Tag: femdom

Posted on

Rolling a twenty

the big twentyI clearly remember the first time I played Dungeons & Dragons. It was the summer between sixth and seventh grade and I was over at my friend Steve’s house and he and a few other friends were about to start a session and one of them loaned me a character to play with. I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved the fact that this game (right at the dawn of home video gaming — not even sure the 2600 was out yet) required someone to tell the story we were in and all we had was some paper, pencils, and colorful dice, along with our imaginations, to be able to enjoy it. And, of course, our destinies weren’t fixed since we had to keep making decisions along the way.

Decisions such as mine to try and pick a lock on a door with this other dude’s character. I guess I was playing a thief, but not a very good one, because the lock was booby-trapped and the character was poisoned. I had to roll an icosahedron (fancy word for a twenty-sided die) and get a 20. Rolling a twenty is a very difficult thing to do since, obviously, you only have a one in twenty chance of doing it. I remember how all the other kids leaned over me to see what I rolled (and how the Dungeon Master in particular had a gleam in his obviously sadistic eye) and how the dude whose thief I was playing was especially sweating it (since once that character was dead, it was dead…for the most part). I, as I said, had no idea what was going on except all of a sudden I was expected to do this thing that everyone told me was just not done.

But I did it. Twenty.

And I was hooked. I played pretty faithfully well into high school, made a bunch of my own characters, bought little lead figures, all the various books (which I still have), multi-colored dice, and even played the role of Dungeon Master myself from time to time. I remember going home that night and enthusing to my mom about this awesome new game and the monsters in it and the weapons (like the vorpal blade — I specifically recall telling her about the vorpal blade) and how I suddenly knew what I was going to be doing for the rest of the summer (besides watching Price is Right). She gave me a lot of those “yes, dear”s and “uh-huh”s that moms are occasionally required to give their excited kids (whereas my dad eventually told me how D&D was a tool of the Devil, but that’s another story).

I also remember two girls named Anne and Pam. They were best friends and had attached themselves to the circle of guys I was hanging out with. We’d get together to play D&D at one or another’s houses while our parents were at work and Anne and Pam would always seem to be around so they got sucked in. Not that they wanted to. I have to admit I have no idea what they would have rather been doing since I was a self-absorbed teenage boy and they were outnumbered by a bunch of others just like me, but for some reason they decided to half-heartedly play along (we also played a lot of Diplomacy which they also soldiered through without enthusiasm, but I’m not going to talk about that because I’m trying to make a point here).

And the other day it occurred to me how much kink is like Dungeons & Dragons. I suppose I cannot be the first person to make this connection, but they both involve fantasy sessions where one person is in charge and others willingly submit to their authority. They both are replete with rules and traps and interpersonal dynamics that are only clear to those with experience or a willing guide. They both have friggin’ costumes and personas their players use to escape from the mundane world. Really, it seems to me, the same source of energy that feeds one’s involvement in a game as deep as D&D is where kinksters go to energize for their play sessions.

And, of course, there are adult, real-life versions of Anne and Pam involved. Namely, for me and those like me and many reading this blog, I’m talking about our spouses. My mom didn’t need to get all that into D&D to appreciate how much I liked it. She was on the outside. Our wives, though, (or partners or whatever you have), like Anne and Pam, do. And there’s no reason to think they’ll be any more enthusiastic about it than Anne and Pam were. Except Anne and Pam could have just walked away (they did, eventually) whereas our spouses don’t have that as such an easy option. To them, we’ve suddenly discovered a vast and compelling obsession with a complicated game they previously had no interest in playing (or maybe that it even existed) and, worse part is, the rules are obtuse, unclear, and often being generated on the fly by their suddenly enthused partner.

Imagine that from their perspective.

No, really.

If you’re lucky (like I am), your partner is willing to learn the rules (or, more correctly, establish them with you). If you’re not, they aren’t. But in either event, rushing into it and trying to go from Vanillaville to a fantasy sex slave cuckold in permanent chastity has about as much chance of success as my rolling a perfect twenty almost thirty years ago. It could happen, but nobody can remember seeing it for themselves.

So anyway, think about that. Think about how much guys like us expect our partners to digest and change and how impatient we generally are about it because we’ve just found this awesome new game! No, really, you’re going to love it! Really! There are no Player’s Handbooks (well, there are some that try to be, but the rules aren’t so well defined). There are no Monster Manuals. This shit is complicated and often unexpected with its arrival in a relationship. At least from their perspective.

You can drop a guy into a D&D session without guidance or warning and tell him to roll a twenty and it’ll be OK. You can’t do that with the person you share your life with. You need to go more slowly.

Posted on

Stress balls

So I have a bunch of stress about stuff right now totally not related to my sex life (and really, it’s not life and death stuff, just really bugging me) and it’s so bad that last night, with the kids away at camp and Belle offering up some “personal time” in the bedroom, I was unable to keep my shit together enough to let it happen.

First thing we did was talk about the stressful shit. Then we talked about my orgasm. Not a specific orgasm. Like, my entire ability to do it. Since the unexpected release earlier in the month, I’ve been wondering what’s up with the previously established schedule that indicated I needed to wait until July, 2014 to come. So, after the stressful shit discussion, I asked her what her plans were. I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal, I was just trying to change the subject to something a little sexier. And I failed.

I am not, as Belle suggested, upset over the last time I came and it hasn’t been bothering me. It was enjoyable and it’s over and I don’t regret it. She says it happened because she has to be able to decide when that happens. I don’t challenge that. I want her to control it and so does she. But, if the deal is I have to wait until a certain date but then she makes me go ahead of schedule, then we’re not waiting for the date. I cannot count on not being able to come before then as it may happen at any time. She seems to be thinking that if there are any limits on her control over me coming (even limits she herself has imposed) then she’s not in total control. There is a certain logic to that, but, as I said, that means the date thing is out the window.

At this point, I honestly don’t care. Experience suggests I’m a better little rabbit when we’re using a schedule. It allows me to more freely want the orgasm if I know she’ll deny me because of where we are on the calendar. When we’re not using a schedule, I end up doing other things she doesn’t like (like keeping track of how long its been). Also, I get all angsty wondering if now’s the time or if I have to wait. That said, I’m fine if she wants to go back to trying it that way. It’s been more than a year since that was how it worked. In something like 15 months, I only came three or four times. Perhaps it’ll work differently now. I don’t know and I’m not trying to tell her how to do it. I must be willing to do whatever she wants. That’s how this shit works.

So the conversation got tense. She got defensive, I got defensive. It wasn’t an argument, but I still ended up feeling very down and exactly like a fucked up, overly complicated, pain in the ass, needy sub. I haven’t felt that way in a long time. And we didn’t have sex.

I suggested that perhaps, with all the stress, we just take a break from the whole denial thing. Or scale it back. Maybe I only come when I’m with her but otherwise I’m not being denied. Just controlled. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that she rejected that out of hand. She has no interest whatsoever is being “normal.” Not ever again, she said.

A complicating factor in this is that she let me out two days ago and let me play with myself all I wanted the night before last. It was a lot of fun and I had a hell of a time falling asleep, but it left me with achy, full balls and, as we “discussed” the current state of affairs, I really, really wanted to come. Not in a sexy way, per se, more in a “fucking hell, my balls are blue and they hurt and they feel all swolleny and ow” kind of way. There’s always that hormonal overlay for the denied part of the equation, I suppose.

I wonder if I didn’t have an unintended hand (so to speak) in Belle’s experimental release. I have recently got in the habit of telling her how badly I wanted to come when she let me fuck her and even asking if I could knowing she’d say no. Telling her that I wanted it, letting myself want it, and hearing her say no is, really, the pinnacle for me. But I think that may have swayed her somehow. That hearing me say it meant she had pushed my denial too far or something. When really, it was the opposite.

So anyway, I await word on how we move forward. And maybe if we can have make up sex tonight. Not “make-up” as in after a fight, but make up as in the game got rained out and now we need to schedule a double header. A double header. That would be cool, actually…

Posted on

Devil fruit and other news

I broke a rule the other day. I had just finished a book on my Kindle and I went and bought another. For $15. Except, I’m not allowed to spend any money without Belle’s approval, am I? I even need permission to spend two bucks on the App Store. This is supremely annoying, but I guess I shouldn’t like all the rules.

I admitted I did it, at least. Belle said I’d have to be punished and ruminated on that for a few days. In the end, she decided that I’d have to eat some banana. I loathe bananas. I don’t like how they smell, I especially don’t like their slimy texture. I don’t understand why anyone eats them. I offered to pay the $15 back (how, I don’t know, though my ATM withdrawals seem to be a bit of a loophole in the “don’t spend money” thing). But she didn’t want money. She wanted me to be punished.

It wasn’t a lot of banana. Just a few slices. She was about to leave the house yesterday morning when it went down. It was left-overs from my daughter’s breakfast and, having seen them in advance (I should have tossed them out, in retrospect), I feared this would happen. Belle didn’t specify how I had to eat them, just that they had to eaten, so I cut them into halves and swallowed them each whole with a swig of Diet Coke (my morning caffeine delivery beverage of choice). Gagged twice, once pretty seriously. She was there, all dressed in her work clothes, impatiently waiting for me to finish. Almost literally tapping her foot. It was awful. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me ill.

Belle was gleeful over the whole thing. Like, ridiculously pleased. Later in the day, in remembering the event, she actually giggled and clapped her hands like a little girl. She really got into her role as the punisher and was quite pleased with herself for devising something so unpleasant. She said to me it had to be bad so I wouldn’t break her rules again. It was pretty bad.

In other news, I’m feeling somewhat recovered from the unexpected orgasm Belle pulled out of me. We haven’t talked about what my expectations should be going forward. It’s been interesting having just one after such a long period without. I don’t think this has happened before. It’s usually at least two, but there’s zero sign another is forthcoming (so to speak). In any event, I still feel different than usual. More horny, more locked up, less happy about it all. Not that I’m unhappy, mind you. Not at all.

In other other news, I’m considering moving my blog from WordPress.com to DreamHost (their DreamPress product, specifically) because of this. Freaks me the fuck out. Frustration that we live in a time where a serious discussion of the kinds of topics I cover here (and the accompanying imagery) could be considered so outrageous and beyond that pale that a company like WordPress would make it all cease to exist without warning or reprieve in a blink of an eye maybe if they fucking feel like it (and they apparently don’t always and it’s hard to know if and when the whim will ever strike them). Terrified that it all could, as I said, cease to exist in the blink of an eye! This site is so personal to me. It is me. I think it’s the manifestation of what blogging is all about. I hate hate hate that I even have to dick around with the idea of moving.

I didn’t choose WordPress.com because it was free, I picked WordPress as a platform because it had all the features I wanted. I chose WordPress.com so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of taking care of my own install. Over the years, we’ve paid WordPress not an insubstantial amount to add video and remove ads and have a custom domain, etc. This isn’t a money issue, it’s a convenience and functionality one. But, I’m either left to, as Ferns said, “be prepared and wait” for the day where my site resolves to a page that says my blog has been deleted or take things into my own hands and get ahead of the issue. I’ve already signed up with DreamHost (with Belle’s permission, of course, since it required I spend money) but I’ve run into a problem. Because I’m picky and particular, I want to prepare the blog on DreamHost first then switch the DNS so that to you, the reader of my blog, it all looks rather seamless. But I can’t seem to do that. And it’s bugging the crap out of me.

OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

DreamHost wants the blog’s URL to set it up under DreamPress but, as you can see, I’m kinda using the URL for something else right now. I thought about setting up a subdomain for the specific purpose of preparing the blog and then swapping it out for the proper domain when the time came, but GoDaddy (my registrar) won’t let me do that with a URL hosted elsewhere (and mine’s at WordPress — you’re soaking in it). WordPress doesn’t seem to offer this service, either, so I am stymied. I could always use a different URL altogether, I suppose, until it’s time to swap or I could change the domain to be registered with DreamHost (since GoDaddy is, I think, a horrible company anyway) but that’s kind of a pain. I’m not doing anything right now because the simplest path forward is blocked and, have I mentioned, I HATE HATE HATE that I have to dick around with this bullshit.

Any advice or other ideas would be welcomed in the comments.

/ OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

Finally, I’ve been meaning to mention Steelwerks Extreme’s new site for a bit. I don’t know how long it’s been like it is now, but I became aware of it about three weeks ago, I guess. For those unaware (and I’m sure that’s not many of you considering where you are), Steelwerks makes some of the most amazingly beautiful chastity devices on the planet. Their construction techniques and materials are absolute top-notch and the fit and finish of the final product appears to be impeccably gorgeous. I’ve always admired their products, but never considered asking Belle to acquire one since it seemed like the only limit to what you could get was your imagination. I found that a little overwhelming. Now, they’ve done a great job “productizing” their devices so, for me anyway, it’s easier to shop and choose and then customize. More like how Mature Metal and Steelworxx merchandise their wares.

classic-pa-chastity-device03So while perusing their new site, I found a model they call The Classic PA. This is kinda of like a cross between the Steelheart and the Looker 02. Simple and lovely and shiny. Like the Steelheart, it’d be completely secure via my PA piercing and, like the Looker, it can have a PA insert. Unlike anything from Steelworxx or Mature Metal, the Steelwerks device is expensive (remember what I said about impeccable, top-notch, and gorgeous?). I asked for a quote for essentially what you see here and they promptly informed me it’d be $2,875 CDN (today, that’s just under $2,800 USD). I knew it would be a lot…but wow. Don’t get me wrong. I think these things are worth every bit of what they charge. But damn.

In any event, I showed the site and the device to Belle and told her how much it was. She was immediately drawn to the beauty of the device but didn’t seemed too intrigued until we watched the promotional video and she saw the key. Again, for the unaware, Steelwerks devices are “locked” with a proprietary screw with an S-shaped screwhead. It can only be opened or closed with a matching S-screwdriver. That screwdriver can be hidden in a wide variety of custom made objects, but Belle liked the lovely necklace option. It’s clean and sleek and totally appropriate for any woman to wear. Currently, Belle keeps the key to me in her purse since the Steelworxx keys are kind of ugly (as are most). Seeing it always on her and nestled between her breasts would be, simply put, awesome.

Short story long, I think it’s entirely possible she’ll be ordering one of these someday. Not right now as we’re in the middle of some other expensive projects around the house, but I know my Belle. This is on her radar. It’s just a matter of time.

Now excuse me while I back-up my blog…

Posted on

She kept pumping

The festive July 4th weekend was a time of reflection for me since it was exactly a year ago that Belle let me have what turned out to be the last orgasms of the year and was the kick-off to my longest orgasmless period yet. I didn’t come again until January of this year and that was supposed to be the last time until July of next year. But it didn’t turn out that way.

I’ll back up.

I had been ruminating on how I’d mark this personally significant date (kinda like my independence from orgasms or something), but I never found the time over the busy holiday to sit down and do it. At Belle’s instruction, I brought the condoms and lidocaine with us to the northern retreat so she could enjoy the penis freely and I expected to be let out for that purpose at some point. She did let me out, but we didn’t do anything other than the usual stuff, though she did let me fuck her one morning and it was grand. We fucked like teenagers. Wildly and energetically and the whole time I was enjoying wanting so badly to come but being refused the right. I begged and cajoled. I bargained and justified. But no. It was good. It was how things are supposed to be. I was totally under her control.

I didn’t pressure Belle to use the lidocaine so as the last morning away from home dawned, I figured she just never wanted to give it a shot. As we laid there in bed, Belle started to run her finger along the length of the penis and around my inner thighs and around my nuts. It felt great. The erectile tissue did it’s thing and she wrapped her hand all the way around the hard shaft and started to pump. I splayed out, back arched, and lost myself in the feeling of her pleasuring me. I didn’t think she’d keep going for very long so I didn’t do any of my internal stuff to hold back the inevitable. She was really pumping and I was getting closer but I still didn’t try and stop anything since she wasn’t going to let me come (I thought). Suddenly, I realized I was very close and I said something to her about it. I made it quite clear where I was. She kept pumping.

Inside, the rabbit was appalled. Horrified. This was not supposed to happen. But the lizard, remembering the 17-year-old style fucking from the previous morning and the short leash and tight collar it’s been made to suffer though, was triumphant. He knocked my higher brain offline and rode the crest of the orgasm up and over the explosion of chemicals that seemed to hit every part of my sensory system simultaneously.

It hurt, I came so hard. I can’t say it was enjoyable. It was too intense. But the bubble had been burst. A real fucking orgasm, dreamy dopey hangover and all. Belle commented on how little ejaculate there was, but she hadn’t really been stroking me that long. This wasn’t as much a shot as it was an implosion. I laid there, stunned into paralysis, and felt the great billowing sail of my denial deflate inside my chest. Not sorrowfully. I refused to let myself think of it that way. Belle whispered something about how that was a demonstration of how I wasn’t in control of anything. When I could move again, I snuggled into her and wrapped my arms and legs around as much of her as possible.

Did I want to come? Of course. Desperately. Would I have chosen to come if she had asked my preference? Maybe. Am I glad I did now? Um…I dunno. Like I said, I’m trying not to think of it as a good or bad thing. I’m trying to think of it as analogous to when she hits my balls. Sometimes, I don’t like it. It’s not what I want at that moment. But I take it because it’s a symbol of my lack of control. That’s what this was, I suppose. What does this mean to the previously expressed July 2014 date? No idea.

Typically, I find I need two orgasms after a long denial to feel really sated. The first one is horribly intense and over the top. The second on is fanfuckingtastic. Then I’m totally out of the game for a week or more. This time, she locked me back up within 24 hours. I didn’t want the device. I wanted to stay out. The other shoe hadn’t been dropped. I wasn’t really in the zone, but I could feel the lizard sitting expectantly on the rabbit’s head. Last night, as Belle slept, I was laying there with my hand on my balls and hard, hard tube and yearning to be out. The device felt especially cruel. I wasn’t in subspace at all. I was in horny needy male space. That’s a different thing. She sensed my different attitude before dinner and asked where my usual subbie persona was. “Wiped off my stomach and into a dirty sock,” I said.

Today, I still feel like I’m in kind of a nether zone. Not what I usually feel. Not bad, just different. I am really horny. I mean, horny. Crudely so. My balls tingle and ache a little. I am not a fan of the steel between my legs. It’s a weird combination of things. Regardless of how it feels or how much I like it, it is an excellent demonstration of what Belle said she wanted it to be. I am not in control of my own sex in any way.

Posted on

Lido-can

Thumper's sex kitI’ve experimented with Lidocaine before with some success (that is, if you define “success” as having an erection you can’t feel and won’t come), but never with Belle. It was fun to play with it while masturbating, but I’m not allowed to do that anymore so it was just basically sitting around in the bathroom drawer. Since I haven’t been able to satisfy Belle with the penis in the way she wants lately (and have been feeling guilt commensurate with that failure), I thought it was time to try it with her.

This post contains an NSFW image, so keep clicking if you want to hear the rest of the story…

Continue reading “Lido-can”

Posted on

Ruleset

I’ve talked about rules before. I love them, Belle’s not crazy about them. I need them for structure and boundaries and reasonable expectations whereas Belle would rather just not have to worry about them.

We used to have a very complicated set of rules. They were all about me and not both of us and that whole thing was kinda thrown out, though some of it wasn’t and we weren’t always clear on which parts were in and which were out, and to know what I thought of that just see the part above about structure and boundaries and expectations, etc.

Anyway, recently, she expressed an interest in seeing the old set of rules again. We didn’t drag them out, but that led to some conversations about amending her rules for me. Her requirement was that they not be too numerous or complicated. She said only five rules. I countered that we already have, like, three basic rules so if she only sets five, we’re only really formalizing two. In the end, she compromised with me. We have the original three plus we added a few more and then she went and made up another. These rules are all-encompassing and replace any others we’ve used in the past.

Basic Three Rules:

1. Thumper can’t come unless Belle says he can.

2. Thumper can’t play with himself without Belle’s permission.

3. Only Belle can decide when she and Thumper have sex.

If you’ve read the blog for more than five minutes, these should seem pretty obvious.

“New” Rules:

4. Thumper must ask permission to watch TV in her bedroom. We had a version of this before where I was required to turn the TV off when she asked, but now I need to ask before turning it on. She hates having a TV in the bedroom while I love it (and watching it with her). Also note, her bedroom.

5. Thumper is not allowed to lose his temper with Belle, be short with her, or argue. We can still discuss and debate things, I assume, but I’m not to let her see me get mad at her.

6. Thumper can’t use furniture without Belle’s permission unless other people are around, in which case, Thumper can’t sit before Belle without her permission. We’ll see if this one sticks. Belle’s not super enthused about it (guess who’s idea it was) and I’ve forgotten it already about a dozen times. The idea is really hot, but maybe only for me.

7. Thumper must do whatever Belle tells him to. If there’s a reason he can’t do what she asks, he’s not allowed to use the word “no” but must instead explain his issue with what she wants. This is a pretty big rule and is the one that makes it possible for her to make new rules (which she already has).

8. Thumper cannot spend any money without Belle Fille’s permission. This is the one she added after the others were made. I don’t like this one at all, but I guess that’s what I signed up for.

If there are rules, then there must also be punishments. There are a lot of ideas out there (the one that made her laugh for a really long time was the “hold a penny against the wall with my nose for as long as she says” one). Others she has used in the past (though not recently) are withholding my participation in her orgasms and Icy Hot on the balls. We have a cane she could also use on me, though she hasn’t yet. Making me wait for orgasm or keeping me locked up aren’t really good punishments for me because I’m a freak and would actually like that. If there are no punishments and if they’re not punishments I really and truly don’t like, then the rules are a lot less meaningful.

Of course, Belle’s the judge and jury on all rule interpretation and adjudication.

I have a hard time explaining how having to live under her rules makes me feel. Good is the best I can come up with. It makes my insides warm and happy. Even the embarrassment or annoyance of doing what I’m told feeds back on my subbie circuits in a way that generates power rather than tapping it. I hope we can both make this new ruleset work for us.

Posted on

Torture

My Belle is getting very good at torturing me. Not in the tied up with rope and dripping hot wax kind of torture, the making me so horny my vision clouds and the device feels like it’s chewing the penis off kind of torture.

The other night started innocently enough. She wanted to sit on my face and come and I really wanted her to. Along the way, though, she got sidetracked by my usual nipple sucking and clit fingering. Her hand wandered over and mixed with mine so we were both flicking and caressing her pussy but then she told me to stop and go sit between her legs and watch.

Ungh. OK.

I had my face right in there. The room was dark, but there was enough light leaking in the window for me to make out her finger dipping and diving and rubbing. I could hear her wetness while I tried to absorb her feminine bouquet through my very pores. The penis was as hard as it could be. It felt even harder than it does during the morning wood sessions and that’s pretty fucking hard. I moaned, both in agony of what I was sensing (but not being allowed to participate in) and the hard metal bite of the German steel.

I moved closer and tried to nuzzle my nose against her soft, wet folds.

“Get back,” she said, softly but sharply.

Torture.

Again, like a doomed moth, I was drawn in and again I was put back. Pain or no pain, the months of denial and days since the last time I was allowed to enjoy her body were causing me to grind the device into the bed. It was killing me, but my head was full of buzzing and the only thing in the entire world was her pussy. I was losing my mind from it all. Then she pulled her finger out and let me suck it off before taking it away again.

“Please!”

“No.”

More fingering. More hips gyrating. More finger sucking. More abject suffering. I may have been moaning freely. Whining. My inner emotional narrative turned to physical sound. Her hips were picking up speed. I could sense her orgasm coming and I wasn’t going to be part of it. Then…

“Go ahead,” she said as she removed her hand.

I devoured her. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her snatch into full contact with as much of my face as possible. The trapped penis meat screamed at being pressed against the bed, but I knew nothing but her pussy.

Then she told me it was time for the face-sitting. I leapt up, panting and probably a little wild-eyed. My hand shot instinctively to her wetness, not wanting for a moment it to go unattended  She was so wet. So slick with her own fluids and my spit. The penis ached for that feeling. Hot, wet and home. More moaning.

She liked how it felt. She wouldn’t let me stop. She came, clutching my wrist in her hand and pressing her legs together. I reached for her G-spot and could feel her muscles clamping down with each wave of orgasm. Then she was done. And I was dizzy with sensations of her proximity.

After a few moments, I slowly climbed on top of her.

“Please,” I croaked, “Please, can I fuck you?”

Pause. Hopefulness.

“No.”

Crushing disappointment. Then, a building of…of…what? Some kind of emotion. Not anger. Nothing directed at her. Just pure frustration. Hot and sweet desperation. I could feel my soul inflate with it.

“PLEASE,” I said, pushing. I knew I was. But I couldn’t stop myself. I could not keep myself from saying what I was thinking.

“NO,” firmly. Then, more gently, “Not yet.”

I clutched her. Held her firmly. I could feel my muscles knotting with the building tension I was feeling. Building…building…then, release. I was broken. The tension ebbed away with every heartbeat. My body relaxed, accepting my position. The sweat on my body turned chill.

Then I babbled. All kinds of declarations of love and commitment and gratitude. I was desperately, desperately frustrated. The penis throbbed in its prison. And I accepted it. All of it.

Posted on

My special day

Woke up yesterday thinking, “Hey, it’s Father’s Day! I’m a father! I’m an definitely getting laid today!” Wherein getting laid means some kind of naked play, perhaps leaning a bit more in my direction than usual, and not the mainstream definition of the term. But, who knows. Maybe she’d let me out.

In fact, she almost did the other night. Even though she was on her period, she let me finger her before bed and she got so worked up that she brought up the idea of fucking me. I told her I was up for it (or would be once the steel came off) but that I might fuck it up again so she told me to instead go down on her. Until she gives me another shot at it, I can’t know if I can get her off with the penis and not have an orgasm myself. Kind of a chicken and egg thing. But, if it was more about treating me on my special day, then it wouldn’t really matter. Would it. You’d think.

So anyway, we’re laying there on that bright and sunny Father’s Day morning and I’m raring to go. She even asked me something like “what are you thinking” and I said something like “I’d really like to be out of this thing so I could fuck you” and she did something like totally ignore that I said it. And I’m thinking, OK, I’m just as happy getting her off or doing something else. It’s been a while since she hurt me. Maybe something with the nipples or the nuts or Icy Hot or I don’t know. But, the next thing I knew, she was out of bed and I was left clutching the hard steel and my fat nut sack and whimpering quietly to myself.

And then we had a day. Jogged with her, had brunch at the in-law’s house, took the family to the zoo, looked at some monkeys, grilled some burgers. An all-American good time.

Going to bed, I was thinking, OK, now. Now something will surely happen. I had been thinking about it all day and knew, if she asked, what I had hoped would be my treat. She didn’t ask, but I told her I had it all figured out anyway, but she didn’t want the details. So I never got a chance to tell her what I thought would be awesome would be her using one of my belts to tie my hands to the headboard, clamp my nipples, take off the Steelheart tube, edge me mercilessly up to the point of ruined orgasm, feed me my own spunk, ice the penis, put the tube back on, then untie me. Never told her that. She didn’t ask.

So we’re in bed and she’s really tired and she went to sleep. Boom. So I watched the rest of the second season of Game of Thrones (yeah, I’m a little behind). And then I laid there. Awake. Just me, the penis, and the Steelheart.

And I’ll tell you, I honestly suffered. Not in the sexyfun way where I was pushing the suffering so that I could suffer more. In the way where the suffering was pulling me along whether I liked it or not because I had no choice but to wallow in it. I honestly wanted to jack off and I wanted to come. That happens more now that it’s not an option at all. And I felt it again last night. I remembered what it felt like and dreamed about how fucking intense it would be now, after five months, and how especially grand I could make it if I edged myself for about an hour first. I wanted to feel the penis pump gobs of goo from my body and onto my stomach and feel the pin pricks of chemical release run over my scalp and down my spine. Oh FUUUUCK I wanted out.

Took a long time to find sleep. But I did.

This morning, Belle asked me if I was feeling neglected. I didn’t say, but I put my head on her chest and inhaled her freshly showered and ready-for-the-day scent and moaned a little inside. She made no commitments. I didn’t ask her to.

A couple of years ago, last night could have sent me into a nasty tailspin. And I’m not saying I liked it or thought it was fun. But I understand how it’s supposed to work. I understand that’s how I’m supposed to feel from time to time. If I’m really denied and she’s really in charge, then I’m really not going to be happy every once in a while. There was a time when the lizard part of me would have risen up and slapped the rabbit down, bitched and stunk up the place, and made me crabby and nasty. And the lizard was trying last night. But he’s so far deeper down now. It takes a lot more than one night to give him the step up he needs to break the surface of the deep submissive pool he’s at the bottom of, wrapped in chains. In fact, the kind of seemingly capricious neglect by Belle is exactly what I’ve told her I want in our D/s relationship.

So I’m not upset. I may have felt neglected when she asked, but that didn’t convert to anything related to anger and I didn’t feel remotely perturbed at her. When she asked, I felt warm. Cared for. She knew. Acknowledged my feelings. That’s what I find I really crave as a submissive: Acknowledgement from my Dominent that I am sacrificing. Suffering. For her. And now, as I write about it, I feel that deep pool of submissiveness welling up and overflowing into my chest. A current of affection and love and pain and sexual frustration is resonating between my heart, brain, and struggling penis in its cage. This is what I asked for. This is what I wanted.

I never want Belle to feel sorry for me when I’m like this. I never want her to apologize. I never want her to feel guilty. All I want is for her to tell me she knows what I’m going through and that I’ll keep going through it until such time that she decides she needs it to end. For her to tell me that I’m utterly powerless in this. How my needs are utterly beneath hers. And then I can tell her back how utterly in love I am with her and thank her and let it all burn away at me from inside.

Posted on

No go

Justplaying said…

I think I mentioned this before, but I think the real difference in truly being gay has more to do with how you feel about loving a man, not having sex with one. I get turned on by submission. I get turned on by thinking about a hard muscled guy pushing me to my knees and having me suck him off or bending me over and taking me hard in the ass. But I’m happily married to a woman and unlike Thumper have never had the experiences that he has (just the fantasy). But I have never felt like I desperately needed or wanted the love of another man.

Recently, as an alternative to finding my fantasy guy, my wife bought a strap-on to train me to suck cock (since I seem to crave it). AND here’s something I never knew…When I gag on that thick dildo, the gag reflex makes my nipples really sensitive and causes a spasm in my ass! Who knew? I don’t know if that’s what everyone experiences or not, but I find it really hot. Thoughts?

WRT “being truly gay,” yes, that’s true. If you can’t love a man and find emotional satisfaction in a relationship with one or even want that, you’re clearly not gay. I can’t/don’t and that’s the metric I ultimately used to decide for myself who I was. However, how many men who also really get off on pussy identify as gay? Not many, I think. Human sexuality is like a Rubic’s Cube that way, I suppose. Anyone can identify any way they like and the sexualistas out there are free say what they want about the whateverthefuck-ist perspective they want to pin on me, but I think they’re both tests of different things.

And yeah, I totally get that being dominated by a guy thing. Totally. Used. Abused. Being his object. Works for me (and while I have had sex with guys in the past, none of it was D/s, so we’re even on that score). Since I’ve been letting myself think about it, I see that it’s the only kind of submission I’d be able to do that wouldn’t cause damaging feedback on the relationship Belle and I have. She would always be primary (and hold the keys to the kingdom, literally) and he’d always be secondary to her, and I’d always be as low as low can be. In my fantasy world, it would be one guy (or maybe an established couple) and not a cavalcade of faces and dicks. I think I’d need that to establish trust and a true connection to the person(s). Also, in a perfect world, everyone would know each other and get along. He wouldn’t be over some black wall in another room in my head where I retreated from Belle. Everything would need to be out in the open so everyone would know the rules and feel comfortable with the arrangement. Yeah, call me an idealist, but that was the fantasy.

However, Belle flat out told me last night she wasn’t going to share me with anyone. Even someone who, by their very being, would occupy places in my body and spirit she cannot. I’m told I’ll have to live with my fantasies only. She admits this is entirely selfish on her part. That she wants even those parts of me she cannot access. I am hers. I admit that, while I never really thought she’d let me, I am a little let down. As a person with sexual desires for both genders, I knew going into my straight, vanilla marriage I was attempting to wall-off a part of me forever, but we’re not that same couple anymore and I though maybe there was a tiny bit of a crack there now, but there isn’t. I don’t begrudge Belle her POV on this and while it leaves me a little wistful for what might have been, it is no different than where I was before this whole thing came up.

The strap-on thing is interesting. Belle said way back at the beginning of our relationship that she’d never do the whole “bend over boyfriend” thing either, but I can see the appeal of being roughly used like that. I don’t recall anything special happening in my nipples or nether regions when gagging on cock, but it’s been a long time. So, have you gone the full Monty yet?

I could have said most of this as a simple reply to justplaying’s comment, but I thought it would be more useful to use it as a way to close the loop on the whole “sharing” thing.

Posted on

Fetishist

Got the following text from Belle yesterday morning:

Put yourself in the Steelheart

And I did, using the lock and key from the recently removed Looker 02, and left the key in the standard place for her to retrieve later in the day. Not a moment too soon, really. I was getting kind of bitchy-whiny about being unlocked. No, not in that dreaded top from the bottom way. I just don’t react well to uncertainty. She had said after letting me out that I’d be back in on Sunday, but she didn’t do it. Then Monday came and went with no word at all. As if she forgot my state. So, by the time she left for work on Tuesday with still no word, I was feeling anxious in that way only an annoying sub can. Pulling the ring around the penis and balls and settling the shaft down inside the tube as the two halves of the lock fitted into place zinged a warm and comforting thrill through my chest. Nice that after more than four years, it still works for me.

I expected to have a hard time (ahem) with the nocturnal hydraulics, but I slept mostly through them. The L02 doesn’t wake me as often (the ring’s a little bigger) and it usually takes me a week or so in the Steelheart to get used to the early morning squeeze. I fell asleep on my stomach with the device pushing firmly up into my pelvis and a not inconsequential horny buzz going. Today in the shower, I was doing my tube cleaning routine and found even the sensation of the water rushing by head of the penis was enough to make my knees weak and tummy tingle.

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

Honestly, I don’t even like seeing the penis anymore. Not without something on or around it. When it’s freely flopping, I feel…less. Somehow. When I approach a urinal and whip it out, there’s a moment of disorientation where I forget it’s free. It’s like peeing with someone else’s dick. Getting out of bed Tuesday morning, I watched it flop over to one side lightly and wiggle around with my balls laying there like a deflated ballon and the whole thing looked altogether wrong as opposed to this morning when instead I watched and felt the steel shift and pull and keep the nuts orderly positioned side by side. As it should be. As I should be.

Harry asked (and answered) why chastity? I know he was speaking in the larger sense (and I don’t disagree with his answer, though in my usual way, I’d have said a lot more), but why do I need this thing on me? Why does the physicality of the steel mean so much? As it is with so many kinks, I just don’t know. How can we know where these things come from? I can tell you when I’m wearing it because she told me to, I feel better. Special. Looked-after. Maintained. Even sexier. I recall near the beginning of this blog’s life a commenter suggested I had a fetish for chastity devices. I took exception with that at the time, but I can’t really deny it anymore. I do have a fetish. I am a fetishist. Either I had it all along or my feelings of emotional and relationship well-being have been fused with the device between my legs and what it does in such a way that I feel incomplete without it.

I feel like I need Belle to keep pushing and shoving me into tighter and tighter spots. More restriction. More constriction. Less access. Less pleasurable sensation. What’s the limit? Where does it end? Are we, those who long to be controlled, all like this? Or do I have a reciprocally recursive feedback system that builds on itself in such a way that eventually all my feelings of submission and denial will be compressed into a diamond-hard lump?

Yeah, I don’t know. As long as she keeps me locked up along the way, I guess it’ll be OK.