometimes, it’d line up with the slot during erections, but other times it gets stuck in there and pushed over to one side or the other. Not super comfortable. The barbell and relatively small balls will cause fewer issues. We’ve been talking about the Steelheart kind of seriously and the prospect of it has made me more and more critical of the CB6K. I’m really getting tired of the hard corners on the A ring and have a particular disdain for the joints between the ring and the two pieces that hold the pins. I find my scrotum gets trapped in there. It hurts and irretates my skin. This morning, as I was enduring morning wood, visions of the smooth, solid ring of the Steelheart danced in my head.

Posted on

Reward

Holidays suck. Yeah, OK, the kids like them and it’s always nice to see the family, but at the end of the day you probably spent more time with them that you really needed to and most assuredly you ate too much and, when it’s all over, you have to wonder where half the weekend went. It’s not so bad with proper holidays that give you an extra day or two off, but holidays that fall on a regular weekend day just blow.

Another reason they blow is that they tend to disrupt the whole “lifestyle” element of where Belle and I are right now. I wasn’t able to act around her in all the ways I felt compelled to, but a few things here and there got through. Like when all the men were downstairs watching the Masters in their big comfy recliners while the women were either upstairs or sitting on uncomfortable folding card chairs behind the men. Until, that is, Belle came in the room and I got up to let her have my big comfy recliner and I sat down on the floor at her feet. Not in a creepy servile way, but it was enough for me to let her know I was still in the headspace and still thinking about her.

Later, in bed, we talked about how happy we both are with things at the moment. I’m still kind of tingling from her show of control Saturday night and she’s very pleased with my attentiveness. So far, it’s been very much a win-win for both of us. She released me from the chastity device “for a few days” as a reward. She told me she knew that, in some part, my attitude has been shaped by the device, but she expected me to maintain the same exemplary level of service she has seen the week prior. If not, I’d go back in sooner. I told her I’d do my best.

We talked briefly about how long I had been locked up and that led to her tell me she didn’t like keeping score regarding enforced chastity duration or orgasm control. She feels like it’s too much work and pressure for her, so we’re not doing it anymore. Before, I was always trying to push my limit and see if I could break my previous duration records. Of course, I now know this is entirely backward. It’s not necessarily about how long I’m able to go locked-up or denied, it’s about the fact that I’m locked-up and denied because she wants me that way. Letting go of that need to exceed my previous “achievements” and just going with the flow of what she’s telling me to do, I think, has helped me move to a new level of submission.

In any event, getting out was part one of my reward. For part two, she allowed me to fuck her with the sole purpose of achieving my own orgasm. No foreplay, no pretense. She didn’t even get entirely naked, only removing her pajama bottoms. For a few seconds, I had a little wave of panic that I wasn’t going to be able to do something that was so centered on me, but after rubbing the cock over the her pussy for a few seconds, the reptilian beast woke up and, struggling through his chains, got to work.

I tried to last but couldn’t go very long. It’d been two weeks with practically no contact with the cock at all and no emissions other than copious precum. That, and the way she approached the act (as a “reward” and not connected to any overt act of pleasuring her) made it feel different than normal sex. Almost procedural or as an act of maintenance or something. In any event, she was able to help maintain that wall between those times when it’s about her and when it’s just about me and, since she was still partially clothed and we performed zero foreplay, made my time seem perfunctory. Note that I’m not complaining about that. It very nicely, whether intentional or not, reiterated that sex belongs to and is for her, not me. The sex that’s for me is not the same. It’s of a lower value than hers, undeserving of elaborate artifice, and is not unlike the positive reinforcement one would use during the training of an animal.

I know that sounds harsh – and I can’t say for sure it was her intention – but that’s how it seemed to me. In retrospect, I find it very hot. It has certainly left within me the lingering impression that she’s in control. Keeping my release a separate act from those centered around her pleasure would probably be a very good strategy for her to maintain my headspace.

When I came, it was in a torrent. Spurt after spurt, it felt like a bucket’s worth. I didn’t even get it all out since, even after I had withdrawn, it continiued to leak out of me. Two weeks worth of bottled up spunk poured out of me after about three minutes of effort on my part. Today, I hardly feel like it happened at all. I’m still really horny.

Posted on

Lizard vs. Bunny

I look forward to Saturday night all week long. It’s the one night I can usually depend on getting a little Thumper-centric action out of Belle. This week, based on what she described as my exemplary service over the previous five days combined with the fact that it’s been two weeks since my last orgasm (and it’s showing), I was especially expectational of being made a happy bunny.

Once we got into bed, the vibe didn’t seem like one that was going to lead to wild, passionate, kinky sex. She had assumed an aggressive “curled up for sleep” posture. Trying to go with the flow, I asked if there was anything she wanted me to do for her. She told me to get naked and rub her neck. After her top was off and she was laying on her stomach, I straddled her ass so I could get to work on her knotted up muscles. The little prisoner looked up mournfully at me as the tube it was in crushed my balls into Belle’s ass. She was making appreciative moans and groans and was obviously slipping into a deeper state of relaxedness.

When she had had enough, I rolled off and laid next to her. Still on her stomach, I gently ran my hand in circles over her lower back and ass. She really liked that. So much so, that after a short while, I heard a short little snory snort come out of her. She was asleep.

All at once, I was full of internal conflict. On the one hand, it was supposed to be my turn! She had dropped hints. I had give her the best service I knew how all week. Where the hell was my action?! On the other hand, I had made her feel really good. I had made her happy. Wasn’t that my goal? Isn’t this exactly what I signed up for?

Back in your hole, rabbit.

I blew out all the candles and rolled over to go to sleep. Normally, I spoon into her, but this time I turned the other way and curled around my pillow. I felt neglected. I felt horny. I felt guilty. And yeah, I felt a little angry. The submissive little bunny in my chest was beaten back by the sex lizard who, frankly, had had enough of his fuzzy, pink-nosed, floppy-eared bullshit.

I slept fitfully due to my brimming sexual energy and a painfully full chastity tube. At 4:30, Belle rolled over and put her arm across my chest and started to finger the hair in my arm pit. Her touch immediately set me on edge. Electrical fire flashed across my skin. I wanted it – craved her touch – but simultaneously desired her to get off me.

She asked how I felt. I struggled with an answer. A month ago, I’d have probably said something noncommittal and stewed, but last night I was able to answer, “Conflicted.” I confessed my frustration. That I expected attention, even though the terms of our dynamic gave me no reason to do so. She said she could feel my frustration. I apologized for being moody and said I didn’t want her to feel guilty. She said she didn’t feel guilty. The tube between my legs throbbed at that.

She wanted me to know that even though we could have had sex at that moment, we weren’t going to because she would only be doing it for me, not because she wanted it. Yes, she did want to reward me for my excellent service, but it needed to happen when she wanted it to and not at any other time. My behavior could not be used to manipulate her actions.

The way she said these things, in a measured and thoughtful way, totally obliterated the petulant sex lizard. My internal bunny came roaring back. She meant this. She felt it. My Belle Fille was in total possession of her dominant position over me. All my internal conflict dropped away leaving me feeling absolutely under her control.

I told her I understood completely and that I loved her, completely. Our sex belonged to and was for her. I apologized for having expectations I had no right to. We kissed and I burned. She rolled over and I spooned into her so insistently it was if I was trying to fuse myself to her.

This morning, I’m content. Yes, terribly horny – my sexual frustration rings through me like a struck bell – but content nonetheless. My wonderful, beautiful, caring Belle Fille has never wielded her sexual dominance over me more assuredly than she did last night and I am beyond appreciative to her for doing so. She makes me very, very happy and I know how lucky I am to have her.

Posted on

The plateau

I stood next to the bed and waited for her to acknowledge me. Before our lost month, she had started to call it her bed and I felt it was time for me to start acting like it was again.

“What?”

“Can I get into your bed?”

Pause. “Not like that, you can’t,” meaning I had to get naked, “and not without the foot lotion.” She wanted another foot massage.

Massaging her feet this time was different than it had been the night before. And it was all very meta since after I started the massage, she read my last post about that massage where she left a comment about this massage (dizzy yet?). And she was very chatty. That, along with just having spent the evening with her parents, made my headspace less deep than it had been the night before. Besides, I was thinking about the cock too much.

Earlier, I had asked to be unlocked so I could switch to a larger ring. I had the familiar issue of irritation on the right side of my scrotum and thought a slightly looser ring might help while it healed. This happens every time I get locked up at some point. In any event, after switching, I went to her to get relocked (she likes to make it click) and she took the lock in her hand, but paused. She was considering. Hello? What’s she thinking? Am I going to get out? Does she want her cock? My heart skipped a beat.

“Not yet,” she said, leaving the lock in place, but not closed.

So as I knelt there, rubbing her feet with the thick lotion and feeling my hands ache from the effort, the thought of that little chrome lock dangling, open, from the device she makes me wear loomed large. Later, she decided she wanted her neck and shoulders massaged, so she sat in front of me topless. I got up on my knees in order to get better leverage against her tight muscles and felt the device (and it’s prisoner) press against her back.

The chatting continued (induced by the wine she was drinking and had drunk while her parents were over). She talked about her trip to San Fransisco and how she and her girlfriends had shopped at Good Vibrations. She bought a little silver pocket vibe that’s a about an inch long which she keeps in the lipstick case in her purse.

“You can think about me carrying that with me wherever I go.”

“Trust me, I do.”

She started to tell me about the toys her friends have. One of them (the one that lives there) has a very elaborate rabbit-style vibe while the other has toys her husband brought home, but she wouldn’t talk about them. I’m very happy to hear she’s sharing her new sexual adventurism with her friends and I’m thrilled she went to shop for those things and didn’t even tell me about the new little vibe until she got home (even more thrilled to hear she used it before she got home). For a few moments there, I thought she might have told her friends (or, at least the non-uptight one) about what we did, but she never went there. Maybe she has, maybe not. I wouldn’t have a problem with it if she did and actually wish she would since she has no one to talk to about it.

After a long, long back rub and lots of praise by her regarding what a good job I was doing and what a good job I had done all week, she told me to lie down on my back. Oh boy, I thought, here it comes! I’ve been good! She’s going to give me my reward!

“Remember how you’ve said it’s important to have teasing along with the denial?” she asked while fingering the lock.

“Sure,” I answered, wondering what her point was and when she was going to take the device off of me.

“Well, this is the tease part,” she said as she clicked the lock closed.

Fuck. I walked right into that. I’m such a stupid fucking guy.

“Now, you’re going to do your best job using both my vibes on me and then we’re going to go to sleep.”

The little silver vibe sounds like a hyperactive bee. Very different than Pink’s baritone hum. I fucked her with Pink and used the little silver dude on her clit. This was entirely about her. I was doing nothing more than servicing her pussy. None of the ancillary ways in which I scrape together a little sexual satisfaction were available to me. I had to use both hands and had my head down by my work, so I couldn’t play with or suck on her nipples. I wasn’t actually touching her as much as I was touching the devices she told me to use on her. A few minutes earlier I thought I was in line for some kind of action that was going to be all about me and she had totally turned the tables and had me acting like some kind of twisted sexual masseuse while I worked her pussy into an orgasmic frenzy. I really should stop doubting that my Belle hasn’t embraced her role as my dominant, because she very nicely played me like a fucking jukebox.

Belle’s orgasm was unlike any I’ve ever seen her enjoy. Usually, she climbs a giant sloping mountain only to come crashing over a cliff at the end. This time, the combination of getting fucked by Pink – feeling its vibrations deep in her pussy – while the little silver dude spastically assaulted her clit brought her to a high, wide plateau of semi-orgasmic sensation. What I thought was her climax just kept going. Minutes ticked by. I was starting to get worried but then realized she was having an entirely new orgasmic experience. I was simultaneously happy for her and ripped with the aching knowledge that not only was I getting nothing during or after, but that technically speaking, I wasn’t responsible for what she was enjoying. I was only the operator of the little plastic wonders holding her at the very apex of the waterfall. Just a spectator.

Eventually, it ended. I can’t say “she came” because neither of us is sure what she experienced. I think it was a really long, very intense orgasm. But there never seemed to be that one emphatic exclamation point of a moment emblematic of a typical climax. I envy her, though. And I’m glad I was able to be there to see it happen.