Tag: domination

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Übersub

Again this morning with the clear precum leaking out of me. There was a healthy glob of it collected in the end of the tube when I first got out of bed. I cleaned that out, but as I walked around I felt it dripping down my pajama-clad legs all morning. I am now cruising on a wave of sexual frustration equal to anything I’ve experienced before.

Last night, Belle allowed me to give her a foot massage. I stripped and kneeled at her feet. In that position, naked while she was clothed, exposing the chastity device to her clearly (something that I’m still occasionally self conscious about) left me feeling profoundly submissive and the device fully packed and straining. She made a few comments about how good I looked and what a nice job I was doing and that only compounded the feeling. I’ve said before I don’t have any kind of foot fetish, but when I’m in that spot and she’s in the mood she was in last night, I want to kiss and lick her feet – to worship her in that most classic of submissive positions. It was all wonderfully powerful stuff.

Then she wanted a back massage, but not the simple neck-rub-through-the-shirt variety. I was using oil on her naked back. Placing towels under her at the start and being presented with glimpses of her naked breasts made my mouth water. Running my hands over and across her oiled and fragrant skin, kneading her muscles, as I straddled her ass and the device rested in the crack of her ass…nirvana. I gave her the best massage I could, working up a sweat in the process. When she had had enough, I was floating in a sea of sub energy. I felt so relaxed, so content, so happy being there with her, serving her, giving her pleasure. She told me I was a good man and all I could say in response was that I was all hers.

Of course I was unbelievably horny. There had been a constant pressure in the tube from the moment she had me undress, but I didn’t feel any urgency about it. It’s just how I am now. I could have made my feelings known by grinding into her or whining or moaning or some other now-forbidden activity, but I didn’t do any of that. I said I was going to let go of trying to maneuver her towards sex and I have. And, it turns out, there’s a kind of zen that comes from that. It’s like enjoying a fireworks show. You ooh and aah as it comes and just lay there and enjoy the experience. That’s where I was last night: wanting her badly, but feeling no need to try to dictate what happened next.

Which, I expected, would be sleep. She had already fallen asleep earlier putting our daughter to bed and was supremely relaxed from the all the rubbing. In that ubersub headspace, I would have felt zero disappointment or resentment. All I wanted was to please her and make her know how grateful I was to have the chance to do so. But, to my surprise (twice in one week with the surprises), she pulled out Pink, the little vibe that could, and wordlessly handed it to me. I was given the opportunity to perform my third act of service of the evening.

This morning, I’m still glowing (and leaking). I am a very happy bunny and I love my Belle Fille.

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No guilt zone

Elle, over on Kink Unleashed, seems to be wrestling with something I suspect my Belle also has issues with. Specifically, is it OK to use enforced chastity to make a man act more attentive, affectionate, etc.? Is that manipulative? Is it fair? Feel free to read her post for yourself, but that’s my take on what she was getting at. I left some comments over there that I’d like to expand and extend here.

Right up front I’ll say, yes, I think it’s fair. More than fair. Assuming the underlying relationship is good – that the chastity isn’t being used to “fix” something – and the D/s layer of the stack is humming along, then I say any weapon in the arsenal of the dominant is in play in order to provoke a certain response in the sub. I’d go so far as to say the submissive would welcome being “manipulated” by their dom in such a way. I don’t want Belle to feel any guilt for using whatever power she has over me to in order to make her life a little closer to what she wants or needs it to be. As a matter of fact, I like that kind of shit.

Secondly, Elle seems to suggest (and I know Belle has similar thoughts) that it shouldn’t be necessary to lock up a cock to make a man a better mate. Well, OK, but I think about it this way: Remember back at the beginning of the relationship when everything was new and the guy was super sweet and affectionate and yada yada and all the sex was awesome? From my perspective as a chastised man, all chastity does is recreate the emotional and hormonal atmosphere from those heady, intense days of discovery. No fucking kidding, I have always loved Belle and always will, but what I feel for her now is just as potent and amazing as what I felt when we first started seeing each other. Just as potent, and just as real. Chastising me and denying me and constantly keeping me on an ever-upward spiral of sexual frustration does not create feelings that don’t already exist within me, it amplifies and magnifies and feeds them back on themselves until they consume my mind – just like when I first met and fell in love with her.

And guess what? I like it! I want to feel that way about her. I want my heart to race and the meat between my legs to swell at the slightest of her touches. I want to linger on every kiss. I want the memory of her smell to cause me to daydream about that little spot under her hair, behind her ear, that I love to nibble on. I want to be waiting on her every need and looking for any way I can score points with her. And, I suspect, she likes that, too. As Elle said, what girl doesn’t want an attentive lover? There isn’t one little bit of that attentiveness that is in any way made less genuine just because it’s instigated by a chunk of polycarbonate locked onto a dude’s cock.

I could go on, but Belle’s told me she’d like me to clean the kitchen and make her coffee for the morning. After that, I know there’s a load of laundry downstairs that needs to be folded. Daylight’s wasting.

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Beat the clock

Day one of the new FLR experiment thingy went pretty well. I was motivated to wash, fold, and put away a couple of loads of laundry, did all the dishes after dinner, went and gassed up Belle’s car for her before work so she wouldn’t have to, got her coffee ready for the morning, and gave her a foot rub before also giving her a neck and shoulder massage. And no, it’s not all hot and steamy, but I did get a certain satisfaction from serving her. I wanted to do all of it and would have actually looked for a few other things, but there’s only so much time. This morning, there were a few things I should have done for her, but she got to them first. It just means I’ll need to be a little quicker next time. At some point, I’d like her to remember she can order me around, but whatever. Baby steps.

When we were finally in bed, the previous night’s sexually induced insomnia had left me totally exhausted. Even though my brain wanted to shut down, my body was too interested in her to let it. The feet and back rubbing had me too worked up and since she was letting me continue to touch her body and was talking to me, there was still a glimmer of hope she’d let me go further. I sure as hell wasn’t going to blink and roll over to sleep.

I was pretty sure she was debating internally whether she wanted a little something. I skated the seam between being affectionate and loving (and, hopefully, encouraging her to make the decision I wanted) and being overtly sexual. It has to be assumed by her that when I’m in this state, I am always ready for sex, but I am not allowed to make that too obvious. I can’t ask, can’t suggest, can’t lobby, beg or imply, and can’t be excessively forward in my actions. In short, no matter how badly I want to go down on her or fuck her senseless, I have to show composure and wait for her to offer. If Belle had said thanks sweetie and turned her back to me, I would have been disappointed, but would not have been allowed to register that disappointment in any way. Because, of course, it’s not about me. Sex is for her now. What she wants and when she wants it with the only goal being that of her total satisfaction. If she wants to throw me a bone just because she’s nice, then good for me, but I can’t sit at the table and drool while looking at it.

In any event, she finally rolled over and looked at the clock. I expected her to next say it was time to sleep, but instead she told me I had ten minutes to make her come. Ten minutes!? I felt like Augustus Gloop in that scene from Willy Wonka where he first sees the room where everything is made of candy, but I fought the urge to eat everything in sight. I needed to pace myself knowing ten minutes was actually way longer than I needed to make her come. If I rushed it, I’d be leaving all that body access time on the table (and maybe get sucked into a tube and sent to the Fudge Room…or something). Eventually, I found my face planted on her snatch, hungrily eating her out. It was glorious. I wasn’t checking the clock, but when she finally went over the falls, it had been exactly ten minutes.

Afterward, I did not feel the usual pseudo post-orgasmic satisfaction I feel when she’s come. Her orgasm wasn’t quite enough for the reptilian sex monster living within. Vivid images of me fucking her flashed though my mind. The memory of the what the hard cock felt like in her wet pussy insisted that I move forward – that I mount her and fuck her. But that was impossible. If I had been out of the device, she would have felt my desire and might have even indulged me, but the plastic feels hard no matter the condition of what’s inside. Since I wasn’t demonstrating how badly I wanted her, there was no way for her to know it. When she declared the evening’s activities at a close and, of course, it was clear I would get nothing else, it was wickedly disappointing. But it was as it should have been and entirely what I should have expected.

I spooned into her, told her I loved her, and thanked her for the opportunity to make her happy.

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Behavior modification through sleep deprivation

OK, this is getting out of control. I only got about four hours of sleep on Sunday night due to abject horniness and was expecting a nice restful slumber last night since Belle was back in bed with me. So color me surprised when I found myself just fucking laying there at 2:30 AM still miles and miles away from sleep. I got up, took one Tylenol PM and finally fell asleep 30-60 minutes later. Two hours after that, I was up with Belle’s alarm and the kids coming in to see her. Now I feel like someone slipped me a date rape drug (I should only be so lucky). Can someone come over here and pull all the cotton out of my head? Thanks.

On the plus side, I had plenty of time to think. Mostly, of course, it was about sex. I basically wrote out an entire pornographic story in my head tailored to my specific kinks and triggers. Why can’t someone write something like that for me? OK, I will. Sooner or later. Other than porn, I thought about Belle laying there next to me and how badly I wanted her. As usual, I didn’t want her in any specific way. Just more of a general desire to consumer her very being. Or rub my entire face over her pussy until her scent permeates my every pore. Either or. But, it wasn’t to be. After some incredibly charged kissing, she told me she just wanted to cuddle. Without the pelvic gyrations, please.

After several hours of thinking on it, I proposed to Belle this morning that we conduct a bit of an experiment. We’re going to try to take this whole femdom/FLR thing and go balls to the wall with it. I’ve committed to serve her completely for the rest of the month in any way she wants. I’ll do any and all tasks she dishes out, without complaint and to the best of my abilities, even if that means she’s doing nothing. This will be hard for her since she’s wired to do things for others rather than have them do things for her, but she’s going to try. I told her I really wanted her to judge how I completed the tasks as if I were her servant, not spouse, and to reward or punish me accordingly in whatever way she sees fit. I, of course, will be looking for things I can do for her so that she doesn’t have to ask. In addition, I’ve reiterated that she is solely in control of when and how we have sex and I won’t do anything that usurps her authority. I told her I have faith that she’ll take my needs into consideration and give me access to sex as often as she thinks best, but that otherwise I was not going to lobby or obsess (openly) about when it’s going to happen. A new twist is that she’s not necessarily going to deny me orgasms for the time we’re running this experiment. If she wants me to have one, I will. If not, I won’t. This isn’t about denial as much as it’s about her control and my lack of it. However, as part of the experiment, she is going to keep me in chastity all month.

The point of all this is to plumb the depths of the desire within me to make her happy that flows from her control over me. Will I find a kind of release and/or satisfaction by folding all the laundry? Doing all the dishes? Making the beds? Serving her? Dunno. We’re going to find out. I have to admit, the idea that her control over my sexuality is actually modifying my behavior does, all by itself, turn me on. I’m kind of getting off on being manipulated, molded, trained, brainwashed even. To me, it’s a manifestation of my deep desire to submit to her – in any way she wants me to.

I’d make an excellent cultist, don’t you think?

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Control

There’s a spot in my chest, just to the left of dead center, where I experience the most twiggy, wiggy, warm, and lovely sensation. It feels like a piece of me about the size of my fist, somewhere deep inside, becomes less dense than the rest of me. It’s an airy, lifty kind of feeling. It’s where the fluttering carnivorous butterflies roost. I’ve come to crave that feeling. Call it the feeling of being controlled, denied, submissive, or all of them rolled together. Whatever. I’m feeling it now and it’s wonderful.

It’s been nearly a month since I last felt it like this. A month with crossed wires, illness, awkwardness, and absence. A month where I felt little flickers of the feeling, but nothing that kindled and flared like right now. I’ve read backward on this blog to try to find the moment where the feeling started to diminish. As far as I can tell, it was when Belle released me from the chastity device.

So, doing what I do, I think about this. What does the device represent? Denial, bondage, frustration, discomfort, and sometimes even embarrassment or humiliation. But ultimately, what it represents is control. Her control over that part of me that I ceded to her. At the end of the day, what I crave more than anything is that feeling of her control.

My Belle is such a caring and giving person, I think it’s sometimes hard for her to treat me in a way that best represents her right to control me (or, at least, the way I’d prefer she treat me). She gives me choices when I’d rather not have them. She asks how I’m feeling in a way that suggests a level of concern and maybe even worry I wish she didn’t have. In short, she’s just not mean enough about it. The chastity device, however, has no qualms about its job. It is always impassively cruel. It hurts, gets in the way, complicates my life, and frustrates the living hell out of me. It is the bad cop to Belle’s good cop. It does the dirty work for her and it’s with me every hour of every day. Remove the device, and then it’s all up to her.

And she’s very lenient. Last time she let me out, she gave me blanket permission to play with her property (but, of course, not to go all the way to actual orgasm). I ran with that. Whenever I had a chance, I’d rub it, stroke it, edge myself, and even go so far as to abandon some orgasms. I did not (until that one morning after our miscommunication) ever go so far as to actually achieve orgasm, but I went right up to that line – as close as a guy can. According to much of the femdom literature on the web (example), it’s the man’s excessive use of masturbation that limits his ability to properly serve his woman. I want to feel that on some level that’s a crock of shit, but for me, I know it’s true. When I feel this little knot of airy submissiveness in my chest, I crave opportunity to serve her (preferably sexually, but in all kinds of other ways I never though I would). And I am really and truly happy. But it’s not masturbation in the sense I’d define it that’s the problem (that is, jerking off until I come). It’s just having access to the plaything, and taking advantage of that access, that starts to bleed off my submissive energy.

And that gets us back to the CB6K. Maybe it’s because I’ve become so used to no longer having orgasms in anything like the frequency of the past, but being denied the feeling of a fat, hard cock in my hand is harder to deal with than not being able to pull on it until it squirts. That lack of access, of craving a full and satisfying erection, is what stokes the feeling I love so much. It’s the ultimate irony and the single most difficult aspect of all this for Belle to understand, it think. I derive pleasure and happiness from the searing physic pain of being forced to submit to her control.

I’m not sure what any of this means from a practical perspective. I suppose I’m arguing that she should leave me locked up more often than not. That she should let me out when she wants to feel a real cock inside her or wants me to come, but otherwise keep it encased. Or, when it’s not protected, that she forbid me to use it in any way that gives me pleasure outside her company. Sort of move the denial goal posts back a bit, if you will. In any event, I think I’ve identified the single ingredient that creates that happy little spot in my soul.

Absolute, smothering, unquestionable control.

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Click

This morning, Belle put me back in the plastic. She’s off again to spend a long weekend with girlfriends in San Francisco and decided I would not have access to the cock while she was gone. In fact, she’s decided I won’t get to touch it until her birthday at the end of the month when she and I spend a few nights in a quaint B&B.

I haven’t been writing much because I’m not exactly sure what I would have been writing about. The dynamic has more or less slipped away for me since even before the unexpected turn. In pondering this, I think it’s because I stopped believing that Belle really wanted to dominate me. I’m not the kind of guy who wants to be submissive so badly that I’m able to suspend disbelief and project onto her an interest in dominance that’s not there. Once I doubted her motivation, the foundation just crumbled away on my side.

We had a chat about this the other night. I wanted to know what the status was from her perspective. Were we still playing with the D/s? She surprised me by responding that, as far as she was concerned, we were. Nothing had changed. Of course, lots had changed. My entire demeanor had changed, but she was operating under the assumption that we were still doing it. True, she had denied me orgasm twice in the recent past, but I had also come about three times. I didn’t feel denied or dominated. Nor did she talk or act like she was dominating me. After giving her an orgasm one night, she told me to roll the dice to see if I got to come. Odd, I wouldn’t, even, it would be my choice. My choice. I don’t want a stinking choice. I’m happy to submit to the whim of the dice if that’s what she wants, but make it a binary outcome, not a choice (turned out to be an 11, so the crisis of decision was averted). Also, she stopped telling me to sleep naked and started saying I could if I wanted to. Funny thing is, I almost always do want to, except when she says it’s my choice. Then I don’t.

I am undeterred. Even though we’ve been though this weird patch, I’m willing to chalk it up to her being very busy at work and our generally learning how to do this from scratch. In fact, I haven’t come in a week now and am starting to feel the need. On top of that, she’s locked me up and is carrying my key around her neck. I face the prospect of not having another orgasm for nearly a month. I feel an upswing is in the air. Or maybe that’s spring. Whichever, I’m still optimistic.

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An unexpected turn

Tuesday night, we talked about my continuing funk. Long story short, I no longer felt denied as much as I felt absence. I had come to the point where I wasn’t horny anymore. Even though we had had a few sexual encounters, we both knew my orgasm wasn’t an option, and the in-between time felt like sexual vacuum. Our not-quite-sex sessions (those in which I get hard and horny, and maybe she abuses me a little, but ultimately nothing happens) weren’t occurring since I was not allowed to touch her in that way without her permission. Those sessions are vital, I believe, in maintaining my arousal and frustration in between opportunities to pleasure her. I wasn’t coming, I wasn’t even getting really turned on, so my sex drive kind of curled up and went to sleep. That was my theory, anyway.

In order to help aleve that problem, she said I could start touching her any way I liked again. Wednesday night, I was going to touch the living fuck out of her. Groping, kissing, squeezing, licking – anything and everything she’d let me get away with before pouring the ice water of her feminine control over me and forcing me to stuff it all away. We even texted each other about it during the day. It was going to be fun. Finally, a little action just for me. And yes, even in a D/s arrangement, everyone needs a little something just for them. So the kids were all sleeping, the candles were all lit, and the iPod was making pleasant sounds when I made my move.

Then we had another talk. Turns out, she’s kinda over the whole D/s paradigm at the moment. She’s been very busy at her job working on a big project and said she feels like she’s drifting down a river and all the things she needs to do are little piranha taking bites out of her. Her “responsibilities” as the D were among those piranha. All she wanted was for things to go back to normal for a while. No having to worry about when I’m going to come or be locked up or what the Covenant says or any of that crap. Straight, vanilla relationship. At least for a bit.

She really didn’t think that little bombshell would ruin the moment. Seriously. More than anything else, I understand that least of all. God knows, these things happen. At any other moment in any other setting, we could have reasoned through it. I do understand where she’s coming from. But, at the very moment she laid this on me, I was naked, hard, wearing the big steel cock ring, and had her nipple between my fingertips. After, I was quiet, introspective, felt untethered, and was once again uninterested in sex.

I don’t think Belle understands how much our D/s has impacted me. My entire approach to sex and sexual gratification has been rewritten. To simply turn all that off and go back to the old days just isn’t something I can do on command. I could do it situationally. That is, if she integrated it into the D/s dynamic and, in effect, ordered me to behave the way she wanted. But instead, she pulled the plug. Thinking back, she may have actually pulled it over a week ago. It’s hard to say, but the funk I’ve been in could just as easily been caused by her undeclared decision to pull back from the D/s (whether or not that was even done consciously on her part). I wanted to make it my problem, but it could have been mutual. I don’t know. Not that it much matters at this point.

This morning, I masturbated to orgasm. It did not feel good, I didn’t enjoy it, and I wasn’t especially interested in having an orgasm. But I did it just the same. And now I feel terrible. Why? I’m no longer bound by the Covenant. She’s not interested in controlling my emissions. For the time being, I’m just as free as any other wanker in the world. All that’s true, but in fact, that act was my response to her decision from the previous night. It was probably rash and really not necessary, but it was the only way I could tease out a little show of control in a situation I really have no control over. So now the guy interested in being controlled by his wife is trying to find ways of fighting his lack of control? WTF?

My plan at this point is to stop talking about it. I know how to be her “normal” husband, so that’s what I’ll be. I really just want to move past this. If I’m something else in the future, that’s up to her. It could be a day, week, month or never. But I can’t make her do something she’s not interested in and, honestly, I wouldn’t want it that way even if I could.

Regarding this blog, what is the point of writing about Thumper if he’s not being denied? Good question. There seems to be a lot of this kind of talk going around lately. I guess we’ll have to see if I’m capable of forming coherent thoughts around what’s in my head or if I even feel the need to write them down if I do.

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Whimpering, doggie-style

My dog hates it when Belle beats me. I’m sure he thinks that if I’m getting the crap beat out of me, then he’s next on the list. The problem he presents is twofold. We can’t leave him outside our room because he’ll want to come in and will sit out in the hall and whine, scratch, etc., eventually waking the kids. Having him in the room is problematic since he’s a major distraction. Kinda hard to really get off on being whipped when the dog is pacing around whimpering and trying to sqeeze into places too small for him. By the time she was through working her aggression out on my ass, the dog was hiding under the bed and didn’t want to come out.

“Thumper’s Choice”, for those who are curious, involved being tied to the bed on my stomach, wrists secured by handcuffs, handcuffs strapped to the headboard, ankles separately cuffed and strapped to the footboard. I could almost raise myself up on my elbows and knees. She blindfolded me, rubbed some Icy Hot on my nuts and nipples, and proceeded to flog my ass with her little toy flogger. I call it a toy because it’s just a bunch of thin rubber cords on a plastic handle. Not the most beautiful of implements, but it was what we got at the beginning of our exploration. While it looks like a toy, it definitely does not feel like one. When she gets going with it, the resulting stinging and burning can get pretty intense. Still, I’d like to get something a little sexier.

It was a longer session that usual, though I can’t tell how long. I kind get all timeless when she’s hurting me. I know it was long enough for the Icy Hot to stop burning like a motherfucker, so maybe 30 minutes? I dunno. There were times when the combination of the burning nuts and the hard, repetitive striking of my ass was nearly more than I could handle, but the times in between were heavenly. She’d lazily brush just the ends of the flogger along my spine, over my ass, and then up between my cheeks. Just when I was grooving to the gentle sweetness of it, arching my back and raising my ass into the air, I’d hear the thin rubber strands whistle through the air a microsecond before they struck me again. She’s getting pretty good at the hitting thing. She even said she enjoyed it. Says it’s cathartic. Well, baby, you can get your catharsis out on my ass whenever you want.

Afterward, she wouldn’t let me get her off. I had to wait until last night for that. She told me to give her a back and shoulder massage (with the oil) before having me use the little pink vibrator on her. Again, not good with keeping time, but she came so hard and so fast it felt like it was over before it even got started. I have to admit, I felt somewhat cheated. Seriously, it was maybe ten seconds from the time I put the vibe against her clit and the time she started to come. Through all this, she never let me get naked – not even when we went to sleep. I wanted to. A lot. But she never gave the word. This means one of two things. One, she just forgot. I can’t explain why (trust me, I just started and erased four different attempts), but simply forgetting to allow me to do this would leave me feeling a little neglected. Kinda like forgetting to feed the dog or something. Anyway, the other option is she was purposefully withholding that permission. In which case, telling me she was doing so would have felt better, as it does whenever she demonstrates her control over me.

Speaking of which, I’m still not feeling the subby vibe. In fact, I’ve been in a funk for about a week and it’s getting funkier. I’m not panicking and questioning my entire world order as I have previously when this has happened. I’ve learned over the past four months that being flooded with all these hormones and abdicating self-determination regarding my sexual satisfaction makes me emotionally vulnerable. The slightest thing can push me into the mood I’m in right now. I know it’ll work itself out shortly. At least, I hope it will.