Tag: femdom

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Security wankie

As I said yesterday, the new Steelheart is only a little less secure than my CB6K. However, it is less secure, a fact only compounded by the total failure of the PA fixing that came with it. This reality has led me to rethink a few things regarding the entire purpose of the device.

Some guys look down their noses (or boners, as the case may be) at those of us who remain chaste though the use of devices. They say the only true way to demonstrate commitment to their partner is to always have access to their dicks but to never use them for anything their partners haven’t authorized, let alone ejaculation. I truly do appreciate this point of view and admire men who are able to muster the self-control necessary to keep their hands off in the face of incredible frustration. But I guess that assumes they are, in fact, keeping their hands off.

Personally, I don’t need the device to keep from having an unauthorized orgasm. The last thing I want is to orgasm (though I desperately want to always feel like I want to – paradox!). What I crave is lots and lots of stimulation. I love playing with myself up to the moment of orgasm, cooling off for a few seconds, and then doing it again. I adore the feeling of a stiff one in my hand, heavy PA ring flopping to and fro. Even with it’s not hard, I find I can’t keep my hands off the cock. It’s like a magnet to me. So, based on all that, what the device represents is Belle’s desire to limit my ability to pleasure myself. She knows I will not come on purpose. But she also knows, from experience, that allowing me to play with the cock is a recipe for disaster.

So, the device isn’t about orgasm control. It’s a masturbation and self-pleasure control mechanism. When she puts me in it, she’s saying she wants me to focus on her and her needs. Jacking off in the shower, even if I don’t come, is distracting and indulgent. Stroking in bed after she’s fallen asleep does not leave me in the same frame of mind as when I’m just left to stew in my juices. Those guys who liken my device to a crutch are right, I guess. It’s a deterrent. A reminder of what she wants. And I need it.

My quest for the undefeatable device is more about nerdery and kink than anything else. I want to feel totally powerless against the device, but don’t actually need to be powerless. For me, it’s more like a “keep off the grass” sign or little wrought iron fence around a flowerbed. A reminder that there are rules and I’m expected to play by them.

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Not that it matters

I had kind of a crappy day yesterday at work. Lots of negative energy and stress and, by the time I got home, I wanted to connect to Belle physically, but wasn’t exactly horny. It was one of those times where, had I still been able to, I would have gone and jerked off to relieve the stress. In any event, I told her I really wanted to do stuff that night and I think she understood it wasn’t the usual whiny horny Thumper speaking but her mate who needed some special attention.

“Special attention”, of course, takes on a whole new definition when one’s manparts are locked under stainless steel. As we were waiting for the offspring to fall asleep, we watched Stephen Fry in America and I showed her how the lock works on the Steelheart. After an appropriate amount of time, she told me to turn off the light and strip. When I started to strip while the light was still on, she chided me for not following directions.

Once I got the order figured out and asked permission to enter her bed, I assumed my preferred position – head down, ass in the air, face burrowing into her. With my legs spread, I felt the unfamiliar heft of the new device suspended between my legs. She ran her hands over my back and I moved up to get closer. She was on her back, I was on all fours above, kissing her and letting the device rub back and forth over her thigh.

“It’s so smooth,” she said. I think Belle really likes it. She’s the one who said it looked so natural the first time she saw it. I suppose she’s right. It does hang and curve like a real cock, albeit a big fat one made of warm steel.

I asked for and was allowed to touch her all over. Not being allowed to touch her breasts or between her legs makes those moments when I can all the more special. Soon, I was lapping and sucking on her nipples and feeling the new sensation of a curved, yet restrained erection in the steel tube. I held off on going anywhere else other than her breasts since I wanted to extend as much as possible the salutatory effects feeling her writhe to my touch was having on my grumpiness. Eventually, I got into a position where my mouth was on one nipple, my hand on the other, and the elbow of that arm pressed gently into her mons. She started to grind against it and moan. As she got hotter, I got hotter and the pressure in the tube got higher.

What I really wanted was to go down on her. As soon as I had her pajama bottoms off, I shifted my position first by crossing over to her other nipple and then pivoting down so I could plant my face on her snatch. I had to move quickly since she was very close to coming through nothing more than grinding against me so my time between her legs was all too brief. As she came, she squeezed my head hard with her thighs – so hard it hurt.

Afterward, I was pretty worked up. I spooned against her, hard tube nestled between her ass cheeks, and tried to allow sleep to overtake me.

“You can’t even tell when I’m hard,” I said, suggesting that the hard tube never changed regardless of what was going on inside it.

“No,” she replied, “Not that it matters.”

*whimper*

It took a while before sleep caught up with me.

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Proselytizing

Heard back from Deitmar. He did indeed ship the device on the 16th. I can only assume he used 214th class parcel post or something (the one where the mail carriers pass the box off as they happen upon one another while walking their routes). I’m told by Belle and Dev that Germany is a long way away and I should be more patient. Seems ironic that a guy who can skip coming for two months get’s all wadded up over how quickly his new orgasm denial mechanism will arrive. Anyway, the payment didn’t show up for Belle since PayPal, for some reason, sent the charge through to my PayPal credit card (which I’ve hardly ever used) and not our checking account as usual. They must have jinked with the default settings or something since that’s never happened before. So yeah, all is well on the Steelheart front. It’s just a waiting game now.

UPDATE: It has arrived. At least, at my local post office. I found a little registered mail notice in my mailbox when I got home. I’ll be picking it up in the morning! I may wet myself. OK, back to the post already in progress…

Belle locked me up again this morning. She told me last night as we were going to bed that I had been very good to her over the weekend. She was really relaxed and apparently quite pleased with my performance. Therefore, I was to be locked up first thing Monday morning. Not sure if that’s my reward or what, but I didn’t question her. I’m now wearing the chrome CB6K and thinking of its stainless brother bobbing aimlessly across the Atlantic in an empty peanut butter jar.

Something Steve said in one of his posts I linked to yesterday has me thinking:

If chastity were a commercial product I’d be one of those people on TV advertisements giving gushing unsolicited endorsements, where you can’t quite believe they didn’t get paid to say it.

Over on A Captivated Man (a well-written new chastity blog, BTW), I said in a comment:

I sometimes feel like I’m carrying around a secret only a few are allowed to know. I only wish I could tell my friends because the way orgasm denial has improved my relationship and overall sexual well-being is remarkable. It’s not unlike religion. I want to tell everyone to do it…

And it is a bit like religion, I suppose. One of those mind-expanding, life-altering practices that has such a huge and welcome impact on your existence that you just want to stand around in airports handing out pamphlets. In a way, I’m glad I don’t have any friends to which I can talk about this because I’m sure I’d be insufferable telling them how wonderful it is all the time. Yes, there are bumps and setbacks along the way, but when it’s working, it’s fucking spectacular.

There are few things men cherish more than their ability to experience sexual pleasure. Sure, women cherish that too, obviously, but men are conditioned by our culture to be especially tuned in with their own pleasure in a way women, unfortunately, aren’t. Perhaps not coincidentally, a man’s sexual organs are external and easily manipulated when aroused. Some guys, you can just see, are little more than extensions of their dicks. Most guys, I’d say, are, to a lesser degree, the same. I mean, men come a lot. More than you think. It’s easy and it’s fun and it sometimes seems as though the entire world is designed to celebrate that.

I’m speaking mostly from my own experience, of course, but there are few things I could offer Belle of higher value to me as a man than my ability to do that which defines my malehood. Not only that, but doing so has been a revelation to our relationship. My orgasm now has value. It has significance. Before, greater than 90% of them disappeared down a drain or clinging to a tissue in a trashcan, forgotten minutes after they came into being. Now, their bottled energy serves to power a whole new relationship dynamic that’s far richer and more fulfilling for us both. What I’ve sacrificed in quantity I’ve more than made up for in vastly higher quality. Orgasms now, to me, are no longer the objective, they are the path to the mountaintop. The act of making love no longer leads to them, it is made more profound by their absence.

This way of thinking flies in the face of everything we’ve been conditioned to think as men. Even when married, it’s clear that the male’s orgasm is meant first and always to be his, to do with what he likes. In my opinion, that way of thinking only serves to drive a couple apart. It may not create a divide in their relationship, but it certainly can aggravate it. Irrespective of a couple’s interest in overlaying D/s or any other BDSM component, allowing her to control his release ensures and enhances intimacy between them (when done right, of course). It maintains all the positive aspects of the very beginning of a relationship. At least, that’s what it does for us…

I’m not so far gone as to think what works for Belle and I would work for everyone. But I wish more people thought about orgasm control as a viable alternative to the dominant paradigm of heteronormal interaction. I’m not quite to the point where I’m likely to stand in an airport and recruit converts, but I am feeling more and more that there needs to be examples of this alternate existence openly and unashamedly out there. I have no idea how and in what form this would take were I so inclined to attempt it myself, but this works. It’s right. For us, it’s better than the “normal”.

People need to know.

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Seeking my mojo

Thursday, Belle was at a work dinner and got home late. Apparently, their waiter was a hot young thing Belle found entirely satisfactory. At one point, she texted me telling me about him and how she wanted me ready when she got home since she got wet just looking at this guy.

Arriving home, she chose her still-unlocked cock to be her instrument of pleasure. At first, I thought I could hold back but it became clear, as she approached her orgasm, that I wasn’t going to make it. I started out by reciprocally stroking and stopped too late as the idea of her getting turned on looking at this younger guy took root in my imagination. As I sensed my impending failure, I tried to slow her down but only succeeded in causing her to miss a beat. As she rode me, fucking her cock deeply, I started to come inside her. Third time in a week. She continued to slide up and down – sending electricity though the cock, up my spine and bursting into my brain – as she eventually came to a quiet, satisfying orgasm. Afterward, she continued to slowly fuck the cock, making little exclamatory sounds. She was obviously enjoying herself while the extra sensory stimulation made the end of the cock feel like it was going to pop off.

That, more or less, explains my lack of blogging recently. Too many orgasms, not enough mojo. I was just starting to get back into the zone following the extravagance of my double-orgasm vacation when Thursday’s erupted. Today’s the first day I’ve felt anything like a return of my denied headspace since getting back from Mexico.

While away, I missed some very fine posts on the subject of prolonged orgasm denial over at The Glow Inside. I’m sure if you’re a regular reader of this blog you’re familiar with Steve’s, but if not, I wholeheartedly recommend three posts in particular: A Bowl of Wine, Five Minutes of Doubt, and especially Carried Along. He’s captured so well many of the things I felt as the days and weeks ticked by before Belle granted me a release in Mexico. If you’re interested in exploring the why of male orgasm denial, these posts are required reading.

In Steelheart news, Belle told me last night she never saw the Steelworxx charge come through. That, combined with the nine days that have passed since I received the email saying the device was about to ship, make me wonder if something’s up. I sent Deitmar an email today asking if he’s been paid yet. I’ve never been an especially patient person when it’s come to things like this, so I hope nothing’s wrong. Belle’s left me unlocked since we’ve expected the new device to arrive any day. Now I’m starting to worry. We’ll see what Deitmar says.

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Mainstream femdom

This book’s been around a while, but I thought the way it was described in a catalog we have laying around was pretty funny. If they only knew…

p_for_w

Bad news: Contains no nudity.

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Mexico

Back!

First things first. While in Mexico, I received an email from Dietmar at Steelworxx saying our new Steelheart had been shipped. That was on Friday and I’m not sure how he shipped it so don’t know when it will arrive, but that was much faster than I thought it’d be. I expect by the end of the week, it’ll be here.

fucko_in_mexicoMexico was a lot of fun. As my previous post said, it offered me several chances to frolic au naturel, first on Wednesday before the couple we rented the house with arrived, and then again on Saturday while they were out and we stayed behind. There are few sensations more wonderful then that of the heat of the sun across all your skin and the warm breeze running though every hair on your body. The nearly-tropical sun is a force to be reckoned with, however, and even with ample SPF 70 on Belle’s cock, the effect of the sun’s radiation could be felt. I took measures to protect it and am happy to say it suffered no damage (though the rest of me is nicely tanned).

I had mentioned to Belle that I thought she might be on her period when we were in Mexico, but she said she wouldn’t. However, at the end of our second full day, the monthly visitor arrived. Since we typically don’t have sex when she’s on it and all my sexual energy is directed at her, I’ve become much more in tune with it’s ebbs and flows. Never underestimate the power of a man’s sex drive to focus his mind. In any event, she usually locks me up during her period, but we didn’t bring a device, so I lucked-out.

Before she got all bleedly, we did have a chance at some good, old fashioned fucking. The first time was in bed Thursday morning and was pretty tame and typical except for the fact that she let me come. Srsly! Unlike in the past, I was totally up for it and very excited. No second thoughts or any of that bullshit subbie remorse for me. I got her off, then she rolled over and I got busy for myself. The build-up was amazing. I felt the orgasm charging at me from the depths, flooding me with sensory overload all up and down my body, but, when it finally arrived, it didn’t really live up to the anticipation. I suspect that’s just a side-effect of waiting so long between shots, but when I was actually ejaculating, it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t even sure anything came out, though Belle assures me it did.

Later that day, we had two masseure at the house. They set up their tables out on our patio deck. The sun was coming though filtered clouds, so it was warm and wonderful and very, very sensual. My masseur was  a young man named Gabriel and, had I been 20 years younger and unmarried, would have sold my fucking soul to stay under his dreamy hands (and maybe a few other things). A. Maze. Ing. Best massage I’ve ever had, easily.

Once we were done, Belle and I retired to the upstairs Jacuzzi (the view from which is seen in the above picture) while the other couple got rubbed. I was feeling pretty frisky following Gabriel’s ministrations and had ample residual sexual need even after my morning’s orgasm. Soon enough, I was fucking Belle underwater (doing my best to keep the water from sloshing too noisily). She came, I did not. It was very nice. I guess you can add that to my outdoor naked activity list, too.

The morning of our last day in Mexico, Belle put the butterfly clamps on me and hit my nuts with the crop. It wasn’t a serious scene or anything, just a little sensation play, but enough to get me pretty riled up again. I asked if she’d allow me to masturbate and was soon laying back, feeling the length of the erection and the heavy PA ring flopping back and forth at the head of the cock. I was only going to edge myself, but she once again gave me permission to come and I didn’t look back. This time, the build-up was more normal and the actual shooting was fantastic. I felt each surge of fluid as it came out and found it satisfyingly copious.

I’ve said this before, but there’s something about the smell of semen now that’s just as novel and unusual as the act that produces it. It’s much more jarring as it hits my nostrils than it used to be. I just don’t smell it all that often, I guess.

So, there you have it. A brief recap of our Mexican adventure. After two orgasms, my subbie reservoir was pretty much empty. It’s been three days since I came and I can start to feel thin tendrils of it starting to wrap themselves around my brain again, but just barely. She implied yesterday that perhaps my attitude needed adjustment though locking up the cock again, but she didn’t have me do it. I think she’s waiting for the Steelheart to arrive.

I’ll be checking the mailbox regularly.

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Fighting serpents

Sunday night, there was much horniness. Then there was some yelling. Then a little crying. Then good talking, replete with revelations and realizations.

As to the horniness, that was all me (surprise!). It wasn’t just the “gee, I haven’t had an orgasm in 50 days” kind of horny (which is like background radiation now in the way it persistently saturates my brain). It was a more mega-super-ultra kind of horny where every little part of me (including my spit and my toenails) wanted some action. Any action. NOW. Of course, she still had her cock locked in the device, so the only open avenues to “action” went though her and, even though I was doing me best sexy lothario impersonation, she wasn’t having any of it. How she could resist me at my most breathily passionate is beyond me, but after much kissing, grinding, and petting (of those areas I’m allowed to pet without explicit permission), she basically said, “OK, time for bed,” and rolled over.

That was hard. I got up to extinguish the candles and got back into bed to find her back facing me. She expected me to spoon into her as usual, but I was too far gone to do that and still maintain control and find sleep. I laid next to her and placed my hand on her arm as a compromise. Understand that while I was seething inside and struggling to deal with the vast sea of disappointment and psychic pain, I wasn’t mad at her. My issues were my own. As I’ve written here recently, I do worry that she’s less interested in sex with me lately, but my frustration with the moment wasn’t so much centered on her as it was my inability to predict when and for what reasons she’d let me engage with her sexually and my struggle with needing to engage with her.

She asked, “Is something wrong?” even though she already knew the answer. My actions made it pretty clear that things weren’t right.

And this led to the yelling portion of our program, though she did most of it while I contributed only a little at the end. I told her how hard it was for me at that moment. That’s about as far as I got before she started being defensive and saying she didn’t know how to deal with my seemingly unending appetite for sex. Her tone was accusatory and defensive and I was immediately upset because I saw where we were going and I didn’t want to go there. I wasn’t looking for a fight, but she naturally followed the well-worn path left from of all the dozens of times we had had this very same kind of conversation over the fallow years of our marriage.

But, of course, this wasn’t the same. In those days, we hardly ever had sex at all. Our sexual relationship was practically nonexistent. Now, it’s everywhere all the time. I don’t do anything anymore where I don’t feel the tug of our D/s dynamic and, as I said, the levels of sexual desire I carry with me throughout the day is a constant reminder (as is the device nestled in my crotch). And besides that, in the old days, after we fought about sex I’d just wait for her to go to sleep before slinking off somewhere to jack off. Now, that’s entirely out of the question, and not just because she’s locked up the only cock in the house. So I tried to tell her, not only is it hard for me to do what we’re doing, it’s hard to even talk about it because I’m not sure where the boundaries are. What’s acceptable for me to say I want? I want sex. Well, of course I do. What else is new? But is there a line between wanting sex and having it denied and wanting sex and feeling as though it’s being ignored? Turns out yes, but it took us a while to get there.

So, the raised voices and general angstiness continued for 15 minutes or so. I was doing my best to hang on to my headspace, but was losing the battle and eventually was raising my voice right back at her. The urge to claw the CB6K off my body and throw it into the corner was growing. This is the part where I cried. Then, she said the first wonderful thing of the night.

I was saying something about “this thing” we’re doing, meaning the D/s overlay on our marriage, and she said she didn’t really think of it that way anymore. It wasn’t “this thing” separate from our relationship. It was our relationship. She liked the dynamic and had no interest in ending it or ever going back to the way things were. Despite the conflict and emotions in the air, hearing her say that sent up an immediate flare of hope that caused a surge of pressure in the tube.

“Do you want to stop doing it?” she asked me (which was a switch – I’m usually the one to ask that).

“No,” I replied, “Not at all. I gave you my sex and I want you to keep it.”

“Good, because I don’t want to give it back to you.” With that, I was pulled quickly into subspace. Yes, we were having a heated discussion, but everything was still good. It helped me express the issue at hand in a new way.

The revelation is one of those things that, in retrospect, shouldn’t have come as a surprise but was because we had never used the words in the right order until just that moment. It’s truth is obvious and I’ve been writing around it a lot lately, but its application in our relationship hadn’t yet become explicit. I told her that our D/s was built on the foundation of my gift. The gift of my submission. The gift of my sexuality. I had taken from inside me a critical component of who I was and how I saw myself and entrusted it to her care. Not only did she have control over my sexual expression, she also had ownership of the very organ that defined my gender, which, of course, is a huge part of my identity. She accepted all that and wasn’t interested in given it back, which is great, but along with it came responsibility. Perhaps unfair responsibility and certainly responsibility neither of us fully appreciated at the beginning, but it was now primarily her job in our relationship to make sure my sexual identity was being cared for.

It’s like I had removed a vital organ from my body and given it to her to maintain. She could have just left it in a box until she felt like dealing with it, but that would have had negative consequences. When I was as desperately horny as I was that night and she didn’t even acknowledge it in anyway, it was as if she had slid the box containing the vital emotional organ of my sexual identity under the bed for later because now was inconvenient for her. Being denied wasn’t hard. Being horny wasn’t hard. Being ignored in the face of the hormonal surge was hard. Absent sex, I needed confirmation that she knew I was horny and she knew it was hard, but that nothing was going to happen. I needed to feel she appreciated where I was and what I was doing. She could have been cruel about it and teased me or she could have been sweet – either way would have been good for me – but I needed her to validate my condition somehow. Not feel sorry for me and give me what I wanted, but show me she saw where I was and liked it.

This kind of talk has helped us both see this power exchange in a new way, I think. I gave her my power – control over my sex, and in turn, over me and a large part of my mental health. All the struggle I’ve had in dealing with that hasn’t been because I couldn’t deal with my desire. It was because her actions didn’t always communicate to me that she took her responsibility seriously. In fact, I didn’t always trust her with what I had given her.

It’s like our old house. It’s right down the street from our new house. I drive by the old one every day. The people who bought it don’t always take care of the lawn as well as I did and, in general, don’t seem to care for it as much as we did when we lived there. I don’t regret selling it to them because doing so allowed us to move into this new, better house which I love with all my heart, but still, it’s hard to see someone take control over something we cared so much about and not put as much energy into it as we did. In the same way, I don’t always feel as though Belle is putting as much energy into the care and feeding of all that I gave her, willingly and which I do not want back. I’m not saying that each and every time we’re together that she needs to be “on” and showing me how much she adores what I handed over, but I do need to see that she’s actively involved with its maintenance. When I’m particularly struggling, I need her to provide a little extra care. I need a little extra attention.

Really, all this boils down to one of the most important truisms in tease and denial play: Denial does not equal neglect. Belle was not neglecting me, but she also was not calibrating her response to me in the right way and it felt like neglect. In fact, my level of desire was a hang-over from that morning where I was similarly all over her and obviously very desirous of her attention. Right after shutting me down and getting out of bed, she turned to me with a kiss and said, “I know it’s hard.” And I was fine.

Sometimes, what I need more than anything else is just that. In essence, for her to say, “I am not ignoring you, I am controlling you. I know you’re horny and I know it’s difficult, but I need you to deal with it because this is how I want you.” When the serpents escape in my psyche, that kind of input from her allows me to put the lid back on. It gives me strength and I need that.

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Table talk

Belle and I had a lovely time out last night. The kids were at a community group event designed to give parents some off-leash time together. Belle thought a nice dinner would be a good use of our three hours while I voted for rolling around naked back at the house. She gets three more votes than me, though, so off to dinner we went.

We talked about a lot of things, even real life things like work, before turning to our relationship. At first, it was one of those general conversations where we reassured one another that we’re happy and satisfied. Even after a year (yes, it’s nearly been a year!) of larking about like we have, it’s necessary to keep checking in with one another to make sure we’re still on the right track. Once we had that out of the way, we talked about several things I think are worth relating here.

Belle told me I had been slipping lately in the service department, especially with regard to my morning duties (which are really quite simple). I told her I would endeavor to improve and found myself bringing up the idea of punishment again. As I’ve said here before, punishment is not the same as masochism for me. It’s really more about power exchange. That she would have the right to physically punish me based on her subjective opinion as to how I’ve served her, and that I would be required to accept her punishment regardless of my personal feelings as to its justification, makes my ears flush red. It’s not just playing at power exchange, it actually is power exchange. I crave that kind of submission. It speaks to the very base of my submissive nature and works on a lot of levers I’ve carried around since childhood. It was hard for me to even look at her across the candlelit table as I talked about it. It’s a very powerful subject for me.

I also feel that the threat of punishment will help focus me on doing the things for her I know I need to do but don’t always get to fast enough for her. I really want to be better at serving her in whatever way she requires and, like most people, I suppose, I often find myself slipping and doing things I want to do rather than those things I need to do. It’s not as though I have no intention of getting to those things, I just do the stuff I want to do first. Currently, there’s little downside for me reprioritizing things on my own. If she took the step to make me uncomfortable and embarrassed, I think it’d help me be more focused on my responsibilities.

So, with that all in mind, she asked me if I wanted her to kick it up a notch. Did I really want her to pile on some tasks? I told her I did, that I wanted to do whatever I could that would make her life better. That said, she gave me a number of tasks I had to perform this morning (all mundane) that she had planned on doing herself. That relieved her from running around like a headless chicken right after she got up and also gave her time to get her nails done (where she is right now).

We also talked about the idea, recently left by a reader in a comment here, that I should strive to be the “little woman of the house” (at least when Belle’s not around). I admit freely that the concept of the sissified submissive male is an alien one. Submission, for me, does not equal weakness or connote a feminine quality. I think part of the problem submissive men deal with (even in the BDSM world) is the perception that they’re all pink, frilly, or weak. I’m not weak, frilly, pink, or feminine, nor do I wish to be any of those things. I certainly don’t have any issue with those who do, but I ain’t one of them.

That being said, there is an aspect of male submission in the context of the whole “female-led relationship” thing that does suggest the transfer of certain activities or attitudes that our society identifies with specific genders. Traditionally, the female attends to meals and cleaning up, certain child duties, the laundry, etc., while the male initiates sex and, more often than not, is the primary beneficiary of sexual satisfaction and is generally allowed to wallow about the house while she attends to him (which is not to say she necessarily likes that arrangement). These are all stereotypes, of course, but stereotypes aren’t invented. They usually have some basis in fact. In some aspects of our relationship, I am very much “the woman” while Belle assumes what most would think is the man’s role. Mostly in bed, but even in other areas. However, I’m still very much a man and she’s very much a woman. She hasn’t become butch and aggressive while I haven’t become effeminate. But I do acknowledge that some kind of transference has taken place (and continues to evolve). I don’t have a problem with this or deny it, nor can I even describe it very well, but it’s intriguing to me. It’s too bad there are so few (if any) cultural archetypes to look at as our dynamic is developing. Images of men wearing hot pink chastity devices (to keep their hands of their “sissy clitties”, natch) under their fish net stockings and French main uniforms are certainly no help to us.

Another comment from the blog that we discussed was Sera’s thoughtful reply to my post about how Belle and I are slowly but surely having less sex as the weeks and months go on. She said:

It might be informative here to bear in mine that for women as well as men, it seems to be that sexual desire is a kind of “use it or lose it” thing. So that if Belle is not getting enough stimulation of the kind that gets her off . . . well, she’s not going to be in a position to give you the kind that gets you off.

And so I asked Belle, was she getting what she wanted? Was I providing her what she needed to get off? Turns out, maybe not so much. Belle said she needed to “connect” with me more than she’s been able to recently. I can’t say I entirely understand what that means yet, but it sounds to me like maybe we’re talking too much about ourselves and our relationship lately and not enough about our shared life. Over dinner, we talked quite a bit about our shared life before we moved on to discussions of relationship and sex and she said she needed more of that. I suppose posting almost every day to a blog that deals exclusively with issues related to our sex life and relationship doesn’t really help her feel as though I talk about anything else but those things. It’s another area where I, someone who literally carries a totem of his sexual relationship around 24/7, feels like I’m hardly ever talking about it since every word out of my mouth isn’t about our dynamic or sex or whatever. But she, who probably isn’t thinking about my chastity device or how many days it’s been since I came or how fucking horny I am or whatever for four out of every five minutes in the day, thinks it’s all we ever talk about. I understand and will try to do better.

So, as if to drive the point home through my thick, hormone-addled skull, once we got home and I put the kids down for the night, Belle let me bring her to orgasm. Stimulus…reward. Stimulus…reward. It’s the same way you train dogs. Anyway, it was your typical Belle ‘n Thumper orgasm and I was left very hot and horny and with a fully pressurized chastity tube while she was left relaxed, sleepy, and orgasmically sated.

In other words, exactly as things should be.

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45 and counting

It’s been 45 days since I last had an orgasm. I’m not writing this for any other reason except Belle’s still out of town (back tomorrow night!) and I’m really starting to feel both her absence and my extended orgasmless existence. I’ll admit up front here than I’m kinda all over the place tonight. No actual point to make, just feeling the need to express myself.

I’ll start by giving myself a little credit for mostly avoiding websites that’d make me even hornier than I already am, but it’s getting harder to resist. Especially since I’ve just found two cuckolding blogs (one fiction, one non-fiction). Thing is, this cuckolding stuff really turns my crank, though I know it’ll never happen. Belle’s said she has zero interest in going outside our relationship. Not only is she very much a one-man woman, she’s also very satisfied having sex with me. She loves the cock and loves that I know how to use it (though, admittedly, I was better at it back when I wasn’t always trying to keep myself from coming). So anyway, yeah, the cuckolding thing will remain pure fantasy, albeit a hot, blood-pumping one.

I realized today that the majority of the porn I’m consuming of late is heterosexual. In the years leading up to the introduction of D/s into our relationship, I enjoyed mainly gay porn with only an occasional foray into straight stuff. Nowadays, though, I’d say three-quarters of the stuff I look at or read is straight, kinky, female dominant entertainment. I always figured I liked the gay stuff before because, as an avowed bisexual, guys were what I couldn’t get at home. Now, though, I’m seeking out and enjoying themes that are either exactly what I get at home or variations on that.

A little while back, there as a bit of a debate in the comments about porn and my consumption of it. Belle was considering cutting me off in an extension of her control over my sex but ultimately decided she didn’t much care if I looked at it or not. Jane Docent had a good point when she said:

Are you really denied if you make yourself “hard and bothered”? You’re supplying your own sexual stimulation. Supplied, not denied.

I actually agree with that which is why I would have acceded to Belle’s restriction, had she required it, but I think the opposite point could be made that it isn’t whether or not I get turned on that’s important, but that I can’t so anything about it. That’s her control. If I had to, I could use my imagination to create my own internal porn. In either event, I couldn’t provide my own relief or even touch myself.

The question was also asked as to why I’d even want to look at porn. Tim said, “It almost sounds like additional suffering!” Well, yes. It is. Maybe that’s the point! I’m still wired to seek out the stimulation even if all it’ll do is build and stew inside. It makes my head buzz sometimes, but as I said in my reply comment, a lot of what gets me going sexually is excessive stimulation. Being locked up and letting the porn push my arousal to ever higher levels is part of what I’m in this for. My only regret is that I’m so turned on without Belle. Everything’s better when she’s with me.

So, anyway, she’s out of town and I’m locked up as I always am when we’re apart. She told me before she left that I would be secure until we leave next week on a short trip to Mexico (probably getting out on the 13th). She’s going to be nice and let me out for the entire trip which is very sweet of her, I think. I’m not keeping track officially anymore, but in looking at the blog since September 1, it looks like she’s kept me locked up 28 out of 37 days. If not for the fact that she really likes her cock, I probably would have been in longer than that.

Regardless of whether or not I’ll be secure on the trip, based on the very few hints she’s dropped, I don’t get the feeling I’ll be coming any time soon, even on vacation. Like I said, it’s been 45 days. How much longer? If it’s not until we get back, that’ll be over two months.

Assuming, of course, I don’t fuck up in Mexico.

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Sunday funk

Sunday night, as we got into bed and I was prepping for some foot rubbing and Mad Men watching, Belle was in a funk. She wasn’t too enthused about watching TV and she had a lingering resentment towards me and a silly household squabble that had transpired an hour or so earlier. I thought she was being a more than a little over the top with her reaction, so I ended up on the other side of the bed for 45 minutes while the TV show washed over us. The foot rubbing never happened, either.

Earlier in the day and over the course of the entire weekend, I was trying to be the best guysub I could. She had made me a list of items she wanted accomplished and I did nearly all of them. In addition, I made dinner twice (something she made a point of commenting on – she’s very happy that I do this now). After dinner on Sunday night, she said she’d clean up if I got the kids going downstairs with the Wii, but changed her mind and told me I’d clean up while she relaxed and watched them bowl. She continues to have a freer hand when it comes to giving me extra tasks to perform and that makes me happy.

Anyway, once I cleaned up the kitchen and set up her coffee for the morning, we settled in to watch a family movie with the kids. It was during the movie that the ridiculous household squabble took place (the kind only someone who’s lived with someone else for a long time can really appreciate). Long story short, there wasn’t any toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. She got really pissed (really) and that’s what was hanging over the bed when the lights went out.

After the show was over, she told me to get naked and snuggle into her. I did so, but she was still simmering and pissy, so I eventually moved away from her. I wasn’t mad, but I also wasn’t feeling compelled to be all subbie while she was in that mood and, I thought, berating me for one simple thing while ignoring my effort all weekend to provide the best service I could.

Somehow, this ended up putting Belle in a self-doubting funk. She was worried that I wasn’t happy and that she was doing the domme thing wrong. This, too, kind of pissed me off because, in fact, I am not unhappy and did and said nothing to indicate that I was. I haven’t criticized her, haven’t shown any displeasure with her (that I know of), haven’t become annoyingly insistent with my sexual frustration, and I wasn’t even arguing with her over the toilet paper. I tried to contain my annoyance, though, since she was in a vulnerable place.

I told her she was doing it right because she was doing it the way she wanted it done. I have long since realized that my preconception of how she’d dominate me is useless and I should be (and am) happy simply with her continued commitment to the paradigm. I also reassured her that I am happy. I can’t say there aren’t things I’d like to see change, but that’s to be expected in any relationship of any kind (yes, even the lowercase side of a D/s relationship can wish for some things to be different).

The thing that worries me the most about where we are now is the amount of sex we have. It’s hard for me to express this since, of course, I’m not supposed to be in control of when or how often I get sex, but this issue is the longstanding bugaboo in our relationship. And the fact is, over time recently – and especially since I’ve taken a literal “hands-off” approach to her body – the amount of sex we’ve have has declined. She used to let me pleasure her 3-4 times a week. Then it settled down to about twice a week, supplemented with other kinds of body service like the foot massages. Now, I’d say it’s about once a week with an even greater ratio of non-sexual services. As I said, this has happened at the same time I’ve stopped actively coming on to her but has also coincided with a marked increase in the frequency in which I’ve been locked up.

If you’re currently cooking up a response to this along the lines of, “Just be happy she controls you, locks you up, etc.” or to accuse me of topping from the bottom, or, my personal favorite, “This is why you should be careful what you wish for,” or some other formulaic thing, please keep it to yourself. I think this is more complicated. Even in a D/s relationship, there’s an implicit responsibility on both partners to satisfy the needs of the other. Submissiveness does not equal an abdication of all sexual satisfaction (though I do admit my “satisfaction” has become much more complicated). I’d also like to point out that I’m not saying we have a huge problem here. Only that it’s a potential problem with a significant history in our relationship.

I asked if she wanted to continue with the D/s or take a break. She said she wanted to continue. I then asked if she wanted me to continue with my program of (as much as possible) total non-aggression with regard to initiating sex or if she wants me to go back to being a partner who has some right to try to get something going (while still respecting her right to ultimately decide). There are pitfalls for her in both approaches. If I remain non-aggressive, we will have less sex and she will feel guilty (as she did Sunday) because of it. If I’m allowed to come on to her, she will feel guilty for turning me down (as she will fairly often). The key to happiness here is for her to try not feeling guilty because I’m happy either way. Really. My ability to become non-expectational has improved remarkably. Even though she had intimated earlier in the day on Sunday that she’d allow me a chance to pleasure her, it wasn’t forthcoming and I felt no anger or resentment whatsoever. For me, that’s a huge accomplishment. It didn’t really matter, though, because she was still upset.

She has no answer to my aggressiveness question. She can’t tell me which approach she wants me to take. This is frustrating to me, but I’m trying to be patient. I have unilaterally implemented the non-aggression approach, so I suppose I could always start being more forward, but I feel I need to wait and follow her lead. I do want more sex (and by “sex”, I mean opportunities to share her orgasm and more teasing and denial), but I am conflicted with regard to how much I should expect or how far I should take this need. When you’ve signed up for denial and frustration, where’s the line? How far and in what way can a submissive such as myself try to change the dynamic?

At the end of the day, if what she really wants is one orgasm a week with four foot massages in between (and as long as she occasionally maintains my desire), I can be satisfied. Honestly. And I want her to know that.