Tag: femdom

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Manifestival

I’ve always enjoyed cricketed’s blog and not just because I love how they called his device “the cricket” (there’s a whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket/nose erection thing in there somewhere, right?). He writes well and the way chastity has affected his relationship has always seemed to mirror ours (more or less). The main difference between he and I involve tone (he comes off a lot more serious than me) and his inclusion of a lot of NSFW images as a way to punctuate his posts (which is not to say I’m not a fan of NSFW images…I mean seriously).

Recently, he posted his “personal manifesto”:

In order to understand me — not necessarily male chastity, or submissiveness, or anything except how those things apply to me and my life with J, you have to understand the following principles we’ve come to embrace, and, tentatively, subtly, espouse to others. Please don’t take anything here personally or as an invitation to an argument. I can only speak for me, and how J and I are growing in our relationship. Also, please don’t get the idea we’ve sat around and hashed out the wording of this. This is all merely my thinking. A man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.

First off, I am not going to be arguing with him. My intention is only to react and reflect similarly and give his observations my personal spin. I really like the line “a man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.” That’s for damned sure. Hence this post. Second, I totally appreciate what drives his need to espouse. I’d love to espouse (as I said in my last post) so I get what drives the desire to write a manifesto. Maybe this is just me doing the same. I dunno, but I do know I’m not arguing. Just…commenting.

He begins…

1. Women are superior to men: intellectually, physically, spiritually, emotionally. At first this idea held only erotic attraction to me, but the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became to me, and I now consider it to be a general truth.

I do not consider women to be superior to men. That’s not a PC statement, it’s an opinion based on over 40 years of observation and interaction with both genders. Men are really good at some things, women at others. That’s just common sense. While this is clearly the largest disagreement he and I have, I don’t think belaboring the issue would be time well spent. Suffice it to say, I’m not that kind of chastised man.

2. In any relationship between a man and a woman, the natural place for the man is in subservience to the woman. In a marriage, the woman should as a general matter be acknowledged as the dominant partner, and the man’s role is to accommodate her needs and desires.

I’m a lot more on-board with this one, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say any relationship. Mine and his, obviously, but I have no idea if everyone should work this way. What about submissive women, for example? Or gay couples?

Anyway, I have noodled with the idea that men should, as a matter of custom, give women control over their orgasms when they commit to them (with or without devices). This is something cricketed touches on later, but the benefits of permanently attaching one’s partner to their sexual release have, for us, been tremendous. I wish it were more common. I think the “woman should be the dominant partner” and “the man’s role [should be] to accommodate her needs and desires” parts flow from that, but also require the man not to be an idiot in the first place. As has been noted elsewhere ad nauseum, chastity and orgasm control cannot fix a broken relationship or make you a beter partner than you already have in you to be.

3. Orgasm control is essential for the healthy sexual expression of principles 1 and 2. A man’s unfettered access to his own penis is cancer to his personal relationships.

Sentence number one, yes. I agree. Maybe not the only essential thing, but a big one (IMO). Second sentence, I’m not so sure about. “Cancer” is a very strong word. Also, I don’t necessarily blame the penis but the fact that access to it could, as it did with Belle and I, loosen a couple’s physical bonds to each other. Because I could jack-off, I eventually stopped trying to get Belle to have sex with me. Because we weren’t having sex, I eventually had an affair. It was a nasty little snowball that rolled along for a decade before nearly knocking over our marriage. Had she been controlling my release the entire time, who knows what would have happened.

4. Men are unable to control themselves regarding their own orgasm, and require a woman’s control in order to abstain from masturbating.

Men certainly do like their orgasms, don’t they? Millions of years of evolution have designed them to have frequent emissions. However, not all of them are unable to control themselves. Steve from The Glow Inside (a moment of silence, please – I miss Steve) was 100% mental with his chastity. Head on over to FetLife and you’ll find a bunch more like him lording over those of us under lock and key their superior self-control.

Yeah, it’s a whole hell of a lot better when she’s involved. In fact, absent a women (or any partner, for that matter) I’m not sure what the point of orgasm control would be. Were I single, I’d be coming every day (twice on those with vowels in their names). I am not one of those who believe lack of masturbation and orgasm makes me a better person. Better within my relationship, yes. Better in general, no.

5. Without orgasm control, a man’s thoughts and desires are unmoored and scattered. With it, his focus remains constant and unyielding on the goal of continually pleasing the woman who controls him. The dynamic of orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.

My experience is totally the opposite of this. My thoughts are way more scattered after a couple of weeks orgamsless. I’m easily distracted and find myself thinking about sex way more often than usual. I am a ton more focused on Belle, but that’s at the expense of everything else. It’s not debilitating or anything, but very noticeable.

As I said yesterday, I totally agree with the sentiment that “orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.” I believe that entirely.

6. A man’s resistance to the principles set forth above is rooted in arrogance. The current standard cultural definition of masculinity is profoundly flawed, and is a product of the insecure arrogance of men.

Sentence two, I agree. Our culture doesn’t recognize or value submissive masculinity at all. Not, at least, as it pertains to relationships with women. Some might point to military dynamics as an example of submissive masculinity that’s seen as worthy, but the context is all wrong. Men who submit their masculine prerogative to a woman are weak, period. I wish that perception was otherwise.

Sentence one. Maybe it’s arrogance for some or maybe it’s just that it’s not their thing. While I do think a great many men (and their partners) would benefit from a chastity lifestyle, I don’t pretend that it would be right for all men everywhere. We’re just too diverse a species for that kind of blanket thinking

7. A woman’s loving humiliation of her husband, including but not limited to the use of a chastity device, will over time act as an antidote to his arrogance. Masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you.

Not every guy wants to be humiliated. And why should chastity be seen as humiliation? Yeah, it’s power exchange, but that’s not humiliation. I admit that I’m unclear where humiliation fits in my personal set of perverse triggers, but I know that it’s not central to my chastised experience and not even among the top five things I like about it. In fact, I can say pretty confidently that Belle’s never humiliated me, even though there might be a little tiny part of me that would like it.

That being said, “masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you” I like a lot. It goes directly to my issues with our restrictive definition of it and also seems much more a “one size does not fit all” kind of statement than anything that came before it.

8. A chastity device is a symbol of fidelity, a reminder of submissiveness, an expression of love, and a piece of decorative jewelry. It shouldn’t be forgotten that all of this is fun and erotic and hot and beautiful and lasting and real.

Total agreement with all that. 100%.

TELL HER TODAY: I did a little more than a year ago, and guess what?

HAPPINESS

Yeah, same here, though it’s been almost two years for me. It has made me, on balance, a much happier person.

To conclude, I want to reiterate that I’m not picking on cricketed here. I think there’s a lot of truth in what he says, but I also tend to get hives whenever anyone speaks with such zeal and authority regarding The Truth™ (regarding matter of sexuality or anything). My truth is not his truth is not that guy over there’s truth. There are a multitude of paths to happiness and the experiences of any one blogger will never be your path. You have to do what feels right and good and enjoyable for both of you. If I have a manifesto, I guess that’s it.

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Kinky or no?

On a recent post, a reader left this comment:

Belle appears to be very serious about having things her way, which I think is wonderful. She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.

On the face of it, this might seem to be a fairly innocuous thing to say, but this same reader then went on (in another comment) and said I lacked “true submissive values” and that I demonstrated too much of a concern for my own pleasure and not enough for hers. You know, that same old bullshit. As a matter of fact, as any long-time reader of my blog knows, I do consider myself something of a selfish sub, but that’s not to say I’m still not a sub. Who in the hell wants a partner, submissive or otherwise, who seems to have no interest whatsoever in their own happiness? Isn’t one of the hot things about topping someone that you occasionally make them wait (or even refuse outright) that thing that they really want? Isn’t that part of the fucking dynamic? If they don’t really want anything other than to please you in some servile, pathetic way…then what?

And besides, I think it’s incumbent upon everyone to be mindful of their partner’s motivations and needs. You’ll just have to trust me on this, but I know my Belle. Better than any of you. She really wants me to have what I want. She wants to give me what I need. It’s just how she’s wired and it’s part of the complexity of structuring a D/s relationship since what I seem to want isn’t always what I say I want and she’s left to decide which she should be thinking about. For example, the other night I said to her that I really, really wanted to fuck her. Like, really. And, of course, that was true. But, what I really wanted, more than anything else at all, was for her to tell me I couldn’t. To refuse me the thing I had a very strong urge to do. Because she can and I like it when she does. See? Fucking complicated!

But whatever. I digress. The real point of this post was to mark the approach of one month locked up and how my dear reader’s comment has stuck with me.

I think she locked me up around July 6. That would make today my 29th day encumbered which, while not a record or anything, is the eve of a bit of a milestone worth noting. Oddly enough, I have no idea what my longest stint in a device is. Seems like the kind of thing I’d remember, but I don’t. I suppose it’s recorded here on the blog somewhere, but it’s not in my brain. I know it can’t be much longer than five or six weeks, though. I’ve either had to bail out due to physical damage or she’s decided she wanted to play with the contents or I’ve had to travel or something before it got much past that point. So anyway, I’m going to say that six weeks is the record duration just for conversation’s sake.

Will I be locked up longer than that? Well, she’s intimated that I may be locked up until our anniversary in mid-October. That’s still 10 or 11 weeks from now. I’ve never done anything close to 100 days in any device, so the prospect is exciting. However, she’s been coy about that and I haven’t been able to pin her down. Our anniversary might just be the next time she lets me come. Or maybe that’ll be this weekend. I honestly have no idea. I do think she’s heard Sarah’s “add 50% to whatever he says he wants” advice and is pondering it in application to me. I would be thrilled to be made to wait longer than my last longest orgasmless duration, but I’d also really want to fucking come way before then…see my earlier point about complication.

In any event, back to the comment. “She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.” While I certainly don’t think being unlocked is kinky, I can say that when I’m in and have been for a while (like now), it’s hard for me to imagine what being out and about is like. Plus, I get to a point where being locked seems both normal and natural for me. I like feeling like this, as hard as it is sometimes, and I like having even the possibility of sneaking in some quiet edging (or more) taken away from me. So, I start to think being locked is normal and natural and I get a happy, warm and even comforting feeling being that way. It’s at times like these that I totally understand that whole “being locked up for the rest of my life would be so fucking hot” thing.

It’s also when I actually do the opposite of what my dear reader wanted. Instead of thinking not being locked up is kinky, I stop considering being locked up as kinky. Like I said, it’s natural. It’s normal. It’s how I should be. So? And then I want to share it with people. I think it’s just human behavior to want to tell your friends when you’ve found something fantastic that’s changed your life. I wish I could find a way to explain it to them (some of them, anyway). But I can’t. Because even though I don’t think it’s kinky anymore, they do. And this isn’t some run of the mill relationship advice. This is my sex life. And I think it’s inappropriate to bring anyone into your sex life if they don’t want to be there. So I’m stuck.

Someday, maybe, after the consumption of alcohol perhaps, certain topics might come up in conversation that would allow me (or Belle, even) to share the secret in a way that seemed, at the very least, relevant. In the mean time, I’m exactly where I want to be. And it feels really good, whether or not it’s kinky.

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Permission

“Just so I’m clear,” I said, embracing Belle with my arms and legs and pressing my face into her right breast, “I’m allowed to fuck my ass and torture my nipples while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“How about my balls? Can I abuse my balls? Can I make them hurt?”

Silence.

“No, you can’t do that. You need something to look forward to for when I get back.”

“You’re right, Belle Fille. Thank you.”

—

Belle’s off to NYC until Thursday leaving me alone with permission to do the things I used to do anyway back when it was up to me. Sera said in a comment to a previous post, regarding Belle’s appropriation of just about every one of my physical outlets, “Glad to hear Belle is rejecting the myth that cock=male sexuality,” and I guess that is the best summary of what she’s done. I think even I had fallen into that trap.

I had been lobbying Belle for another chance to make her come on Sunday night since she’s going to be gone for most of the week and well past the 72 hour no-fly zone that follows her orgasms, but as I laid there and held her, even with a full tube and a quivering desire fluttering around in my chest, I felt very calm. I’ve felt this from time to time before and I should probably bookmark this post for when I stop feeling it in the future, but it was one of those crystal moments when I totally accepted my place and her power to decide what was going to happen. I think this is due to her flexing her control and the acquisition of her new powers. The number of technicalities I was able to carve wiggle room out of have been drastically diminished by her. It’s almost refreshing to know I can’t do anything to or with my body without her permission. In any event, it focuses the mind quite a bit.

Which, in fact, is all I have left: My mind. Of course, it would be very difficult for her to control that to such an extent that I couldn’t use it to at least work myself up (not that I think she wants to or that I want her to or that it would be in any way good for our relationship). I still have blanket permission to consume porn which, at this point, it purely a mental exercise. That’s just about the last thing I can do all on my own that involves sex. I suppose she could require that I ask permission before engaging in it, but I do so at a frequency I’m sure she’d find both alarming and annoying if I asked her each and every time. Maybe if I had to ask each day or something. I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t even talk about it. Yeah, let’s change the subject…

Saturday night, I almost made her come without ever touching her pussy. In fact, I know I could have. It had been two and half weeks since my last opportunity (due mostly to my trip) and she was ready. I started out playing extra special attention to her nipples, licking and sucking each while rolling the other between my fingers. Her nipples are so wonderfully big when she’s really horny. I camped out. Her hips were digging into the bed forcefully before I pulled her pajama bottoms down.

But then, instead of moving right in and stroking her clit, I ran my fingers lightly over the skin and taut tendons to each side of her pussy. She moaned and purred like a kitten.

“Ohhh, you’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

It was an unexpected reversal. She was so hot I know that if I had kept at it for 30 more seconds she would have exploded. But, as soon as I realized how close she was, I slipped my fingers onto her dripping clit. Turns out, I wanted to feel her pussy as much as she wanted me to. Seconds later, she was coming. My only regret was she was so worked up and she came so fast that my pussy time was incredibly short. She had a fantastic orgasm, though. I was up for hours, but she slept like a baby.

So anyway, the njoy Pure showed up today. I got home a little early and had time to myself to give it a spin. Short story so far is the thing is fan-fucking-tastic. I’m counting the minutes until I can play with it again.

And with that, I think I’ll go take advantage of my permission.

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Eminent domain

In the beginning, I gave Belle the cock. Not only the cock, but everything associated with it including my balls, all the fluids they produced, and any opportunity to use those things to achieve sexual pleasure. So, it made some sense that she’d then – just last week – claim control over my ass. It is, after all, how I gain access to my prostate which is yet another part of the system I had already given to her. No, I hadn’t specifically given her that very special gland, but it is an integral part of the rest and so closely related to the production of the system’s output and my sexual pleasure, that I’m sure any court would have agreed and said she was well within her rights to regulate my access to it.

But how can I square all that with her latest land grab? Last night, she told me I wasn’t allowed to play with my nipples without her permission (where, of course, “play with” means “torture”, “abuse”, and “reduce to quivering puddles of painful pleasure”). So yeah, what’s up with that? They’re, like, two feet (or something) from the cock and not physically connected in any way. Well, except for how what happens to them directly affects the status of the cock and how much of the tube’s interior volume it’s trying to occupy. And how the pain stimulus feeds some kind of direct endorphine-like current deep into my brain in such a way as to make my mouth go slack and my eyes defocus. And how, even as the most intensely torturous, twisty, biting and burning abuse I think the plump pink meat can stand before ripping right off my body is inflicted upon them, not only is the sensation immediately converted to raw pleasure but I’m driven to stretch their tender and bruised little beings right back into the waiting jaws of the vicious little clamps I got from fucking Old Navy, of all places, and…and…*GASP!*

Yeah. OK. I can see her point. She’s not just in control of the cock or the ass or the nipples or, in fact, any one physical aspect of my body. She’s claiming control over every expression of my sexuality. And yes, as she points out, this is the logical extension of what I wanted when I first gave her the cock. What else should I expect? If she’s going to do it, she may as well do it right.

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Exhibitionist

Back in March, I posted HNThumper XV to the portfolio. Since then, it’s been reblogged by five six people and liked by six others. Certainly, as Tumblr porn goes, those numbers are quite modest but I find it interesting that it seems as though the guys reblogging it don’t get that that’s not me filling out my jeans in such an impressive manner. One guy added the comment, “Damn this is too hot for words!” I don’t necessarily disagree with him. I also find it very hot. But, that ain’t no cock behind the demin.

That particular picture is a worst case scenario with regard to how the device looks under pants. I guess, looking at it out of context, it does look like a big fat penis. Since I know what it is (in fact, am what it is), it’s hard for me to see it as anything other than a big steel tube. While I have more or less gotten over worrying what people think when they catch a glimpse of the occasional bulge in my crotch, it’s comforting to know that, at least sometimes, they’re just assuming I have a really big dick. I suppose that’s because the truth is so far outside most people’s experience that they can’t imagine it’s anything else (plus, you know, who doesn’t want a really big dick?).

In related exhibitionist news, this site’s been getting a record amount of traffic in the past month or so. I can’t tell how I compare to others in the blogosphere, but the numbers are getting big enough that it’s making me pause to gape at them. Back in the day, I’d get a few hundred views a day and just be happy I wasn’t talking into an empty box. Now, I can tell there a number of people are reading the entire blog every day (I assume they’re new to the site) and July’s traffic will be higher than any month before.

I don’t say this to brag or anything. There’s a part of me that would rather those numbers stop growing because the more people who discover this little corner of depravity the higher the likelihood, while still very small, that someone I know will figure out it’s me. If that ever happens, my only wish would be for the discoverer to tell me they know. I don’t actually like having this alter ego and secrets I need to protect. I’d rather be open and honest, though not to the point that I’ll volunteer details of my sexual proclivities for no reason.

There’s also nagging in the back of my mind the fact that I’m playing to an audience now. At what point do I stop being a person on a virtual soapbox saying whatever comes to mind to whoever happens to stop to listen and start being aware of all your eyeballs looking back? Yeah, of course, I always knew you were lurking out there, but for some reason there’s a difference between 100, 500, 1,000, and 25,000. I only wish I had something more profound to share with all you peepers (which is not a passive-aggressive prompt for you to comment how profound you think my blather is).

In assturbation news, Belle’s allowed me to purchase an njoy Pure Wand (see what I did there?). I had previously purchased a G-Force for p-spot play, but have found its floppy tendencies somewhat annoying. I have been able to use it with some success, but, since it’s made of silicone, it’s sometimes hard to practice any kind of precision. The Pure Wand, being solidly made of my favorite material, should prove to be much easier to control and a more productive prostate juicer.

 

Even though it’s not really a fucking tool, Belle says I still need to ask her permission before I get to use it. I had thought she only wanted me to tell her when I was craving a healthy reaming and that something like the G-Force, or soon the Pure Wand, would be allowable under the “clinical” definition she has established, but it now appears as though I’ll need ask permission before I shove anything up my ass at any time for any reason.

The occasions when that happened used to be private, of course. I admit there’s an amount of embarrassment I feel in needing to go to her for permission beforehand, but there’s also a lovely warm feeling of being that much more controlled by her. Bonus points that it was entirely her idea. It’s yet another aspect of my previously personal sex life that’s been exposed to and is now “managed” by her.

In short, I’d say things are going swimmingly for us at the moment. I fell asleep last night with my head on her stomach and my arm wrapped around her waist while she caressed my back and watched TV. It was a simple moment and, to an outsider, a fairly innocent position to be in, but it made my inner sub hum with satisfaction. I know there will be good times and bad and that now is just an exceptionally good one, but I’m not sure she could make me any happier than I was as I dozed there.

It’s good to be Belle’s Thumper.

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An admission

Belle has instructed me to come here and admit to you all that, while she has given me permission to milk myself when I feel the need, my little solo session with the dildo wasn’t about that. Yes, I did end up expressing seminal fluid, but my motivations had nothing to do with prostate maintenance and everything to do with my being a horny little slut who wanted his hole fucked out. I have a special dildo for prostate massage that’s to be used in what Belle describes as  “clinical” milking which is very different from the penis dildo with balls and throbbing veins I wore myself out with the other day. From now on, if I feel the need to be fucked, I am to ask Belle for permission before doing so.

Also, before she let me give her a very nice orgasm last night using her vibrator, she said she may leave me in the device until our anniversary in mid-October. I’m not entirely sure if she was serious (I doubt she can live without her cock that long). I think the longest I’ve been locked up was 4-5 weeks (and that was in the CB6K). So, assuming no physical damage forces me out and assuming she’s serious and assuming she can stand not fucking her cock for three months, that would be something over 100 days in lock-up and even more without orgasm (assuming, when she lets me out, I get to come). That’s a lot of assuming.

Regardless, I’m terribly lucky to have Belle Fille in my life. Lucky and grateful. She makes me very happy and I love her so much.

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The christening of Mr. Darcy

Belle Fille likes penetration. Yes, she also likes my tongue and my fingers and her vibe, but she really likes fucking her cock. Which, of course, presents a problem. The first and most obvious is that she also likes to keep her cock locked in a steel chastity device. That makes fucking it rather inconvenient. The second problem is, when she lets the cock out, it’s usually been a while since it’s come and my stamina is for shit. If I don’t maintain total concentration, I’ll squirt. Easily 3 out of 4 times, I’ll come before she does, nearly always without permission.

Which is what led me, several months ago, to buying a strap-on cock. Belle’s very particular about what’s put inside her and claims the cock on me is the perfect size. As has already been established, I am five and five eighths inches long when erect and about one and a half inches in diameter. Not huge, but nothing to be ashamed of either as it places me at the very top of the penis length bell curve. As luck would have it, Vixen Creations offers a little bit of heaven that measures almost exactly the same size as me. They call him Tex. So I bought him and a vegan harness with straps that go around both my legs so as to leave room for my steel tube in between.

And then it sat. For months. Belle knew I was going to get it, but she wasn’t eager to try it out. I’d bring it up occasionally, but when the opportunities presented themselves, she’d demure and have me do something else. I remained (mostly) patient.

In an attempt to entice her to give it a shot, I gave Tex a new name. Belle’s favorite author is Jane Austen and her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. In that book, there’s a character named Mr. Darcy who, in the BBC television adaptation, was played by Colin Firth. Colin Firth is, according to my Belle, a fine looking man and is on the list of the three men she’d be willing to have sex with other than me (the other two are Pierce Brosnan and George Clooney, so the chances are pretty slim). So anyway, I naturally named the dildo Mr. Darcy.

Then, after months of gentle prodding and subtle cajoling, last night was to be the night. Belle Fille would finally allow me to pleasure her with Mr. Darcy.

We started out very slowly. I had already lit all the candles to help set the scene and she had already had me remove my clothes. We laid in bed and talked for quite a while. So long, that I was sure she was getting cold feet again. I prepared myself for this so I wouldn’t appear disappointed. It is, after all, entirely her decision if, when, and how she’ll come.

After a bit, she asked, “So, is it best for you to have it on during the whole event or should you make me wait in the middle. I don’t like waiting.”

“Then I’ll have it on the entire time.” I inserted Mr. Darcy through the rubber O-ring and made sure the curve of his erection was centered just like the real thing. Then, I put my feet through the harness and pulled it up over my hips. I had already adjusted it to be snug, but not too tight. The two leg straps nestled in between both sides of my nutsack and my legs, then met up along my ass crack. The base of the dildo sat on my pubic bone and pushed the biocock down and out of the way so that it was very close to a natural positon.

Not wanting to move too quickly, I laid on my back next to her and let everything soak in. It all looked so real. I saw my legs bent at the knees in the background and my hair-covered chest in the foreground and in between was sticking up a very familiar-looking cock. Its color was lighter than my skin, but its shape and proportions were perfect. We both sort of marveled at the sight.

As we laid there, continuing our little chat, I found myseld holding it and squeezing it just as I would Belle’s cock.

“You’re such a guy,” she said.

As we started to kiss, I had to will my hands off the thing. I wanted to keep stroking it even though it wasn’t about to go soft and I couldn’t feel anything anyway. It just felt nice having that familiar shape in my hand.

I started in with the typical pre-game activities and soon found my fingers flitting over her clit and probing her pussy. The natural fluids were doing their thing, but I was worried about there not being enough lube. As I moved up over her body, I put saliva into my hand and rubbed it up and down Mr. Darcy’s shaft. The material from which it’s made feels remarkably lifelike when wet. It’s soft and spongy on the surface and more firm in the middle. Not unlike an actual cock.

I lined Mr. Darcy up with Belle’s waiting pussy the best I could. For not the last time, I realized how much of the feedback from the biocock I rely upon when fucking. Of course, with a real cock, you always know if you’re lined up and she’s hot and wet. With Mr. Darcy, I had to use my fingers to make sure everything was in place. I ran Mr. Darcy’s head up and down the soft, wet lips of her pussy and she moaned just a little. Then I slid it into her.

I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the past few years and I always knew, logically, that I wouldn’t feel anything. But still, it was very strange being in this familiar position, making these familiar motions, and feeling absolutely nothing. I could feel her body moving receptively beneath me just like when it was me inside her, but that’s where it ened. It took a few seconds to make sure he was lined up inside her properly and his angle of insertion was correct. It was close to being in the right spot on me, but was off just enough that I had to shift my normal positon slightly. This allowed me to suck on her nipples more easily, though.

As I was fucking her, I had to reach down occasionally to make sure I didn’t pull all the way out. Again, with no sensory feedback, I was sorta flying blindly. Her reactions were good, but after a few minutes she asked, “What if I want to fuck you?”

Which I took to mean me. As in, the cock on me. “You’d have to unlock me,” I replied.

“No, what if I want to fuck you? As in, on top.”

“Oh! Well, tell me to roll over.”

“OK, roll over.”

So I rolled over and made sure Mr. Darcy was lined up as she slid down his already slick shaft. I started to buck my hips in a reciprocal fashion, much more so than I dare to when she’s actually fucking me. I found it difficult to keep up the right rhythm since – again – I couldn’t feel Belle move over the cock she was fucking. I eventually figured out that if I placed my hand on the small of her back, I could maintain the correct pace.

The next way I realized strap on fucking was different than the other kind was that I was getting tired. The actual work that fucking entails seems to be masked by the sensation of doing the fucking. Absent that, it’s all just a lot of moving around and I felt myself starting to tire, though not enough to stop. I just think it’s funny how much work fucking your wife turns into when it’s not actually you getting up inside her.

I sucked and licked her tits as she rode Mr. Darcy freely. Looking up at her, I saw her face contorted in pleasure, her eyes mostly closed and her mouth in a permanent O shape. She was obviously enjoying herself, but not in the way she does when fucking me. I could tell it felt different to her. I could tell she was fucking a different cock.

After a bit, it started to become apparent that something was not quite right, though. She had been going too long. Eventually, she called it and rolled to my side. To finish her off, I brought out Pink. She came so hard that she dug her nails into the side of my throat, clutching my carotid artery. I took it as long as I could before crying out in pain.

As I took the harness off and pulled the wet Mr. Darcy through the O-ring, I couldn’t help myself but suck his length into my mouth. I cleaned Belle’s juices with my tongue before placing him back in the nightstand. Can’t do that with a real cock.

The postgame report is good. While he didn’t make her come, Belle enjoyed Mr. Darcy and says we’ll get to use him again. Next time, she’ll let me stay on top longer to see it that helps her get off. Also, if I find myself beneath her, I’ll probably not fuck back with such vigor. In any event, I hope that with practice Mr. Darcy will be able to give her the kind of pleasure I can’t when I’m locked up and not allowed to come.

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Push me, please

The other day Belle said she wasn’t sure what I meant when I said I wanted to be pushed. As in:

First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

I tried to explain that there’s a desire within me to go far beyond my comfort zone if for no other reason than she’s asked me to do so. I pointed her to Maymay’s post related to this (is there anything he’s not written about?) and also sent her a couple of Sarah Jameson’s emails that, I think, touch indirectly on it.

Sarah Jameson, for those who don’t know, writes the Male Chastity Blog. She’s a “normal” woman, not unlike Belle, with a husband who likes abnormal things, not unlike me. She writes with confidence and, while I don’t always agree with her, find that she’s right far more often that not (at least IMO). Besides the blog, she also sends out a multi-part email newsletter on the subject of…wait for it…male chastity. Why an email, I can’t tell. If it were me I’d put it all on my blog and not make people wait for it all, but whatever. I recommend it, especially for those just starting out.

So anyway, in part 11 of her series, she asks, “Just how long can a man wait?” Her initial response sends an electric shiver down my spine:

Well, the truth is… your man doesn’t have to orgasm ever. As in NEVER.

But then she give what I think is the best advice I’ve read on the subject:

Over time I’ve come round to the way of thinking that you should keep your man in orgasm denial for at least 50% longer than he asks for and thinks he can stand.

Why?

Because in the early days, while you’re still working out the ground rules, he’ll be basing his own estimation on insufficient knowledge. To HIM, fresh into male chastity, even a week seems like an eternity.

So if he thinks a month, make it six weeks; if he thinks six months, make it nine months; and if he thinks a year… woe betide him.

This is nothing to do with domination – this is to do with playing the game he’s asked to play and keeping HIM within the rules.

I don’t agree, however, that is doesn’t have anything to do with domination. I think it does, at least for me, because it certainly has something to do with submission. My submission has no value if it entails only that which I am willing to do on my own. It only gains value, to me, when it crosses out of my fantasy bubble and starts to make me squirm. It would become zen-like to be taken far out of my zone – to be made to truly suffer – for the benefit of my top. Often, I feel as though Belle humors me and, as soon as I seem to become uncomfortable or inconvenienced or whatever, she’ll pull back. But that’s just when it’s getting good!

Her next message, conveniently enough, covers “what to do when he claims he can’t take it anymore.” This, I thought, was particularly insightful:

He WANTS to orgasm as a fleeting thing; but he CRAVES denial long-term. It’s how it works with most men. And when they’re begging with their blue-balls, they really do mean it.

But if you don’t give in, he’ll thank you, I promise. Don’t feel sorry for him – he’s getting what he wants, and that’s more than most people in the world ever get.

Belle specifically asked me to explain this bit of ironic drama the other day and I couldn’t. Sarah doesn’t explain it, really, but she perfectly captures it. In the moment, there are times when I want the orgasm badly. Palpably. Like, life and death. But, what I want even more is for Belle to deny it to me, especially if I really, really, REALLY want it. See point number one above.

The next bit is also terrific advice:

I know from John [her husband] that feeling of wanting to come all the time is amazing for [men]. Yes, when you’re making love at that point it can get a bit uncomfortable, but it soon passes. Rather than feeling sorry for him, try empathy: share his feeling without taking responsibility for it or for making it better.

Yes, yes, yes. “Oh, poor baby, I know it’s hard…” Not guilt, not confusion, not sympathy. More like, “Look, fucker, you asked for this so you’re going to get it and, while I can empathize with your situation, there’s not a damn thing I’m going to do about it other than pour honey on your agony.” But, you know, nicer than that.

Or not, because, in fact, that would be a fucking hot way to put it…

Of course, I’m talking about more than just orgasm denial. I’d like her to require me to wear the device past the point I beg for it to be taken off. I want to provide any and all service to her (house, body, whatever she asks) past the point of comfort or convenience. I don’t want her to be a bitch or some über domme, just to set for me very high goals and expectations. To understand that when I’m in a place where most people would be unhappy (and even if, in that moment, I am unhappy), that I’m actually where I need to be.

I know this is hard for Belle to wrap her head around. It’s all very weird and alien and a million miles from how she’s wired to interact with the world (and her husband). I can’t expect her to understand why I am the way I am. I don’t understand that myself. But if she can figure out what all the buttons and levers do – how to leverage my kinks – I think we can use them in a way that will make both of us more satisfied.

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Woodsy

In about a week, I’m leaving for a 10 day camping trip. I only mention this because Belle had told me I would be left unlocked while I was gone since I’ll be with a group of folks who are otherwise unaware of my…condition. But then, night before last, she told me she wishes she could leave me locked. And honestly, I wish I could be, too.

The device and I are on pretty good terms at the moment. The first night she put me back in it, I was so excited that I didn’t fall asleep until 3:30. Last night, I fell asleep OK but woke up several times for the customary reasons. Eventually, I’ll sleep right through that stuff, but I’m still in adjustment mode. I’d feel the steel ring and tube containing the straining meat and a happy little ball would start bouncing around inside me and I’d be wide awake for a while until things settled down. Right now, the device, as a symbol of our dynamic, is on the right side of things. I’m happy so I love it. Wearing it because she wants me to makes me feel very good. She told me last night she liked my attitude better when I’m locked. A small thermonuclear detonation went off inside me to hear that. I know we’re back on the right track. I can feel it.

So anyway, I was thinking about what she said. She wished she could leave me locked up on my trip. And I think it’s possible. This won’t be like last year’s trip when I backpacked into the Rockies. This time, we’re going to be driving into Northern California. In fact, I’m driving all the way out there, so nasty TSA metal detectors aren’t a factor. Also, I’ll probably be sleeping in the bed of my truck (inside the camper shell – what, I don’t seem like the truck type?) so I’ll have a modicum of privacy. I can bring the soapy water I need with me (even though it will be verrrry cold) and take care of things out of sight and sound of the others.

That’s not to say there won’t be other inconveniences. I’ll need to make sure I’m properly shielded when answering the call of nature, for instance. And we’ll have to see how the Steelheart likes hiking around. But, as far as I can tell, it’s all perfectly doable. Remember the part about pushing me? This is a perfect example. She wants me locked. She shouldn’t really consider my inconvenience if that’s the way she wants things. That’s pushing.

Besides, worst case, I’ll still have my emergency key.

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Weekend sex

We did have some nice episodes this weekend and since it’s been so long since I wrote about the sex parts, I’ll relate them to you now…

On either Friday or Saturday, I went to bed highly expectational that something was going to happen. I was sporting the free meat so almost anything was possible. She told me to get naked and I snuggled up against her, nuzzling her tits through the fabric of her pajamas and running my hand over the outline of her mound. She lifted her top and I latched on to her nipples, licking and sucking each one in turn. My blood rose pretty quickly and the soft spot just under the high point of her crotch that told me I was on her clit. I pressed down with a circular motion. Just seconds later, she started to come. I could feel her heat and dampness through the fabric and flicked my tongue over erect nipple as her head went back and she whispered in breathy insistance, “I going to come.”

And she did. And it was really fucking hot. She said it made her feel like she was 16 again and we were fooling around in a car. It was all so rushed and determined. I was left feeling like the man of steel and, after allowing her time to bask a bit, I asked if I could enter her. She seemed to hesitate and I thought for a second she’d refuse, but she pulled off her bottoms and opened up for me.

This was the first time I fucked her with the new ring in and, more so than any other I have, I could feel its gravity move though the head of the cock and slide against the wet walls of her pussy. My PA piercing has  taught me there are nerve endings inside the cock as well and, that night, as I fucked her slowly and deliberately, trying to feel every centimeter of her sex slide against mine, all the little nerves were firing. I love that new ring sofuckingmuch.

In the hight of the passion, as the urge to speed up and spew reached its zenith, the fact that I was not allowed resonated in me like a struck bell. I felt suddenly and immensely grateful that I was with a partner willing to take on control of my release. I thanked her for accepting my cock and reiterated how right it felt that she decide when I come. As I was fucking her and as I was grappling with the rising, desperate need to ejaculate, I embraced with all my being her right to refuse me the pleasure. It was not going to happen.

I fell asleep pressing as much of me against as much of her as possible, hard, sticky cock between us.

The next night, or maybe the one after that, she abused me. She started off slow and gentle, just how I like, caressing every part of my desperate sex and stroking the cock until an orgasm was just beginning to bubble to life. Then she started slapping, lightly at first and then with more determination, my balls. Eventually, she was striking them with force and I was gasping for breath, drawing my knees up instinctively, and clutching at my aching sack. The pain would radiate for ten, twenty, thirty seconds or more before receding, then I’d slowly open my legs again. That’s the most delicious part. My higher brain, with its weird chemistry and crossed pleasure wires, fighting my lower reptile brainstem’s blind protective instinct. Each millimeter my legs moved apart was a minor internal battle. Then, she’d place her loose fist against my nuts, draw back, and strike them again.

This kind of pain is, for me, the beluga caviar of masochistic pleasure. Certainly an acquired taste, it’s also very intense. I couldn’t do it every night, but sitting here now, encased, reliving the unique radioactive agony…I want it again. A lot. I’m getting all dreamy just thinking about it.