Tag: femdom

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Belle’s analogy

At some point yesterday, I was showing Belle something on the Facebook and a message from Drew popped up. There’s no telling what he might be saying (or showing) so I quickly flicked the pop-up away and we kept doing whatever it was we were doing. I was 22% flummoxed.

Last night, as we were laying in bed going to sleep, she told me I didn’t have to worry about going out of my way to hide how and when I message him. It wasn’t a big deal to her. Also, she volunteered that she thought about my time with Drew as not being unlike when she went for a mani-pedi. A treat for myself that just doesn’t involve her. Without the noxious fumes.

In addition, she’s given her approval for me to go to LA with Drew over some weekend this summer to take in a ballgame in my hometown. Haven’t picked the dates yet and I need to figure out the logistics around the various metal detectors I’ll encounter (not just at the airport — MLB stadiums all have them now, too). I may need her to either let me wear plastic rather than the Steelheart or we’ll need to figure out some kind of picture-sending thing to ensure security.

I tell you this for no other reason than to point out what an exceptional spouse I have. Opening our marriage up in this way has only made it stronger.

With that, I wish all my readers a very merry Christmas and joyeux Noel.

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Dickless

Last time we were naked and rolling around together, an unusual thing happened. I couldn’t get it up. You know, these things happen. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t freak me out, though. And kinda like when I can’t fall asleep, the issue itself starts to become the issue and the flaccidness/wakefulness causes me to focus on the continued flaccidness/wakefulness and perpetuates additional flaccidness/wakefulness.

I woke up that morning laying on a raging hard-on since Belle had let me out the day before. I was super fucking turned-on and squirmed and rubbed the stiffy into the mattress waiting for her to wake up. Then, before getting her off, I was still all hard and leaky. I thought about just jumping her (because I know she likes it and I was in the right mood) but I did the usual and got her off with my fingers. Then she told me to go down on her and I eagerly complied. Then she came. It was all good.

But right then I figured out something was not quite right. It’s hard to explain but when you’re really grooving in the sack nothing feels weird or awkward or out of place, but at that moment, disentangling from the sheets and moving back up to be next to her I felt uncoordinated and not sexy. Then I started to worry about how my face smelled like her and how she’s not the biggest fan of that (though I’d use it as cologne) and the next thing I know I’m on top of her with a squishy tool. It just wasn’t right. I did really want to fuck her, but the connection wasn’t being made somewhere.

I laid next to her and she had the penis in her hand and she tried talking dirty to me. Not just any dirty talk, though. The kind a subbie little wannabe cuck with a penis humiliation kink wanted to hear. She told me about her boyfriend and how big he was and how much better he was at getting her off and, much to her surprise, the penis started to grow inside her grasp. This is really weird for her because she doesn’t have any understanding of where this comes from for me. It’s really alien to her.

Alas, it was for naught. The meat wasn’t cooperating. It drooped again.

As she was talking, she was also asking what a better tack was. Did I want to hear that her mythical boyfriend was better than me (bigger cock, better lover, etc.) or that the penis was insufficient to meet her needs? Since I know the boyfriend is mythical, he doesn’t much work for me. Hearing that she would like one with a bigger cock, though, does. Hearing that she thinks the penis is too small or thin or whatever does. She said that’s hard for her since that kind of talk essentially disregards all safeties nice girls have conditioned into them. I’ve written before about how she’s always been super expressive about how much she likes the penis, how good it feels inside her, etc., to the point that I have often suspected she was trying too hard to make me feel good about it. Also, her first husband was apparently much bigger (before we were married, she once compared it favorably to the Jeff Stryker dildo — should have been a clue to both of us that hearing the news was in no way damaging to my ego and I spent a lot of time imaging her fucking that big dick). But I’ve also written about how I got her to admit that she really does prefer the bigger dildos she’s let me use on her before. The penis would be better for her if it was bigger (specifically, thicker). In fact, that’s something she’s joked about a hundred times in the time I’ve known her: It’s not about the length, it’s all about the girth.

So yeah, the small penis thing works because it’s kinda true. It may not be as true as if I was only four inches long and as big around as a white board marker or something, but it’s still true. And yes, I do want to hear her say that to me. As often as she wants. While we’re having sex. Tell me that it’ll never be big enough to really get her off and that she probably should look for a man with a real cock if she wants to feel one, etc. That so, so works for me.

Over on the FetLife, I read this posted to the “Submissive men and women who love them” group (by a sub guy):

Name calling and humiliation

Why is this necasary?

I personally am not a fan of it. I understand that sometimes when punishments must be metted out they might come out as part of it but why is it necessary at any other point?

In my opinion a Domme/sub relationship is that of a sub devoting himself to a Lady. Serving Her and giving his will over to Her; while She in turn gives him a safe place to take the world off his shoulders and focus on nothing but his submission to Her.

To me name calling and huliation are not a safe place because you can never know what will truly hurt someone to their core.

Is my evaluation of a Domme/sub relationship wrong?

Ferns‘ reply was perfection, of course:

It’s not ‘necessary’, but some people find it fun and hot and awesome. And that’s great.

Similarly, it’s not ‘necessary’ to flog/cane/peg/smack/fuck/kiss/any-other-form-of-play someone either. But some people find that fun and hot and awesome also.

Erotic humiliation is a form of emotional masochism, just like impact play is a form of physical masochism.

Like others said: if you don’t like something, it’s easy enough to avoid getting involved with those who do.

“Emotional masochism” is exactly right. There may be a place where I will be “truly hurt to my core” but I’m nowhere near it right now. I can’t even imagine it. Partly because I don’t measure my worth by the length of the penis. I know how much I mean to Belle and how much we love one another and, for whatever reason, none of that is in any way threatened when she tells me the penis is too small for her. I will never resent her for saying it. I crave to hear her say it.

I have a friend I’ve known since junior high. After high school, he moved in with his soon-to-be stripper girlfriend who all our friends, male/gay/female alike, acknowledged was super hot. Not just in how she looked (which was way above average) but in how she comported herself. She was a strong female and I was especially drawn to her (and spent far too much time thinking about what I was saying when talking to her). She used to call my friend “Dickless.” It was her little nickname for him. She used it all the time and in front of everyone. It really pissed him off. Since he was one of the few guys I knew who I didn’t fuck/get fucked by around that time, I can’t say if it was true, but it didn’t matter. She was gleeful at his outrage. The madder he got, the cuter and more adorably she’d say it. It was fucking awesome. I’m not going to say I knew at the time I wanted her to be saying that to me, but I do remember how it affected me. There was a certain thrill at hearing her say it to him in front of everyone. I never for a second felt sorry for him. I was in awe of her.

So, flash forward to today. I know, intellectually, that the penis is not so small as to be of no value to Belle. I can and do get her off with it. It’s a perfectly serviceable size. But I also know it’s not exactly what she’d prefer. So, also intellectually, I can honestly say to myself it’s…insufficient. That little leverage is the fulcrum she could use to really take advantage of this particular fold in my sexuality. And I really wish she would.

The next morning, she tried it out a little. I was still free but she wanted me in and said I had to “lock that tiny dick up” or something very similar. That was pretty great. She says she’s not wired to be so mean to me and that it’s a challenge. I get that and I so appreciate that she would make the effort. But I also pointed out denying me orgasm was something she had a hard time with, too, and now it’s second nature for her. She’d never go back to letting me come when I want. Perhaps, in time, calling the penis what it is will end up the same way.

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Love her two times

Saturday morning was our usual sexy funtime I usually start looking forward to at about 3:26 on Wednesday afternoons. ‘Cept this time, unlike many of the recent occurrences, Belle let me out of the Steelheart beforehand.

It’s like firing a starting pistol at a dog race. As soon as the steel comes off, a nagging buzzing feeling starts whirring someplace right behind the penis. It knows. This feeling is totally different when I’m still locked up. How much of it is in my head and how much is in my crotch I can’t say, but that’s where I feel it.

Regardless, I know what getting unlocked under those circumstances means. It’s not for me that I get out. This is not Thumper time. She wants to be fucked. I, then, assume the role she desires. Sure, I want to fuck her, too, but there’s a particular kind of manly fucking she craves and when I get out on a Saturday for no apparent reason, that’s my job. No doubt I’m going to like it, but I need to keep myself from liking it so much that I can’t perform long enough.

On this particular Saturday morning, I gave her just enough foreplay to get the juices going (they already were, turns out) before mounting her like I own the joint. I think she really liked this based on the aforementioned juices, a compliment attitude, and the moaning. Oh man, the moaning. It’s what gets me every time. She wants to be vocal during sex and I absolutely love hearing her be that way, but it’s raw meat to the subby bunny’s alter ego. Once the moaning and groaning start, that nagging buzzing I talked about flares up into a breeding imperative I struggle to keep in check. Even the baseball distractions didn’t help (mostly because there’s no such thing as baseball right now).

I started to slow down and she said, “Why are you stopping?” as if it wasn’t perfectly clear why I was stopping so soldiered on. “BASEBALL,” is what I was trying to think but the lizard in my head was all, “I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOANING SHIT!” I tried so hard, but couldn’t keep it back. I came while I fucked and kept on fucking even through the intensity of the post-orgamsic nerve olympics. Her pussy went from nicely worked up and wet to ridiculously slippery and messy in about three squirts. I think because of that change in viscosity, she only came a little (which is kind of a female thing, right? Coming just a little?) while I was left panting and gasping and dealing with the fiery penile tissue. She finished herself off with Pink right after. So, I came, but didn’t really enjoy it. A few hours later, I was feeling really horny as if it never happened.

She didn’t have me relock myself after so I was free as a penis-shaped bird when, the next morning, things started to get going again. This time she told me straight up that I was going to get to come and enjoy it. Of course, first I had to get her off so I did.

There was zero angst about having another orgasm whatsoever. It is her choice when I come and she chose to let me. Period. I was able to enjoy it, the fucking that led up to it, all of it.

She told me before that I had to promise to stay in the right frame of mind and be a good bunny and all that so I did. I promised. I even meant it. Though later that day, when she told me it was time to go in, I waffled. And not a little. With whip cream and peach preserves and a side of bacon. She said fine, but Monday morning I had to be in with the key in her hand before she left for work. I pancaked, but she had none of it. So, as soon as the offspring were both off on their daily endeavors, I was handing her the key.

“You know this is what you want,” She said to me. No, I didn’t know that right in the moment, but yes, I do know that in the big picture I want it. Just…you know…not exactly then.

So that’s three orgasms in about six weeks. Far too many, she thinks. Says the next will be a while. “A long time,” is all I can get out of her. No idea what that means since she probably doesn’t either, but I’m thinking that’s it for 2014. As it should be, of course.

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A boy and his best friend

There’s a saying about a dog being a boy’s first best friend but, in reality, the first best friend a boy has is his penis. It’s always there for him (and has been from the very start), is always ready to play, and, with a penis, a boy will never be bored for too long.

I suppose, kinda like a dog, when the boy finds a significant other that person can come between the boy and his penis except that the penis, unlike the dog, enjoys the other as much as the boy does so maybe the metaphor breaks down here, but the boy can always depend on the penis to be there for him even when the significant other loses their significance (and/or the dog dies). I can’t say if a woman’s relationship with her pussy is the same, but I don’t think it is. I suspect this is due to cultural indoctrination about what good girls do and don’t and what boys are allowed or even expected to do combined with the universal common knowledge that permeates our society as to how a boy can use his penis for pleasure by himself with no open discussion as to how a girl would do the same with her parts. Plus, I think penises are just simpler. Plus plus, women and their sexual needs are, I assume, fundamentally different in their psychology and mechanics than men’s. But I don’t have a pussy and, even though I know what they like, I won’t pretend to know how they are.

I say all this because I was thinking the other day as I lay next to Belle who had told me I wasn’t going to be unlocked at all and would therefore not feel any pleasure with the penis (regardless of how badly I was craving it) that boys (and the men they turn into) have nothing to prepare them for the kind of delayed and redirected gratification that comes with chastity and denial. We are physically and socially conditioned to expect on-demand gratification either from our partner or, lacking that, ourselves. In the forty-some years of my existence prior to having Belle control the penis, that was my life. If I was horny and she was unresponsive to my needs, I would jack off. QED.

But then chastity came along and I couldn’t do that. Plus, I was a lot hornier than ever before (excepting, perhaps, those years between my 16th and 23rd birthdays). And now, of course, I am specifically not allowed any such indulgence. What I did was take that sense of immediate need and simply make it Belle’s responsibility. I distinctly remember thinking she didn’t take my desires seriously enough considering the great gift of my chastity that I had given her. Double frustration. Not only was I horny as fuck, she didn’t seem to think it was her job to help me channel my frustrations.

I think this is a trap a lot of guys find themselves in.

Chastity and denial are, indeed, great at bringing couples closer together. But that can also do the opposite if the guy takes his perceived birthright of easy sexual gratification and pushes it over onto his partner. That is not the point of chastity. And it didn’t become the force for good that it is for us until I figured that out.

The only way to really quench my sexual thirst is to have an orgasm. But I only want that physically, not mentally or emotionally. She doesn’t want that either, most of the time. So I had to realize that my frustration and the constant need for sexual contact was mine to deal with, not hers. Yes, it often gnaws at me and flutters around in my chest and makes my balls ache and the penis hard and drippy, but that energy is what powers the beneficial aspects of chastity and denial. It is chastity and denial, not a side-effect.

I remember people telling me in comments on the blog early on that I wasn’t seeing the big picture. That I wanted her to control my sex, right? And wasn’t this what that meant? That I wouldn’t get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it? But I didn’t see it. In short, I was a spoiled boy who missed his best friend. I struggled to adapt. But yes, I did want her to control my sex and living with not always getting what I want is the point. And, strangely, being totally estranged from my first best friend and completely removed from instant (or any) gratification has made me significantly happier than I was before. I can’t explain why, but it’s true. I don’t know how it works, but it does.

So now, when she tells me I’m not getting unlocked or even that we are not going to have sex, instead of feeling angry or resentful or petulant, I feel warm and grateful. Grateful that she has accepted the true meaning of her control without guilt or excessive consideration of what I’m feeling. Yes, she does recognize that what I go though can be hard, but she and I both know it’s for the best. We both know it makes me a better person and partner to her and it’s what we both want. So she appreciates it, but what I crave is not a primary consideration when she decides what she wants to do. And holy shit, does that turn me on.

If you read this blog because you hope one day to have your partner keep you locked up and/or deny you your orgasm, you need to know that doing it the way we do it means more than just a stifled erection. It means truly subjugating your sex to theirs. It means finding a way to capture and use that pent-up sexual desire for productive purposes and not letting it leak all over them in destructive and selfish ways. That is fucking hard. Maybe the hardest thing you’ll ever do for your partner. But, if you can pull it off, maybe the best thing you’ll ever do for them and for yourself.

I mentioned up there the “great gift of my chastity” that I had given Belle. Yes, it is a kind of gift, but I know now that the gift of her control is at least as great. Maybe greater in that it wasn’t something she ever wanted to do with her husband or thought she’d need to deal with. Never forget that. Your chastity is not bigger or more important than what they give you in return as the one controlling you. Submission is not greater than domination. It is not harder than domination. They are equal yet opposite things.

I don’t want anyone to read all this and think chastity means less sex. That’s not what it means. For us, it’s meant more and so much better sex. What it means is fewer orgasms for you, that’s it. The trap is trying to get her to have sex with you every time you would have otherwise gone off to yank one out. That’s unrealistic and unfair. You need to find a way to get off on their being in control and telling you no. You have to get off on being controlled. I know, that sounds obvious, but it’s a lot easier to think than to do. If you can do it and also channel that energy into making them realize how good the extra hassle of being in control of you can be for them, you’ll wake up one day to find them as much or more invested in that control than you are.

You might miss your first best friend, but…you can always get a dog.

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Morning exchange

“Again with the feet.”
“I’m really horny this morning.”
“You’re horny because you looked at porn.”
“No, I looked at porn because I’m horny. I’m horny because you don’t let me come.”
“And that’s for the best, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.”
“Thank you.”
“OK, you can make me come now.”

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That moment

Laying next to her, soaking in her smell and her smooth softness. Kissing her face and her chin and her nose. Feeling the fat, sticky member pressed between us — still wet from being inside her. My arms wrapped strongly around her, binding her to me. Legs still sweaty and intertwined. The throbbing desire to be buried within her, to still feel the hard meat moving in her soft, hot wetness. To still be connected to her power. All that beating and crashing inside my chest but being held in check by her calm, cool control.

And then she turns her face away just a little. And at that moment, I know. She’s through. She’s moved on. She’s done with me.

But I will always be right there, waiting for her to return.

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Quality time

It’s always nice when the various orbits of family life occasionally align so that parents can find some good old fashioned quality time for themselves. Saturday was one of those days for us.

The second child was going to be at a friend’s house at a sleep-over birthday party and the first child is more than able to take care of himself so Belle bought tickets to a movie and made dinner reservations for us. Dinner and a movie. I mean, crazy. Just like the young people do it. Never mind the movie started at 4:30 in the afternoon and the dinner reservations were at 6:30. Not quite senior special hour at Denny’s, but close. What matters is we had a real fucking date.

Earlier in the day, Belle had rewarded me with a nice long list of things to do for the weekend. They were all mundane domestic-type things, but they weren’t things we needed to do, they were things I needed to do. And that makes a big difference. Also, since I was doing them, Belle was free to go for a run and otherwise just focus on things she wanted to do for herself. That kind of thing feels like warm honey poured on my soul.

So I was able to get most of my tasks finished in time for the movie (we saw The Skeleton Twins which was good but often felt too much like a couple of well-known comedians trying very hard to show they have serious actor chops). We had dinner at a nice upscale casual spot on a city park. Belle commented that it wasn’t as crowded as she would have thought and I reminded her city folk don’t do dinner at 6:30 PM. They’re barely breaking out the cocktails at that time. Sure enough, by the time we were finished eating, the place had filled up dramatically with young and beautiful people (some of whom were veritably spilling from their bodices).

During the meal, I got a text from the first child asking if it was OK with us if he went and spent the night at a friends house and we were more than OK with it. That meant our afternoon and evening alone would be capped off by an entire night alone. What kind of decadent fantasy world had we entered?

I had already arranged with Belle that I’d give her a massage when we got home but having the house empty meant we didn’t have to be creepy parents with the door closed and romantic music playing behind and got to leave the door open. I lit up all the candles and turned on an old k. d. lang album we used to have on tight rotation when we first started our relationship and we both got naked. And I mean naked since she gave me the key to the Steelheart beforehand.

Not that she wanted the penis. Maybe she thought she was being nice or maybe she just didn’t want to mess with it in the morning, but once the meat was free, I had lost my interest in the massage and was singularly focused on getting it wet. She redirected my attention and that’s how I found myself sitting on her ass rubbing lemon verbena scented oil into her skin.

The penis didn’t get totally hard, but it laid on the small of her back pointing up her spine and plumped out to about 70%. I could feel the end of it hypersensitized from being in the tube for a week brushing against her skin as I rose to get better leverage against her shoulder muscles. I felt stupidly horny but she said I just had to “be strong” and wait until morning. As usual, such a demonstration would be good for me. So I was good and, even after she was fast asleep and I was Tumbling through the porn, I very specifically did not play with the erection.

I woke up several times as the end of the erection was fired by simple contact with the sheets. That would invariably cause my chest to fill with the old familiar carnivorous butterflies fluttering around and feeding on my previously contained sexual energy. But still, I was good. No playing. Nary a squeeze. All this was made more difficult by the fact that she was uncharacteristically sleeping nude like I almost always do. Every time I touched her, I felt her hot skin and the butterflies roared.

I was awake hours before her. I checked my phone and looked at Facebook and more Tumblr and all kinds of things. I managed to fall back into a light doze just before she woke up for good. Again, like good modern adults, we were quickly back on our respective glowing screens and I took the opportunity to tweet:

Since the house was empty, she was able to come as loudly as she wanted and she usually wants to come pretty loudly. Her orgasms are such a big deal to me that I nearly shot my load myself just hearing her climax. Fucking hell, but feeling her come is the greatest thing ever. I’m so much more aware of how it impacts her whole body now. It’s just glorious.

After her basking period, she told me climb aboard. As soon as the penis slipped into its warm and wet home, she said in my ear, “You will come.”

Called it.

How did I know? No clue. I could just feel it, though. It was right there. As obvious as the boner between my legs. She was kinda miffed later that I knew it was coming.

So I started to fuck her and was pretty pleased with myself that I didn’t shoot immediately. But not too long into it, when I felt the orgasm coalescing in that familiar way I’m usually really good at fending off, I lost control. I had wanted to edge several times in the hopes that the eventual orgasm would be plentiful and enjoyable, but at the first edge I felt as though a third party stepped in and took over. My old friend the lizard pushed the fuzzy bunny out of the way and forced me to keep fucking. It’s an odd sensation to feel one’s primal forces take control from the higher brain, but that’s what happened. I even remember thinking, “No!” But it was too late.

The orgasm wasn’t pleasurable. Not at all. I was also noisy because I could be, but I cried out in such a way that Belle asked me near the end if I was OK. No, I wasn’t. I felt like I passed a marble through my prostate while someone simultaneously slammed me in the small of my back with the flat side of a shovel. The intensity removed any pleasure. I came too hard.

The dopey glowy part after was kinda nice, but didn’t make up for the fact that I felt somehow violated by my own psyche.

In the hours that followed, whatever salutary benefits my denial creates evaporated leaving behind only the gritty residue of pent-up frustration. I fucking wanted to come again. NOW. But she wanted me back in the Steelheart. She’s no dummy. She knows how this works by now. So, only a couple hours later, I was felt the cold tube envelope the needy penis just as she wanted.

I finished my remaining tasks, but without enthusiasm. I forced myself to let the subby rabbit come forward and be good even though my temper was very short and I felt pretty irritable. I did all I could to shield Belle from that. As the day wore on, I could feel a slow steady drip start to refill my sub reservoir, but the dominant feelings I had were far from subby.

The new thing for me this time around was Drew lurking in the background. I wondered how coming would change my enthusiasm for having a guy on the side. Not only that, but a guy I was supposedly subbing to. I will admit (as I already did to him), that enthusiasm took a big hit. Had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have volunteered for any contact with him and would have retreated into myself. That’s my default behavior with regard to men and sexual release which is why I could never have a romantic relationship with one. After I come, I’m just not into them and actually actively avoid them.

But I wasn’t rude and I soldiered through my default inclination. I felt bad for him because he’s been away from home for a while now on the other side of the world for business and has been feeling the isolation. So I was nice. I admit I had to work at it, but I didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. In any event, I was honest with him and he understood. It’s all new and weird, and not only for me. For him, for Belle. For all involved.

I feel like I’m a better sub now than I was in the past. Before, this one orgasm would have sent me spinning. I had no leverage against the changes it causes in my chemistry and no way to shield anyone around me. I’d spiral down and get depressed and angry at wanting more and not being where I wanted to be. I’d resist going back in the device and conveniently forget to put it on even though I knew that’s what she wanted. But now I feel much stronger. I feel like I know how to deal with it and know it’s not the end of the world. A lot of this is because I’ve really and truly let go of resisting her control over my orgasm even (and especially) when it involves giving me one I’d rather not have. There’s freedom in that and, surprisingly, strength.

Also, Belle’s more confident in her role. She’s not feeling sorry for me and is less willing to accept my backsliding. She has a better handle on how my chemistry works and has no qualms manipulating it to both of our advantages.

I can’t say I’m back in the groove this morning. Not even 70% there. But I know I will get there and I’m choosing to focus on the glimmers of my subby groove I can feel out there and not on the shards of willful lizard thinking. In my forty-seventh year, I feel more confident in who I am sexually than at any time in my life. And more accepting of it. I’m very lucky that the light of my life is right there with me.

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Feedback

So, a funny thing I’ve noticed. Since this whole Drew thing came along, I find myself a lot more attentive to Belle. Very much more in my Thumper zone. I don’t need to get into all the examples, but it’s true. She’s noticed it, too. She appreciates it.

I have some theories as to why this is. First, I am terribly grateful to her (as always). That she would show so much trust in me and allow me the freedom to seek out and engage with someone like Drew. It’s like a dream come true, really. The prospect of it all makes me happy and I want her to be as happy or happier because it wouldn’t be possible without her. So I find myself especially focused on ways to please her and remove stress from her life. And she’s very stressed lately.

The second theory is a bit more complicated (but not necessarily contradictory to the first). Belle’s been aware for some time now of the whole me and all my inclinations and predilections and, for those she hasn’t wanted to participate in, has allowed me space to indulge them by myself and I have always indulged them by myself. So there’s been these two worlds I kinda live in. The one with Belle and the one with just me. But, you know, I’m a sub. All the way down. Not a switch. Not at all. A sub. I crave what I have with Belle in both my worlds. And now, with Drew, I’m not alone in that other world that Belle doesn’t come into. She’s let someone else enter into it and he’s assumed a similar role as she has in our marriage. Not the same emotional role because only Belle can be that to me. But the same role with regards to power exchange. Because, as a sub, that’s what I want and need. To give up power.

So now, I spend a lot more time in that subby mindset. I don’t drift out of it and get lazy and forget. I don’t have as many opportunities to get selfish. I’m more often primed to want to serve and demonstrate my gratitude for being dominated. No matter where I turn and which “world” I find myself in, I am able to focus on someone above me. This adds to my happiness and that makes me much more inclined to be good at being her sub.

Now, this all sounds like Belle and Drew are somehow equals in my mind. Even writing the words “Belle and Drew” suggests that. But it’s not the case. I’ve written before about how relationships are multilayered with basic, foundational elements below and optional dependent additions higher up. My base relationship with Belle is fundamentally sound. More so than it’s ever been. That allows us to layer on the chastity and denial and D/s and all that. And, it allows the entire Drew layer, too. Drew and what he represents is not in any way equal to Belle and what she is to me. It does not exist beside my primary relationship. His layer is dependent on Belle. It’s just another being held up by our base relationship.

I may enjoy my interactions with Drew and he may develop into a good friend over time, but nothing will ever change how I feel about Belle and our life together. She’s my North Star. She’s my reason. Even in the depths of the darkest times between us, I never not for a second could imagine a life without her. And that we could have gone through all that and come out stronger and even so strong that something like Drew could become possible is remarkable to me. I count myself among the luckiest of rabbits.

All that gratitude and optimism and excitement is not sapped from my primary relationship with Belle. It feeds back into it. For someone who grew up on Disney cartoons and the dominant cultural relationship paradigm found everywhere else in our media, the idea that opening up a relationship under the terms we have would actually drive a net benefit is a remarkable revelation. We puny mortals do not have finite pools of affection and interest. We can make as much as we need, on demand. And seemingly, the more we make, the better it is for all concerned.

I’m babbling now. It’s enough to say Belle continues to find ways to make me a very happy person. As I said on our anniversary, she is primarily responsible for all the best things in my life. My gratitude and devotion to her is boundless.

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Another gentleman caller

So way back at the beginning of this year, Belle told me I was allowed to seek male…er, companionship…so as to meet certain needs and desires she was not interested in exploring with me (i.e., I’m a whore and want to get fucked by some guy). Back in May, a nice man approached me regarding said companionship. That assignation was not meant to be, alas. Michael’s situation was complicated and I can only assume a little boy ass on the side (without the concomitant penis accessible) wasn’t something that fit for him at the time. In any event, the reality that I might find someone to “companion with” gave Belle and I a chance to reiterate her ground rules and my acceptance of them. In short:

  • Belle is, was, and always shall be my primary partner.
  • The penis will always be locked no matter what
  • Whatever happens happens on my time and is not a distraction to her or our life.
  • I am able to blog about it, but she doesn’t necessarily want to read any of it.
  • Her privacy must be assured.

As it happens, I’ve been feeling a little dejected that there were no other interested parties. That’s not to say I wasn’t contacted, but they were apparently unable to read english and were looking for something distinctly different than what I described I wanted on my Collarspace profile. So anyway, I stopped checking in on my bait until yesterday when I decided on a whim to see what was up.

And right there was someone with real potential. We’ll call him Drew. On the plus side, he’s looking for pretty much what I am, except on the other side of the action. He’s a switch married to another man who’s also given him permission to go outside his marriage for certain activities. He only wants someone to top and have sex with. A friend, not a lover. Nothing anonymous, but nothing overly serious. Perfect. He says one of his fantasies has been to fuck a guy who’s locked up and unable to come, so I figure I’m pretty much right out of central casting on that score. He’s assumed a dominant role with me with clicks nicely in how I want to be treated. In fact, in our 24 hours or so of communication, he’s yet to say anything that strikes me the wrong way. His interests and mine are a good fit. We have a lot in common. On the negative side, he lives a long way away. But, silver lining, he travels a lot and is in town every once in a while.

So, that’s where we are. Only one day in, but very promising. In order to honor Belle’s requirement that I not put the sorted details in front of her, I’m going to use The Portfolio to write about our interactions in more detail. If you follow me there or on Twitter, you can stay abreast of developments.

It goes without saying that I’m an incredibly lucky bunny to be married to a woman who would allow this to be possible. I simply couldn’t love her more and am so grateful to be with her.

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Clang

Yesterday I spent an inordinate amount of time in my company’s conference room. Due to the nature of my job, I’m often subjected to serial meetings that can leave me in there for hours at a time (which is why, when we remodeled the office, I spent so much time and money on it).

Anyway, near the end of the meeting train, I got up to throw something away. The chairs around the conference table were all discombobulated and made a bit of an obstacle course for me to thread my way through. Most of the chairs are your standard conference table kind with padded seats and plastic backs, but we also have three stainless steel desk chairs with higher than average backs like you’d find in the 40’s and 50’s in there for overflow. One of these was standing between me and the trash receptacle as I slid sideways to the trash and…

CLANG

The Looker 02 knocked against the back of that chair far more noisily than I would have expected. The chair rang out like a bell at the contact (can’t imagine how loud being knocked by the Steelheart would have been). There were a few stragglers in there from the last meeting and the noise made one of them jump (though I’m sure all of them heard it). She looked up at me quizzically. I just moved the chair out of my way and paid her no attention (though maybe I was blushing just a bit).

Such are the everyday issues wearing steel on one’s dick.

I got back to civilization late Saturday night after a very long drive. Along the way, I stopped for lunch at a Wendy’s with a particularly squalid restroom whose only attribute was that it was private. Once ensconced, I placed the Looker 02 back where it belongs. I am not above diddling with the penis on long drives and the farther I got from the woods the more it was on my mind.

The next morning, Belle decided she didn’t want any steel on the penis and instructed me to remove it. She then let me fuck her and it was fantastic. I recall wondering at some point whether she was going to let me come and I realized I didn’t actually have a preference. On the one hand, not coming would be great. On the other, coming would be, too. Once realized, I just let myself enjoy the pussy time safe in the knowledge that I’d end up however she wanted.

She wanted me to come. This time, unlike the past several, it demonstrated every bit of the word orgasmic. Wonderful and 100% guilt-free.

Next morning, the L02 was back. Where it is now and where it was when I slid too close to that metal chair.