Tag: domination

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Chastise me

As if you didn’t already know, this post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, bondage, and domination so far. This time, chastity.

—

Belle,

I very purposefully tried to leave chastity out of the previous posts since it’s the crossroad for everything that has come before. It’s the vortex where all my sexual perversions swirl together. With one little piece of polycarbonate, you deny me, hurt me, bind me, and dominate me.

  • Denial. It’s absolute. Not only am I denied orgasm, I’m denied any pleasurable contact whatsoever with my cock. Many times my frustration has been so great that I’ve clawed at the thing or run my fingers over the hard plastic tube as if I was stroking myself. I’m not trying to come when I do that, I’m just trying to achieve some kind of satisfaction. It’s pretty much impossible. Plus, as an added bonus, I am also denied your touch which I crave. When you lock me up, my cock might as well not even exist. You have no idea how many of my buttons that pushes.
  • Pain. The pain comes most intensely from the inevitable stifled erections, especially the ones at night. At first, these tortured me and caused me quite a bit of consternation. Now, though, I’ve be able to rationalize the pain as a symbol of my service and devotion to you. I’ve given you my cock and you’ve chosen to encase it in plastic. The pain I feel is from you, even when you’re sleeping peacefully next to me. Not to be dismissed is the lower level pain I experience all day long from trying to live with a hard plastic device strapped to a very tight spot. Sitting for too long will cause the skin trapped by the ring to burn. My jeans will push the entire contraption into my pelvis when I drive the car which eventually leaves me aching. The skin on my scrotum can be painfully stretched (which is why it feels so thick and leathery when you eventually let me out). I now look forward to all that pain and miss it when I’m out of the device.
  • Bondage. What is the device except a hyper-specialized implement of bondage? When I’m in it and fully aroused and it’s pulling up and away from my body, all the flesh tight and burning, the pressure in the tube seemingly strong enough to explode its seems…yes, that’s delicious. If bondage is basically the acquiescence of physical control to another, then a device like the CB6K may be one of the most perfect bondage toys ever devised. At least it’s the one with the best ROI.
  • Domination. Of course, it’s on me because you dominate that part of my body. You own it. I am reminded constantly, 24 hours a day of that arrangement. Having to always shift when I sit looking for a more comfortable position, being careful not to let it show as it presses in sharp relief through my jeans, always worrying if I’ll be able to relieve myself successfully – it is with me all the time, and so is your control over me.

I have a love/hate (but mostly love) relationship with the thing. I find it’s a relief to get it off, but shortly afterward I wish it was back on. It pisses me off and is a constant distraction, but I pine for it when it’s not there. I’m not saying I want to wear it 24/7/365, but I am saying I want to wear it more than I have recently. Before you left on your trip, you talked about locking me up for the duration of your absence. I begged off citing the still-fresh piercing, but the threat of being encased made me realize how badly I missed wearing it. So much so that I put it on Sunday night and will wear it until you tell me to take it off again. I’m pretty sure my piercing has finally healed enough to allow it (I promise, I’m not pushing it). I’ll be keeping an eye on it to be safe, but last night as I lay in bed with it clamped around my meat, it was like sleeping with a security blanket. You’re on the other side of the world, but still in control of the cock I gave you.

If you’re serious about drastically reducing my orgasmic productivity in 2009, then please leave me in the device for longer periods of time, especially if we’re not going to be together (I wouldn’t mind if I had to wear it every time we’re apart for longer than a day). My longest stint in there has been eight days. Why not fourteen? Or twenty-one? Eventually, I’d like to see what more than a month in lock-up feels like. There’s even a part of me that would like you to lock me away and enjoy all the other ways I can pleasure you so much that you forget all about my little prisoner for an indefinite period. What’s the longest you could leave me in there, anyway? Remember what I said about pushing my boundaries?

I know one of the reasons you let me out is because you crave the feeling of me in you. There’s a part of me that enjoys knowing you’re feeling just a tiny sliver of the denial I am (albeit it a very, very tiny sliver). That being said, there’s no reason why you need to be denied. You can let me out just for your pleasure and then lock me back up again immediately afterward. Even better, I would love you to make me fuck you with a strap-on. The thought of being supplanted by a thing that – based on a comparison of popular features – is superior to my own perfectly serviceable organ while it strains uselessly beneath the newcomer…oh god, I may swoon.

Eventually, I’d like to get a different chastity device. One made of steel and built with my PA piercing in mind. Regardless of what it’s made of or how it works, though, the fact that the device itself embodies all my kinks all rolled up into one neat package makes it the big kahuna of my sexual fetishes. Thank you for letting me wear it.

Yours in every way,
Thumper

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Dominate me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, and bondage so far. This time, domination.

—

Belle,

Of all the topics I’ve covered so far, this one is the hardest for me to express what I want. Hard because I’m still trying to get my head around exactly how dominated I want to be (or how far you’re willing to go). Hard also because some of the things I’m going to suggest below are embarrassing for me to say out loud, let along in public (even in this anonymous forum). Regardless, you told me I had to write these things down, so here they are.

  • Domestics. I’ve already discussed how domestic domination isn’t really my cup of tea. I’d make a terrible housemaid and, truth be told, being treated like one doesn’t do much for me. That being said, I think tying the prospect of sexual activity – especially activity that’s centered on my pleasure – to household tasks is fair game. Such as, accomplish everything on this list and maybe I’ll get tied up and flogged later. Or, you’ll ruin an orgasm for me later if I just let you sit there and enjoy your wine by the fire while I put the kids to bed. Or, if I fail to put my dirty clothes and shoes away properly just once you will deny me the right to give you an orgasm in any way for a week. That sort of thing.
  • Body service. Anything that lets me pleasure your body, even in non-sexual ways, is terrific. I love it when you let me wash your hair. I love the sensual aspect of massaging your scalp, neck and shoulders. I love how you’re right there, all naked and covered in sweet-smelling bubbles while I’m clothed and only able to grind against the side of the tub (assuming I’m not in chastity). You should make me rub your feet with lotion and give you whole-body massages more often. I know how much you like them. You can leave me clothed if you’re worried about me getting overly aroused (again, assuming I’m not in chastity). Also, we need to set up a regular schedule for maintaining your trim.
  • Subjugation. I often don’t act as though I’ve given you control over my sex. I get too pushy or come on too strong. I think it’s appropriate for me to let you know how horny I am or how badly I want to make you happy, but sometimes I cross the line. I’d like you to remind me more often what I need or want is secondary to what you want. The phrase you make me say is a good start. You could make it more effective by making me say it while you put my collar around my throat. Or, you could make me repeat it over and over while you pleasure or torture me. If I stop, you stop. Maybe I should say it each time you hit my ass with the brush. I also think you should make me bow my head or in some other way show my sexual subservience to you. Make me kneel at the bedside and/or suck your toes for an arbitrary length of time. Make me hold a submissive position for longer than is comfortable, perhaps while you pleasure yourself.
  • Humiliation. I know how much you love me and how much you enjoy what I do to you in bed, but a little humiliation wouldn’t be so bad now and then. Tell me when you feel I’m not giving you an optimal sexual experience. Harshly criticize my performance. Tell me perhaps I’m not up to it or that I don’t take my service to you seriously enough. If I don’t shape up, maybe I’ll lose access to your body for a week or stay locked and without orgasm for another month. Tell me how much bigger than me the dildo is and how much more intense the pleasure you get from Pink is. Feel free to exaggerate anything and use it against me. Or, figure out something I really don’t want to do, then make me do it. I like how it accentuates the imbalance of power and plays on my unfairness trigger.
  • Discomfort. When you want me to fuck you to orgasm, make me do so while also sucking on your nipples. If I can do it too easily, make me do it while my hands are tied behind my back or the chain between my cock ring and collar is a little too short. When I’m laying next to you paying attention to your nipples, stop putting a pillow under my head. Have no fear of telling me to hold positions that will make me uncomfortable. Straddle my mouth and tell me to lick your pussy. Grind into my face if it feels good to you. If I can’t breath, I’ll eventually let you know.
  • Collar me. Whenever we’re going to engage in a dom/sub session, collar me. However, don’t let me wear it otherwise. I should only associate it with being submissive to you.
  • Rat me out. Related to humiliation, I fantasize that you’ll one day tell someone we both know that you dominate me sexually. That you orgasm many, many times more often than me and that I’m not allowed to come without your permission (which is seldom given). That you make me wear a chastity device for weeks at a time and how eventually my frustration becomes so great that semen just leaks out of me due its excessive accumulation in my prostate. That you can make me do anything if I’ve been denied long enough. And that I love it and wouldn’t have it any other way.

As I’ve said to you before, I have hesitated to say these things so frankly to you for fear of being prescriptive. Yes, I fantasize of being dominated by you, but if you do it only because I want you to, then the fantasy falls apart. I’ve seen how the control you’ve demonstrated over my orgasms has turned you on. I know you enjoy seeing me frustrated and horny. I know that you enjoy the elevated level of attention I give you. I only hope you can see the same kind of potential for your pleasure that exists in what I’ve written above and will use it in a way you enjoy. Because if you don’t enjoy it, neither will I.

Yours in very way,
Thumper

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Bind me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial and pain so far. Today, bondage.

—

Belle,

Bondage is tricky since, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a means to an end. That is, bondage in an of itself is enjoyable, but it’s usually performed in combination with another activity. For example, ruining an orgasm through overstimulation probably would require I be secured since the sensation will be difficult for me to endure otherwise. Bondage can also be employed as an added spice to something that wouldn’t normally require it. Using my cock to pleasure yourself is wonderful, but being tied down while you ride it to orgasm is even more wonderful since it makes me feel like even more of a tool.

With that in mind, here’s a list of some things related to bondage that I’m interested in:

  • Rope. So far, we’ve used cuffs and straps to bind me, but the idea of being tied up with soft, black rope is even more arousing. The straps and cuffs are very effective and efficient, but can also come off as somewhat utilitarian. Taking the time to wrap me with rope is a sensual act. Also, rope can be used to bind me in so many different ways. Yes, it’s more complicated and yes, it’ll take time to learn, but it’s so HOT.
  • Sensation. Once you have me all bound up, I’d like to feel various sensations. Not all of them need to be painful, though. Intensity is what I’m looking for. Blindfold me, then use a Wartenberg Pinwheel, feather, flogger, or clothespins on me. Tickle me, scratch me, dig your nails into my softer bits. Bite me, spank me, rub IcyHot on my cock. Lick me, kiss me, trace me with ice. Whatever you can think of, I’m game.
  • Metal. I’d like to play with handcuffs and chains. Bind my wrists and ankles with chains secured with padlocks. Use a shorter length with a padlock as a collar. We could use the chains with the straps we already have so as not to mar the finish on our beautiful bed. We could also use a length of chain to connect my cock ring to my collar. I want to feel you yank on that chain and direct my attention to various parts of your body.
  • Make me wait. I’d like you to bind me and then let me lay there while you surf the web, watch TV, or even pleasure yourself while I am made to wait helplessly. In fact, securing me and then making me watch you use the dildo or Pink on yourself while I’m stuck in the CB6K, desperate for attention and release, sounds wonderfully excruciating.

I hope this give you some ideas on how to use bondage. Truth is, I can’t think of any activity that can’t be improved with a little immobilization.

Yours in every way,
Thumper

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Hurt me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. Yesterday, it was orgasm denial. Today, pain.

—

Belle,

As we’ve already established, I like it when you hurt me. So far, this has been mostly confined to pain you’ve inflicted with your hands (pinching, scratching, squeezing), and that’s been good. But I want more. Here’s a list of all the ways I can think of at the moment that I’d like to play with you:

  • Nipples. I love it when you pinch and twist my nipples. You’ve really let yourself go lately and, in fact, have left them raw and stinging all the next day. That’s good! However, I also like the little chrome clothespins we bought. They’re very strong and create a different kind of pain. A longer, burning intensity that builds over time. Also, don’t forget the little clamps attached by the chain. Put them on me and then pull on the chain. Stretch my nipples. They like that.
  • Biting. You know how I feel about this. You can bite me anywhere, any time. What you do to my neck is glorious, especially when it leaves a mark. In fact, feel free to leave marks where they’ll show. I might be ashamed by them, but that’s OK. None of your concern. When you bite my ass, it sends me over the moon. There may be nothing I like better. Bite it harder. You can also bite my earlobes, my ribs, my hips, and my inner thighs. Oh, and don’t forget the nipples again. They’re little sluts, my nipples.
  • Nuts. Recently, you’ve started squeezing my balls. I like that. You can squeeze them harder. It’s a unique pain and one I only want you to inflict on me. Squeeze them, slap them, abuse them. We should read that book you leafed through who’s pictures horrified you. There are so many ways to torture the cock and balls. Binding them with thin rope, in particular, is something I’d like you to do to me.
  • Flogging. That little flogger you bought in San Francisco turned out to be a more serious toy than I thought it would be, but I want to try something heavier. I want you to flog my ass, my chest, the insides and back of my thighs, my upper back, and even my balls. I want you to raise welts on me. I want it to sting the next day. I want you to mark me.
  • Spanking. That nice, wide, heavy wooden Aveda brush? Spank my ass with it. Spank me until my ass glows. You can also use your hands or one of my leather belts. I spanked myself once with my own belt in a hotel room. It was hard, but I managed it. Belts leave lovely marks behind and the sound of them cracking over skin is heavenly.
  • Slapping. Feel free to slap me. What is slapping, anyway, except spanking for the face? Am I accidentally being too rough on your nipples? Am I whining too much for you? Begging just a little more than you’d like? Pull me up by my collar and slap me across the face. Then kiss me.

Regarding pain of all sorts, remember that I want you to push me. When I ask for it to end, tell me you’d like to see me accept a little more. When I beg, tell me how much it would mean to you if I endured it longer still. This I will do – want to do – for you.

In every way yours,
Thumper

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Deny me

I’m going to ease my way into my task and start with the basics (and the one area we’re already doing pretty well in). In short, I want Belle to deny me my orgasms.

Last night, after all the emotional turmoil and crying and stuff, just as we were spooning in bed and starting the long slide into sleep, I asked Belle what the fewest number of orgasms was that she’d let me have over the new year. Without missing a beat, she said three. Three. Total. Not three more. So, I’ve already burned 33% of this theoretical minimum. Shit! I don’t think she was kidding. If she really does keep me to this insanely small number, then she will come fifty times more often than me. I get a little light in the head just thinking about it. As a matter of fact, moments after she said that, my cock was rock-fucking-hard. Harder than it’s been in a really long time. We’re talking, Man of Steel hard. She noted that not only was I hard, I actually dribbled a little precum from merely considering only coming three times in twelve months.

So yeah, we’re doing well here. She’s getting off on not letting me get off. She likes the control. Likes how frustrated I get. Likes how it gives her power over me. She wants to be the calmly collected one while I’m all hot and hard and struggling for composure. In fact, I have zero complaints about this intersection of my kink and our sex life. I’m not even sure it still is just a kink. There’s an almost transcendental aspect to decoupling orgasm from sex and letting the urge build within. I love how it makes me think and feel and how it changes the way I treat Belle.

There’s just one thing I’m going to work on in the new year. I’m going to truly let go of thinking about coming or not. I’ve often found myself worrying that she’s going to tell me to come when I’m not ready or perhaps not let me on a night I expect it. From now on, I won’t even consider it to be an option. The next one might be tomorrow or it might be in a year or maybe never again. If she’s in control of them, then she’s in control. I need to absolutely release authority to her.

I would ask that she give me some warning before letting me get a release. As I’ve said before, I feel as though my approach to non-orgasmic sex is different than “normal” sex. My head’s just not in the right place to come. Hopefully, she’ll keep that in mind. If not, then I’ll deal with it.

Adjunct to orgasm denial is the ruined orgasm. Since the task left to me was to give Belle actionable things I want done to me, then I’ll add this to the list. According to Wikipedia, a ruined orgasm is one that is “unsatisfactory, awkward or even painful to experience”. There are four ways I’d like to experiment with having my orgasms ruined. The first is one we’ve already done once. Immediately after I come, make me eat it. I won’t want to, but make me do it anyway. Probably the best way would be to scoop it up and put it in my mouth for me since I will be loathed to do it myself. (Afterthought: You could also try telling me I’m going to eat whatever I produce beforehand which will cause me resist the pleasure of the orgasm. Making me fight with my own body, as you do when you deny me my orgasm, turns me on.) The second method would be to jack me off to the moment just before ejaculation, and then let go and give me no further physical stimulation. Either I won’t squirt, in which case I’ll be excellently edged, or I will, but won’t feel the same orgasmic pleasure from it. The third method would be to inflict pain at the moment of ejaculation. The best way might be to have me jack off and then grab my balls and squeeze the fuck out of them right when I start to come. I like this kind of stimulation when I’m aroused, but to do it during ejaculation will most certainly take away the pleasure. The fourth method is overstimulation. This one involves jacking me off until I come but then continuing to stroke me using my own ejaculate as lubricant, preferably concentrating on the head of my cock. Honestly, this one will probably require I be strapped down since I will fight it, but if you do it for even just an extra 20 or 30 seconds, that orgasm will be thoroughly ruined.

You might ask why. Why in god’s name would anyone want this done to them? Well, you could similarly ask that question regarding everthing I want, but in this case it’s primarily about you asserting your dominant position over me and what happens to my cock. Not only can you allow me to come, but sometimes, you can ruin the event for me. That’s the level of control you have over my pleasure. Not only that, but it hits all my unfairness buttons, too. If I’m only allowed a very limited number of orgasmic events, how terrible is it that you won’t even let all of them be satisfying?

Note: As far as I can tell, many who practice BDSM and ruined orgasms wouldn’t actually consider one that is ruined to have been a real orgasm. You can use that info any way you like, especially when it comes to math.

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My task

Where to begin? Last night started out bad, got worse, then ended on a hopeful note.

It was my Belle Fille’s last night at home before she left for her week overseas. We made dinner together. It was fun hanging out in the kitchen, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company. I was buoyantly optimistic that we’d have a good night in bed and was building up the courage to suggest a few new twists to our repertoire. Just after we finished eating and the kids had scattered to consume their preferred media in the far corners of the house, we were alone. We were sitting close. I put my arm over her and kissed her neck. She put her hand in my lap and sneaked her fingers through the opening in my pajama bottoms. Then, through a series of events too obscure to detail here, we found ourselves reminded of my past infidelity.

The thing is, after you cheat on your wife and burn through all the psychic energy of traveling through the pain and healing and therapy, etc., the detritus of your stupid decision always remains scattered about just under the turf of everyday life. Sometimes, through no fault of anyone, you stumble upon it. It can be no big deal and you laugh it off together. Or, it can be like stepping in a pile of emotional dog shit. Other times, like an emotional land mine. Last night was somewhere between dog shit and land mine.

Belle wasn’t angry at me all over again or anything. No, it was more like the scab had been ripped off and the nasty feelings came oozing back out again. At one point, she was in the bathroom crying. I went through the typical range of “god, I’m such an asshole” to “god, not this again” feelings. Once the kids were down for the count, we went to bed and talked it over. She doesn’t like how it feels to come across like a basket case whenever this subject rears it’s shaggy head. I don’t like seeing her continue to suffer for my stupidity. In any event, we talked it though. Again. And not for the last time.

We were through it, though I knew everything was still too raw to expect any sex. I was disappointed, but only in myself since it was all the result of my actions. However, we were in a happy talky place and I thought I’d take the opportunity to go over some of the things I was hoping to spring on her before the night went all to hell. As I began, she cut me off, albiet nicely, and said she wasn’t feeling up to anything sexual that night.

As I retell that moment, it sounds very innocent. However, I reacted negatively. As I said, I already knew there wasn’t going to be any sex. That was perfectly obvious. She was simply confirming that, but I expect due to the all the emotions of the previous few hours, I took it as some kind of passive-aggressive rejection of the topic. And, through her rejection of the topic, she rejected me. Of course, I was overreacting. I know that now. But at the moment, it suddenly surfaced a tangle of conflicting emotions all bubbling under my skin.

First and foremost, I felt like a freak. All the sexual urges and kinks I have left me feeling exposed, insecure, and overly complicated. I apologized to her for being so weird and complex. If only I could go back to being “normal”, everything would be better. She challenged me on that and asked what normal was. I don’t know, but it’s not me, I answered. I told her I felt she wasn’t really into the role I asked her to assume. She was doing only the basic, cursory things I asked of her and wasn’t trying to grow into her dominant role and truly make it her own. Yes, she was controlling my orgasms, but that was about it. There wasn’t much in her actions that demonstrated she was very interested going very far beyond that. All the books I had purchased had basically sat unread by her. I apologized for asking too much of her, for putting her in this active, difficult position that obviously did not come naturally to her. For not the first time, I suggested that maybe we were heading down the wrong path and it was all my fault for putting us on it.

Now, I know there are many blogs on the web that could have produced the preceeding paragraph. There are gaggles of submissive men out there who came to realize what they wanted from their partners only after years of marriage. I know, I’m just another in a long line of whiny malesubs. I also know I was being totally unfair and excessively self-pitying. She has tried. But I’m feeling as though we’re moving too slowly and that her heart’s really not in it.

One of my biggest issues is how hard it is to actually tell her what I want her to do. I want to be submissive to her. I want to serve her, sexually. I want her to find my boundaries – the edges of where I’m comfortable – and ask me to go farther. And then I want to go farther, for her. I know where some of those boundaries are, but I feel that to simply tell her would be to rob them of their magic (which is also pretty fucked up, I know). I want her to discover them herself through practice. Besides, several of them are somewhat embarrassing to me. That’s why they’re on the edge. Yes, I understand that I’m basically asking her to read my mind and, yes, I get how that’s unfair. But she’s not really trying. And instead of being mad or frustrated at her, it all comes out as my insecurity and inferiority. It’s all my fault for being a freak.

She said a lot of things last night trying to bring me off the ledge. She says she doesn’t think I’m a freak and that she wants to do what it takes to make me happy, but I’m still feeling freakish. In order to help her help me, she’s left me with a simple task to perform while she’s gone. I am to detail here, on my blog, all the things I want. Not in broad, general terms (“I want you to dominate me”) but in actionable, specific terms (“I want you to spank my ass with the wooden hairbrush”). Over the course of the next week, that will be the theme here. It will be difficult for me since, even though only two of you know who I really am, I will be putting out there for all to read the dark corners of my sexual wishlist that have only been glimpsed or hinted at before.

We’ll see how it goes.

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One on 1/1

Belle surprised me this morning with permission to come. She had previously told me I’d have to wait until she got back from overseas, which would have put me at a minimum of 16 days, but I guess a combination of my plaintive, horny eyes and a fit of New Year’s generosity moved her to allow me to climax. It’s only been about six days since the last one, but that was coming off nearly three weeks between events and I can’t say I felt fully satisfied from it. I was very horny this morning – more than a six day denial should have made me. Based on comments from Tom and Eileen, this is apparently normal. Finally! I’m normal!!

In any event, Belle took me by surprise. All I wanted was to fuck her. She told me when I started that I’d get to come after her orgasm but, following her climax, I found that I couldn’t come. I tried and tried, but eventually had to roll off and stroke myself to stay hard. My feeling is that I’ve totally separated the need to come to climax from the act of intercourse. Truth is, after Belle came, I felt a kind of sexual satisfaction. Yeah, I was hard and turned-on, but I really didn’t need more than the reflected heat of her pleasure. This is totally different than the dopey lethargy of post-ejaculation satisfaction, but just as meaningful for me. I think, since I assumed I was not going to come, I had approached our sex with a different headspace – that of the denied male. Suddenly, I found myself staring down the barrel of my own orgasm and I blinked.

Belle was very supportive after I rolled off in defeat. While I stroked myself, she kissed me, pinched my nipples, and squeezed my balls. After a little while, I got back in the saddle and finally came. I had to be quiet since the kids were both up, but had I my druthers, I would have been screaming. It was a good thing.

We’ve been fooling around with orgasm denial for about three months now, but I felt today was a milestone. Sex and orgasm, for me, have been fully decoupled. It’s like I have two ways to make love to my wife now. The first, much more common method, is primarily about giving her pleasure. The pleasure I receive is hers reflected back on me, plus the hormonal rush of sexual frustration. The second way, of course, is where I also get to come, but it seems I need to know it’s allowable to get there in a good way. If I think back, this is how it’s felt for a while but I’m only just now realizing it. Those times she’s “sprung” an opportunity for emission on me have always been more difficult (and maybe even a little less satisfying) than those I knew were coming. I think this is all about how I approach the sex and which of the two methods I bring to the event.

This all kind of segues into a conversation we had a few nights ago. Now that we’re starting a new year, I’ve been thinking about how many times I might come in twelve months. In no way am I trying to usurp her authority over this, but I told her I’d be very happy with something between 18 and 20 orgasms in 2009. In a perfect world, she’d keep me off balance and not parcel them out in a nice evenly distributed pattern. Maybe two or three in a week and then nothing for at least month. Something like that. In any event, we seem to be thinking along the same lines.

I have no idea how many times the average 40-year-old male jacks off, but I’d guess I was doing it about two or three times a week, more or less. That’s about a 140-events-per-year pace. Now, I’m looking at something less than 15% of that over the next twelve months. In fact, it’s likely that Belle will orgasm seven times more often than me in 2009. I am overjoyed at the prospect.

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Three nights

Saturday
Following the pathetic squirt, I got my mulligan. Belle strapped me to the bed and used her nails and teeth on me. Only the second time being tied down, I can report still thinking it’s pretty great. At one point, the cock became turgid and she remarked, “God, you really do like this!”

As before, I never got really hard from what she was doing, but I enjoyed most of it. The nails on my ass and digging into my scrotum were awesome, but raking them across my chest not so much. As we’re figuring this out, it’s interesting to me to find that some sensations are good only in certain places.  I regret that she didn’t bring the flogger out, and afterward, so did she. Anyway, she was absolutely vicious with my nipples. So wickedly cruel, in fact, that I had to ask her to stop, which is a first. Damn near twisted the things right off. They stung for 24 hours. Delicious.

She let me jerk off when she was done, but unlike the night before, I could never get there. I really wanted to, but the damned piercing was bugging me again. Not hurting as much as just feeling weird and not right. I can only assume this is part of the healing process and that it won’t feel weird forever. In any event, I did not come. As I went to soak the piercing later I found I had leaked precum, but through the little pierced hole, not the one on the end of the cock. I went to bed frustrated.

Sunday
We spent the afternoon and evening at a family holiday party at Belle’s uncle’s house. She had more than her fair share of wine and, in the car on the drive home with the kids in the back seat, started drawing letters on the top of my hand resting on the shifter.

P, I, N, K

Pink? Oh! Pink, the vibrator. Cool, she wanted me to use Pink on her when we got home. We’ll see if she falls asleep first, I thought.

P, I, N, K, O, R, C…

Pink orc? Huh. Does she want to watch Lord of the Rings while I get her off? I shook my head indicating I wasn’t reading her.

P, I, N, K – yeah, got that – O, R, C…

“Orc?” I said. She shook her head. Our exit was about a mile off at this point, so I told her to just wait.

Turns out, she was trying to tell me she wanted Pink or the cock, she just never got past the C before I gave her a weird look. In bed, she decided on Pink, not the cock (sigh) since, she informed me, tonight it was all about her. Working her nipples with my mouth and left hand, I ran Pink over her clit with my right. Her moaning and gyrating hips encouraged me to fuck her with it and she shortly came to a quiet yet intense climax. With the cock hard and pressed against her, she pulled down her top, pulled up her bottoms, rolled over and went to sleep. I’m not even sure she said thanks.

Monday
Laying in bed. After some talking, she tells me to get under the sheets and get naked (since I’m always supposed to be naked in bed). She starts to rub the underside of the cock, pressing it into my stomach. It’s getting harder and I’m making little moaning sounds. “Quiet,” she says. “No sounds.”

Oh, god. I’m normally pretty vocal in these kinds of situations and suddenly finding myself having to bottle it all up was infuriating. The simple sensation of her rubbing the cock on just one side with only two fingers seemed to multiply in its intensity. After a few minutes of this I realized it might actually make me come and the tiniest little Whoville squeak leaked out of me. She immediately withdrew her hand leaving me hard and throbbing. My fun was over. Now I know the rules to that game.

Feeling pretty turned on, I rubbed my hand across her shirt and felt the hardening little nub of her nipple.

“Did you ask permission to do that?”

“Can I please touch you?”

“What do you say?”

I said our agreed-upon phrase that reinforces her dominant position in our sexual relationship and she pulled her pajama top up and assumed the now-familiar “serve me” position.

Again, it was all about her. I used my hands this time, not Pink. Her pussy was incredibly wet and the cock between my legs pulsed with the memory of sliding into it. After she came, I laid with my head on her chest and told her how badly I wanted to fuck her. She pulled down her top and pulled up her bottoms and told me I could touch myself, but not come.

As soon as I wrapped my hand around the hard cock, I knew – I knew – that this time, I could get there. But it was not to be. Not tonight, anyway. So I laid there and stroked while she rolled over and went to sleep.

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FLR, not so much

In the beginning, my kink seemed simple: Belle should control my orgasms and occasionally tie me to the bed and rough me up. As is my wont, I dove head-first into all teh interwebs had to offer regarding anything and everything even remotely related to these subjects. I had no vocabulary with which to describe what I was thinking, so I found myself adopting the words of others (hey, it’s what we humans do). Not only that, but I found myself drifting from the relatively simple desires that got me started looking in the first place. The vast majority of blogs I found at first were written by men who not only abdicated control of their orgasms to their partners, but who also seemed to want to abdicate all control to them. The concept of “female-led relationship” entered my thinking.

FLR and what I wanted have a lot in common, but also some significant differences. First, there is no bondage or sadism inherent in FLR (at least not from what I can see). Instead, those who get off on FLR are pulling energy from the total imbalance of power in their relationship. The woman controls all. Everything he does centers around serving her. You could say this has a sadistic flavor to it, but I like pain that’s physical rather than mental (which is not to say FLR men are suffering mentally or anything). I do want Belle to have control, but just over my cock. I do want to do things for her, but not at her command. I do want to make her happy, but I want to be happy, too.

In truth, being the kind of person Belle’d need to be to pull off an FLR relationship isn’t her cup of tea. She’s just not wired that way. And really, I’m not either. There are times when the hormones are surging that I’ll do anything she wants. Those are good times. I happily service her in whatever way she requires (sexually or domestically or whatever). However, there are also times I just want to sit downstairs and play video games, even after two and a half weeks without coming. The few times she’s tried to command me (tell me to do something rather than ask), I’ve felt an internal wall come up. I guess I resent anyone telling me what to do, even she who controls my penis. Now, if she wants to predicate my sexual release on some totally unrelated task, fine. But bossing me around the house? No thanks.

There’s a larger point here. I’m just not interested in exchanging all the power in our relationship. When we’re approaching sex, YES, I want that. When we’re making dinner, no, I don’t. She can put a collar on me and make me kneel and suck her toes all she wants, but I’m not really interested in having each and every thing I do sexualized (nor has she demonstrated an interest in that). I think we could do it over short periods (an evening or over a day or two) but, really, 24/7? God, that’d be so much damned work for both of us. And I guess that’s where I draw the line between what I want from Belle and whatever FLR is. I read FLR as a 24/7 thing where the man is always and obviously beneath the woman. I’m perfectly happy doing the FLR thing as a scene, but not as a lifestyle choice.

So we’re back where we started. I want Belle to control my orgasms and occasionally tie me to the bed and rough me up. There are other things, too, but that’s the meat of my kink. Even though I have no idea what to call it (other than by the names of its component pieces), trying to over-analyze, over-define, or over-structure it is unproductive for both of us.

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Pushy bunny

I got Belle a copy of The Mistress Manual by Mistress Lorelei. It was well-reviewed on Amazon and it’s just my thing to buy a lot of books whenever I’m trying to to grok a new subject, but it’s been sitting on Belle’s nightstand uncracked since it arrived so yesterday I picked it up and started reading it.

Mistress Lorelei suggested I stop. At least, to stop before I got to the juicy stuff. OK, I figured, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I was able to get through enough to know Belle’s not going to like some of what she has to say. First of all, Lorelei talks a lot about “sissy maids”. As I’ve said, I am not a sissy, do not want to become or be turned into one, and, in general, am not interested in doing all the housework (nor is she interested in me being a sissy). In addition to lauding the benefits of the live-in sissy maid, Lorelei also discusses the joys of dressing your guysub (her word – hadn’t seen that form of the term before) in women’s clothing (specifically, underwear). Again, not burning with a desire to wear lacy panties and Belle’s never suggested I should. We don’t have a problem with guys who do, but it’s not an idea that trips either of our triggers. However…

Mistress Lorelei did help my thoughts coalesce around something I had not been able to put words around previously. While I’m not interested in doing all the chores, wearing panties, or otherwise being emasculated, I am turned on by Belle making me perform tasks or putting me in situations I’d never embrace on my own. I like the idea of her pushing me beyond where I’m comfortable. For example, when she forced me to eat my own come. Yes, eating come (my own included) turns me on, but it’s only a turn-on for me while I’m turned on. Approximately .25 seconds after it comes out of my body, the idea of eating it is about as arousing as is the idea of eating snot. She didn’t just ask me to eat it, though, she made me by smearing it over my lips. It was a marvelous moment where she spontaneously asserted her dominant prerogative. It was awesome and it’s one my favorite memories from our recent past.

This concept intersected with our life last night. Belle had already told me I was not going to service her, but she was being very generous with her attention towards me. She was clawing my ass, pinching my nipples, and jacking the cock (while avoiding the still-tender piercing). It was heavenly. I had asked (begged, really) to be allowed to go down on her, and she refused. Then, as she was biting and sucking on my neck (and leaving a nice little trail of marks down to my shoulder), the intensity of the feelings got to me and I begged to be able to do anything at all to her. I guess I didn’t really think she would let me, but I really, really wanted to and also wanted to hear her refuse me again. However, it didn’t turn out that way. She got pissed. Felt I was trying to control the action. I apologized and did my best grovelling bit, but she was fairly nonplussed. After she chewed me out for a while, accompanied by my continued pleas for mercy, she decided I had ruined the moment and would have to massage her feet with lotion before she went to sleep (which, you know, wasn’t all that bad either).

She may have been right. I may have been trying to steer the ship. It’s not uncommon for me to achieve a nice subbie headspace after we get started, but it’s not usually the case that I’m feeling submissive before we get going. Had I been grooving the guysub space, I don’t think I would have continued to beg her for access to her body. I might have tried once, but she was being pretty firm with her refusal. I doubt I would have pushed it. Maybe that little voice in my head that hoped she would capitulate and let me go down on her was playing a bigger role than I thought. Had she directed me to leave my comfort zone beforehand – to jump-start my submissive tendencies – I probably wouldn’t have pushed her so hard.

So, to tie all this together, I had never really appreciated why dommes made their subs do things like kneel or kiss their feet before a scene. Since I didn’t feel a terrific desire to bow before Belle or worship her feet (not, at least, until getting warmed up a bit), I figured that her forcing me to do them wouldn’t find a place in our relationship. In fact, I continue to think too much about my interests and desires. No, I don’t instinctively want to bow to her, so she should make me do it. Since sucking on her toes is usually something I need to warm up for, she should make me do it before anything else. We both need strategies that will allow her to assert her dominance, not for my pleasure, but to ensure I don’t usurp her authority.

Because of last night, there’s a phrase that reiterates our power-sharing arrangment that she’s requiring me to say before I’m allowed to do anything with her. At first, I felt silly and somewhat embarrassed saying it, but by about the third time it came out of my mouth, it sank in as to why I needed to say it. And, in turn, why I needed to write this.