Tag: femdom

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Consequences

Three of her orgasms. That’s what I’ve lost due to my willful masturbation last week.

Also, I’ve been informed, I won’t have another orgasm until November. That’s not necessarily as a result of the unauthorized ejaculation. It’s about the rythme she’s put me on recently. There will be two periods of travel between now and November, but both will be with someone else so the solo action described previously won’t be possible. Also, since I’ll be checking luggage on both of these trips, I’ll probably bring the protective device along just to be safe. Had it been with me last week, I wouldn’t have broken the rules.

So, did I break the rules because I’m untrustworthy and incapable of the honor system or was it something else? As regular readers know, I’ve been in similar situations before and not fallen off the wagon. Why was this last trip different? On the one hand, I was very tired and knew I wasn’t likely to sleep well at all had I not relived myself. I really wanted to sleep. I think, in balance, that was the primary motivator behind the infraction. However, as I said, I spent no time at all debating it with myself. There was a moment I distinctly remember where I was contrasting the night I knew I was about to face to the feeling of the PA rocking back and forth and my decision was immediate and without reservation. I don’t know if that means I can’t be trusted anymore. I know I would never try to sneak the device off or defeat it in some way (not that I could), but alone with an unprotected penis? When horny? I don’t know. It feels as though I can’t trust myself anymore, so why should Belle?

And in a way, I like that. The knowledge that I really do need to be locked up and that, had I my druthers, I’d be abusing myself were it not for the steel lock. Being an accomplice to my own denial has required a certain amount of reality suspension. Of course, I still need to be accommodating to the arrangement because my chastity is, at the end of the day, consensual, but now it’s got a different texture. It really is enforced. She says I can’t jack off and come without her permission so there’s a device locked on the penis to make sure I don’t because without it I might.

Is that evolution or devolution? Either way, it’s 16% hotter than before.

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Bits, bobs, etc.

I’m back in, if just for a few days. Belle let me out, as you may recall, a few days before I left on my hiking trip and even let me come (having said previously I’d get to orgasm in August). I was hoping I’d get another chance to get the penis wet before I left, but she came down with a cold and I was trying not to do the same either right before or during my trip, so excessive personal contact was kept to a minimum.

Luckily, she was in the mood (and I was way in the mood) and she let me give her an orgasm with my fingers on Saturday morning. For a second, it seemed like maybe that’s all that was going to happen and she wasn’t going let me have the pre-trip do-over, but in the end she did. I climbed on top and went to town, trying like hell to make it last, but failing as miserably as I usually do when the infrequent pussy time is granted. That orgasm was better than the one I had the week before and it’s left me wanting more, though she’s given no indication of how long it’ll be.

Last night, the steel curtain came back down and she’s secreted away the key. I’m actually pretty fucking horny right now. It was hard to clean the penis and its tube this morning because it wouldn’t get small enough to allow water to freely flow around inside there. I seem to be walking around with a semi-permanent semi. Whenever my thoughts even fleetingly head south or towards something sexual, I can feel it push against the walls of its prison.

Thursday, I head out of town for one night on business. If I’m still this horny then, I doubt I’ll be able to keep my hands off of it unless she very specifically says I’m not allowed or lets me take a device with me on the trip. Since I’ll probably be doing carry-on, it’d have to be the trusty old CB6K which I haven’t worn in well over a year.

In other news, the kids are out of our hair for the next nine days due to some construction in our house and this being the weeks between summer and school when they don’t have any daytime care options. So, up to the cabin they went with the grandparents. We won’t see them again until Labor Day weekend. I’m hoping the lack of company in the house will mean Belle hurts me or ties me up or both. I’d quite like to feel the sting of some hitty device on my ass or back or upper thighs. Maybe with some of the unspeakable nipple clamps in place…and my collar…

Oh look, there goes the penis again.

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Fleshy bits

“You look funny when your fleshy bits are out.”

That’s what Belle said to me a few days ago following her decision that I’d be out of the device and the unencumbered penis flopped around as I climbed into bed. Her reason for letting me be that way had to do with another camping and hiking trip I’m about to set forth on, though I don’t leave until tomorrow and she let me out Tuesday morning. There was a vagueness about whether or not my August orgasm would coincide with this.

The night before that, she had unexpectedly let me give her an orgasm. About midway through, she told me to get on my back and for a second I thought she was going to do something for me, but instead she threw one leg over my face and pressed her pussy down onto my mouth and eager tongue. I reached up and fiddled with her nipples while she grabbed the headboard and gyrated her hips around and lubricated the entire lower half of my face. The penis was straining in its prison as she moaned and groaned while exploring her new-found control over this particular kind of pleasure. It’s a little more natural for her, perhaps, since she used to usually need to be on top while fucking me in order to get off. In any event, she did achieve her orgasm while I laid there like one of those coin operated kiddy rides you used to see outside grocery stores.

The next day, I was out and distracted by the little meaty bit. I admit to playing with it more than I probably should have, but well within reason. I found I couldn’t very well curate The Portfolio while at work and then expect to be able to get up and walk around without demonstrating its affect on me. With the device in place, it always looks the same regardless of what’s going on inside. In any event, it and I were playing our usual game of chance until last night when she told me she would let me rub one out.

I will say right now it sucked. That was no fault of hers as she was more or less just an observer (she was feeling a little under the weather). She hopes that allowing me to come last night will give me the ability to control myself better so as to provide her with a nice ride on the erection tonight (assuming she’s feeling better). While excited for the event and eager to get going, I’m not sure I was in the proper mindset and may have rushed into it. There is a very palpable differnece between jacking off for the purpose of edging versus doing the same with the idea of coming. There was a point when I felt the orgasm building steam and I backed off in order to prolong my enjoyment (as if I wasn’t going to come) but then said fuck it and plowed forward so that when it finally started, there was a definite lack of fireworks. I did come and felt sleep/dopey/tingly from it, but it was hardly the kind of event I would have expected after being denied for two months, in either quality or quantity. I’m feeling more on edge and ready to come again right now than I was last night, so I hope she’ll give me another shot (literally) before I go. I also hope that if she wants to use the penis herself, that I’ll be able to accomodate her desire.

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Pictures don’t lie

I had to go into enforced chastity’s no man’s land today: The other side of airport security. Belle, who’s in NYC, didn’t want to let me stay out any longer than necessary. Therefore, I’m posting this photographic evidence that I am back in and locked up.

Before:

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After:

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Note the date (on the paper and of this post), the numbers on the locks, and their condition in each picture.

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Wedge relief

Belle finally wanted some action this morning. We were laying in bed being lazy and she said those magic words.

Just in time, too. The continued absence of my ability to pleasure her was starting to eat away at me. It actually seemed like a physical thing wedged between us. I will say it for the hundredth time, if I can’t turn my sexual energy towards myself, then I need to put it somewhere. If she’s unavailable, then it all curdles inside and I get grumpy and depressed. There just isn’t enough of that frisson I was talking about the other day to keep my furnaces stoked from being denied both my own pleasure and hers. She played it as best she could, but a few more days of it and I would have gone south big time. Even though I felt very far away from wanting to do it at the moment she said I could, it was seconds before all the boards lit up across my body. I did so desperately want her.

I tried to savor the opportunity and go as slowly as possible. While playing with her nipples, I climbed up on top of her and pressed the steel against her pussy. All around I could feel it’s heat but not on the penis itself locked away in the sensory deprivation chamber. I reached down and rubbed the short hard tube in and around her lips like I used to do in the old days before it was between us, but could feel nothing whatsoever where it counted. The sensation of feeling my thighs inside hers, my stomach on hers, my chest against her breasts and the taste of her mouth in mine all at the same time caused a strong pang of loss to erupt in my groins. I wanted in her so bad. I wanted the penis to feel hot and wet. I wanted to fuck like it was still a cock.

I got lost in the moment and Belle had to remind me what the point of the exercise was. Regretfully and with great effort, I moved down until my face was buried between her legs. I lapped and sucked like a starving man until she came with such intensity that she pushed my face away so I didn’t get to feel the orgasm flash through her pussy with my tongue. As she basked, I laid my face right inside her wet pubs and breathed in the singular scent of a woman. When it was time to go, I anointed myself with her pheromones. I could still catch little whiffs up until the time I showered.

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Smaller boxes

My list of required activities is complete. She has written up those things I am expected to do day in and day out and also a list of one-off projects or activities. I’ve put the reoccurring things on my personal calendar so my phone should help me stay on task. Things like laundry twice a week, dinner twice a week, foot massages, etc., all have been specified in the software to remind me they need to be done. For example, this morning, my phone reminded me I’m supposed to do the laundry but there isn’t any. In exchange for that, she’s having me do the grocery shopping.

As I said, Sunday nights she’ll evaluate my performance and give me some kind of grade. A good job is expected so the only consequences of this review can be negative – rewards will not be given. It appeared to be a tricky question what these punishments should be since I get off on so many things most people would think of as bad. Threat of longer denial of orgasm is unlikely to strike fear in me since I’d be perfectly happy if she denied me forever. Really, there’s only one thing that I want more than anything else and using it as leverage against my service performance seems perfectly obvious once you think of it. I want her. I want to make her come and I want to feel her pussy twitch and spasm in orgasm. I want to taste her and feel her and smell her. Moments after she comes, I start a clock in my head for when I can reasonably approach her for another. So, if my performance is below expectations, she will not just deny my access to her, she will take care of herself without me. I will have to watch as her orgasm flowers into existence and dies away and I won’t be able to leach any pleasure out of it whatsoever. I treat each of her orgasms as a special event to be savored, but if I fail at keeping her happy outside the bedroom, it will be an opportunity totally lost to me. It will truly hurt.

Of course, there are some physical punishments I would fear. Three or four hard and swift strikes from a springy fiberglass cane would probably not be too enjoyable. I ordered one from Stockroom the other day, but for play not punishment. Also, Icy Hot on the nuts is something that is so intense for the time its happening that she’s stopped doing it to me. But, there were a few times when she used it in a corrective capacity and the experience has stuck with me. She even went so far as to make me get the tube out of the drawer in the bathroom and bring it to her for use. Yeah, I’m scared of that shit.

But denial of her orgasm is probably the easiest for her. She’ll decide how many I’ll lose and that will be that.

Some people find this entire course of action silly. Of course, I’m the husband in a modern marriage, so I should do many of the things she’s got on her list anyway. They’re table stakes. How can taking out the trash be made sexy? I’d say several things to that. One, STFU. We can do what we want. Two, you need to know Belle. She’s genetically predisposed to take on too many things. Her mother is worse and I can even see the beginning of these traits in our daughter. She will never ask me to do much of anything and instead stews over the fact that I didn’t take out the trash even if I didn’t because she did it before I got around to it. So, in a real way, this is a strategy to ensure I know what she wants me to do and for her to know I will do it (and, if I don’t, she doesn’t need to stew – she can get even). Finally, as I’ve said before, I’m somewhat selfish. It’s not like I want to take advantage of Belle, but I can get a little lost in my own thoughts and lose track of the things I need to do. She won’t remind me, she’ll just get mad. Again, I now will have real motivation to keep what she wants me to do front and center.

It’s possible, over time, that she’ll make the list a little harder. Right now, it codifies a pretty typical division of labor around the house. Also, in retrospect, she might want to add more subjective items to the list. For example, she picked up on my moodiness and disappointment of the past few days from not being able to have sex with her. I think I’ve done the best possible job I could in keeping that inside, but she could also make it a requirement of my service. No complaints, no bitchiness, no moodiness or any kind of blowback on her for me not getting what I want. She might also decide to ding me for being too pushy or obviously worked up. As a sub, I crave that kind of pushing so I can demonstrate how far I’m willing to go to make her happy. I want to be put in smaller and smaller boxes by her and achieve not only objective tasks that get little check marks next to them when complete, but also to develop mentally and emotionally into a “purer” form of submission. Into a better sub.

I write those last few sentences and I know they could cause someone to object, but it’s what I’m feeling. Maybe there’s a better way to express it. What I’m not trying to do is to have all my resistance to submitting ground out of me. There’s a frisson that’s generated when my submissive side bends to her will despite my more selfish nature’s inclination to do what it wants. That energy is what powers my sexuality now and I convert it to a different kind of pleasure. I want to learn to find that spark of internal conflict in as many places as possible. I’m not sure what I’d be like if I got to a place where my selfish nature wasn’t always bitching about how unfair life is. What I need to do is figure out how to put that in a cage and use its sturm and drang for good and not let it poison me.

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Still hard

The hardest part of living like this, for all you budding chastity/denial aficionados, is not the part where she strokes you, licks you, fucks you and leaves you throbbing hard, dripping, and desperate for more. No, that’s the good part. The hardest part is when she doesn’t let you, for whatever reason, have access to her body.

The situation should be familiar to anyone paying attention. I am locked in the device as often as possible. If it were not for real life getting in the way, it would be essentially permanent. I have no way to stimulate myself and Belle chooses to play the version of this game where she will sometimes touch me everywhere but the penis. She doesn’t see the need to let it out except when life, health, or orgasm require it. What I want more than anything is her. Her tits, her pussy, her everything. I want to ravish her.

So I’m pretty sure the last time she let me get her off was the day I got back from my camping trip, five days ago. On Sunday, we took the kids to summer camp. The oldest will be there until the end of the week, but the youngest gets back tonight. That means we had two nights of kidless living. I had hoped for some quality Belle ‘n Thumper time.

There was a bit of Thumper-centric activity on Sunday night. She put the wicked clamps on my tits and punched me in the nuts. The clamps, which hurt like a motherfucker, felt really good from the second she clipped the on. I was ready. The pain/pleasure conversion motor was humming in high gear. She yanked on the chain connecting the clips a bit which is fucking crazy intense. These things are so nasty that even shifting my position causes them to chew the soft pink nipple meat as they turn with me. It can be so overwhelming that it feels like I’m in a deep, dark cave and the only thing I see is two brilliant white lights burning in the blackness. They usually leave extraordinarily thin cuts on my skin, though so superficial that bleeding is never a question. Leaving marks is cool.

Anyway, yeah, so I have god’s perfect nipple clamps on and she starts hitting me in the nuts. There’s really no pain here, either. At least, by the time the sensation gets to my brain, it’s been transmuted into something else. I craved more than she was giving me, so I got up off my back (where she had told me to lay) so that I was on all fours over half her prone body (and yes, all this movement made the clamps gnaw and chew). I was hoping this would give her a better angle on my nuts, and I wasn’t disappointed. She balled her hand into a little fist and punched my sack, pulled tight by the straining penis in its cage. I reached down and held the tube in my hand to minimize the risk of getting the thin skin at the base of the tube pinched from her assault and to give her blows a more even base to strike against. In my head, I was begging her to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted something that would take my breath away and make me crumple over her like a doll. I wanted to feel it in my guts. But I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t ask her. Something held me back. It could have been a combination of self-preservation and residual guilt for wanting this kind of attention. I don’t know. But I never asked.

When she was done (indicated by her pulling the clips off my tits), she kind of shut down and said, “I hope you can fall asleep,” or something very similar.

I admit, I was profoundly disappointed. I wanted in her pussy. I wanted to eat it up. I wanted to feel her writhe and moan and spasm to my touch. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. I got very still and quiet.

“Thumper, are you OK?”

No. But I said, “Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not important,” I replied because, by rights, it shouldn’t be. I signed up for this. I have this thing on the penis which ensures there is nothing I can do except make her come if I want anything like a release for myself. I didn’t want to ruin an otherwise enjoyable experience by getting all moody, though I was. The best I could do was keep it from affecting her. So I ate it and let her go to sleep.

But I didn’t. I was up until after midnight and then awake at least three times with stifled erections so powerfully contained that I needed to get up and walk them off. It was a crappy night’s sleep. But that’s what I signed up for, too. In the morning, she said she was surprised I hadn’t blogged the night before. Usually, when I can’t sleep and am left feeling funky, that’s what I do, but I specifically held off until now because I wanted better perspective.

Next night, she had a work dinner thing and I had drinks with a friend. I got home about 8:30 and the house was hot but the pool looked inviting so I took a skinny dip. Our backyard is enclosed just enough to leave a bit of risk in this action, so that hit a few of my buttons. Regardless, swimming in the nude is 136% better than swimming with a stupid suit on and the water was glorious. The dusky sky reflected beautifully on the water’s surface.

Belle got home somewhat later and I was hoping that she’d want my attention, but no dice. We watched Niel Patrick Harris (upon whom she has a massive crush) on the Daily Show and she fell asleep with her hand in my crotch – palm on the tube and fingertips on my nuts. It was nice, but ultimately did nothing to give me what I needed. I wanted her fucking snatch but she wasn’t giving it up.

Finally, this morning, I woke up well after she did as usual and, before getting dressed, she sat next to me in bed and again stroked my nuts. It drove me crazy, especially when she got dressed right next to me few minutes later. The kidless window is closed now since our youngest gets home this afternoon.

So anyway, I am trying my hardest not to let this maddening lack of Belle time get me down. I am trying to remind myself that this is part of the deal. That I wanted to be out of the decision making loop regarding sex and to be frustrated and horny and denied and treated arbitrarily and unfairly. I really, really don’t want to put anything back on her because the deal is I have no right to do so. I am not entitled to her and should accept what I get with gratitude.

Yeah, that’s the hardest fucking part. And in case you’re wondering, no, it doesn’t get any easier with time.

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More like Guam

Me: What are we going to do tonight?

Her: Watch Colbert, go to bed.

Me: And give you an orgasm?

Her: … Maybe.

Me: Do I get a vote?

Her: No.

Me: Not even like a Washington D.C. kind of vote?

Her: Not even. You’re more like Guam.

Me: Oh.

(Alas, there was no orgasm.)

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Sweet homecoming

The boy and I got back around 1:00 and I unloaded the vehicle and made sure the tents and sleeping backs were nice and dry before packing them away. It’s bloody hot here today and the effort worked up quite the sweat. My shirt was soaked and I could feel the perspiration running down my back and into my ass crack. The penis and balls were similarly lubed up and sliding around each other easily and in a most madding way. After, when I was cleaning up, I went to put the device on to reduce my extreme distraction (and temptation) but it was all locked together and its key was not present. Belle had it. So I had to wait.

As I said yesterday, I feel as though a switch had been thrown inside me the closer I got to home. I had a very hard time getting to sleep last night (double entendre intended) and had all sorts of thoughts running though my mind as I drove the last 300 miles home today. I had uncontrollable erections that lasted 30, 40, even 50 miles. With no way to control the urges of the penis (except for breaking out the old CB6K which I did strongly consider), I did my best to distract myself from it.

Belle got home around the usual time and, with the kids downstairs playing a video game together (which is weird all by itself), I was able to lay her down on the bed and kiss her face all over. I wrapped my legs around hers and pressed her into me and totally revelled in the smell and taste and feel of her. With my face buried in her neck, I said, “You complete me,” or something similar. In retrospect, it’s a bit of a cheesy thing to say, but that’s how it felt. Like for nearly two weeks there was a big empty hole in me and laying there next to her I felt something big and warm and comforting snap into it. That’s her. She makes me so happy.

After further consideration (because that’s what I do, consider furtherly), I realized that I really am completed by her. In giving her the penis and my orgasm and by changing how I get to feel a sense of sexual satisfaction (that is, though her satisfaction), I really can never be whole without her. A part of me and a part of what makes me feel good and right and healthy is only available when she’s near. Is that why the penis and I didn’t have much to say to one another while I was five states away? I dunno. But the sense of coming home not only to her but also my sense of well-being and certainly my libido is palpable.

Tonight, after the kids were dealt with, we just laid in bed and talked. Talked and talked. About all kinds of things. I love that. I love being married to my best friend. I love that we can talk about anything and that I have little to nothing to hide from her anymore.

As satisfying as the talking was, I was still very aware of the free penis in my pants. I asked what we were going to do about that.

“We’ll lock it up,” she said. Then, after a pregnant pause, “…tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” God, I wanted it now. I wanted her to lock me up now.

“Tomorrow.” I think I whimpered a little. “You’re not complaining, are you?”

“No, of course not.” But I was. Maybe. A little.

“That’s so cute,” she said. “You’re just like a little dog who wants back in his crate. You’re so well trained, aren’t you Thumper?”

Whimper.

“But no, it’ll happen tomorrow. I think you want it too badly right now. I like making you wait for the things you want.”

Surge! The penis got very stiff.

“Turn off the light, take off your cloths, and come under the covers.”

Done. I was in her arms again, stiff little member between us.

“It’s so hard,” I said.

“Yes.”

Kiss, kiss, lick, suck.

“Do you ever miss it? Having it inside you?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” she said, “But you’ve become so good at all the other ways.”

Again, the penis twitched and flexed. Simultaneously aching to be useful and hardening to its fullness at the thought of not being so.

“It’s not even August yet,” she said. “What’s it been now…?”

“Four weeks. But that’s not what I want. That wouldn’t be right. This is what I want. How I feel right now.”

Kiss, slurp. Suck.

“God, I want to touch it,” I volunteered.

“Yes.”

Kiss, suck, nuzzle.

“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but you can give me an orgasm. Then it’s time for bed.”

She pulled up her shirt and I latched onto her nipples like a suckling pig. Jesus fuck, I missed that. Mouth and tongue on one, fingers flitting over the other, I switched back and forth and felt her hips gyrating against the air. When I finally placed a hand over her mound, not even under her pajama bottoms yet, she made the most wonderful little sound. I grazed the tips of my fingers over the outlined of her lips and felt how very close she was. Heat and humidity radiated though the thin fabric. The penis was fully hard and inches away, but it went without saying that it had no role to play.

I put my hand in her pants and she said the softest little Oh! I could have eaten her up right there. I had barely slid my fingers into her hot wetness when she turned her whole body toward me and thrust her hips at me. She grabbed my hand and pushed it home while the orgasm rolled though her. As it subsided, I could feel her pussy twitching.

“Well,” she said after several moments of breathing hard, “I guess I missed you, too.”

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Almost there

I get home tomorrow. I will have been away for something like 11 or 12 days, depending on how you count. I really need to be back there.

Previously, I expressed a concern that being free for so long would tempt me to do things with the penis I probably shouldn’t. First day away, I admit I diddled a bit with it, but as I got further and further from Belle, my interest in it lessened more and more. I’d wake in the tent, snuggled into my sleeping bag, with the penis stiff and hard, but I had basically no desire to play with it. I gave it a few wanks to see if I could kindle a response, but there was nothing. For more than a week, it became just this little tube of meat I urinated through. It was as if the spirit of my sexuality was left behind with her and all I took with me was the useless machine it normally animated.

But, as I’ve driven the many miles back to Belle, the penis has started to become interesting again. This morning, the first time I updated The Portfolio since I headed into the woods, I found my hand wrapped around the hard flesh, pumping it furiously and feeling the heavy PA ring knock around at the end of it. My scrotum tightened up and I felt the electric fire starting to build inside, but I stopped well short of orgasm (though a little leaked out). Then, for the rest of the day, I was very aware of the unencumbered condition of my crotch. Even peeing became somewhat erotic in a strange way. I could feel the stream passing through my prostate and my fingers on its skin would cause the penis to respond by chubbing out and looking very tempting.

It occurred to me at some point over the course of the day that it’s been about a month since Belle last let me come, so it’s only natural that I’d find the penis needy, though it’s reawakening as I get closer to her is more than little interesting. I’m still at least two weeks away from my next orgasm as Belle previously said I wouldn’t have one before August. I find myself craving two things. First, her. Her presence, her scent, her warmth, and her pleasure. Second, her control. Cold, hard steel locked onto the penis keeping it out of reach and less of a distraction. Maybe its stirring is driven by the knowledge both it and I have that its days of freely knocking around down there are coming to an end.

Less than 24 hours to go…