Tag: FLR

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No go

Justplaying said…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Fetishist

Got the following text from Belle yesterday morning:

Put yourself in the Steelheart

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

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

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

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

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

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

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

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How I know I’m not gay

I love pussy. That’s it, really. How I know I am totally not gay. I’d save my 20-year-old self so much angst if I could only travel back to point out to him (along with a firm smack on the side of the head) that someone who loves pussy as much as me could not ever be gay. Gay guys might have, at one point in their lives, put up with pussy or might still, from time to time, dip their pen in that colored ink for variety, but a truly gay guy, as Dan Savage points out, is just not into pussy. Period.

I say this because while I was gone, I got this text message from Belle:

Want to sit on your face

And I’m like, WOOF. Yes. Sit on my face! Oh, wait. I’m like a thousand miles away. Fuck.

So I got home Saturday and, even though she let me out of the Looker 02 (which I kept on the entire time I was gone, BTW), she did, in fact, sit on my motherfucking face. And it was awesome. Because, as I said, I fucking love pussy. Especially Belle’s. And you can’t experience more pussy than when it’s grinding into your face.

Funny thing is, Belle seems kind of tentative about doing it. She asked me if I really liked it. Yes, I really do. Maybe you didn’t notice, Belle, but whilst you were astride my face the penis was boned out like a little flagpole. Plus, you know, I’ve only posted about a hundred face-sitting images on the porn farm (such as). I love the whole dynamic. Feeling her hips gyrating over my mouth, her fluids running down my chin, the sensation that I’ve turned into a masturbatory device. The fact that she’s on top. No need to feel weird about it, sweetie. Sit on my fucking face twice a day if you want.

After the face-sitting (which I loved…have I mentioned?), she let me fuck her and it was glorious. The next day, I got to get her off again and, while warming her up, I said something about how I wanted to jack off since it’s been, like, forever since she let me.

“Why don’t you put that energy into me,” she suggested. And I did. But when she was done (using Pink this time), she didn’t let me go for a ride. No reason. Told me I had already had a good time the day before and, don’t forget, I’m not the one who decides when I fuck her. Not by a long shot. And of course, jacking off was not in the cards, either. Inside, the subbie bunny part of me was totally buzzing but the reptile in me was seething. A real man would just take her, it suggested. Just fuck her. But I’m not that man. So the bobbing boner was left to deflate all on its own. Not sure it completely has yet, come to think of it.

Before I left, Belle said something about sending me to a pro domme. I can’t remember the context in which she said it, but she was suggesting there were things I wanted she wasn’t all that into giving me. I assume she’s talking about bondage and hitty stuff. In fact, I’m not that into the idea of a pro domme if for no other reason than I can’t imagine submitting to a woman who’s not Belle. Trying to split my submission like that with another female just doesn’t seem to compute to me.

But. Not being gay and totally digging pussy aside, it occurred to me while driving for hours on end that I’d really be into seeing a dom. Being tied up and beat by a dude? Used and abused by someone with a cock? Oh, hell yeah. I’d really like that. But there’s no such thing, as far as I can tell, as pro doms. I mean, maybe there’s a few. Here and there. Or in NYC where all kinky shit originates. But in the Midwest? Doubtful. So it’d probably look more like a “play partner” kind of deal. And who’d want one whose penis is permanently padlocked? And that’s not what she said anyway. And she was probably only joking. So I should probably stop thinking about it.

In other news, I’m still unlocked nearly 48 hours after getting home. She didn’t feel like dealing with putting me in last night and must have forgotten this morning. I was in the L02 for three weeks and, for those curious about devices with urethral inserts, I can tell you it only got more comfortable over time. By the third week, I could barely tell it was in there. Only little issue I had was after I took it off and tried getting my 4ga ring back in the PA that had been empty all those weeks. Things had started to close up, but I was able to get them stretched back out easily enough.

I expect she’ll use the Steelheart now since it’s her favorite, but she might toss me a curve and pull out the Jail Bird. Who knows? Not me.

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Two strikes

I’m off again on Friday for another week in the woods. Belle’s made it clear this time that she fully expects me to stay locked in the Looker 02 the entire time I’m gone. She even went to far as to suggest she might need to take my emergency key away or hide it in my truck somewhere to keep me from using it. In the end, I promised to only use it for actual emergencies and not simply to make my life a bit more convenient. I said this while laying next to her, face burrowed into her, in a small and quiet voice.

“How does that make you feel?” she asked. Trigger tripping, that. The tone of my voice made it clear how it made me feel. Making me say it out loud? Ungh.

After a long pause, “Powerless,” I said, “Small and powerless.” The penis shifted and pressed against its cage and choked down more of the device’s insert. Being forced to say it like that welded the commitment to my psyche. I’ll do whatever I can not to take the device off while I’m away from Belle.

Not sure why this time’s different than last time when she told me I could go free, but this weekend’s performance might have something to do with it. She told me she’d let me out but expected me to “stare at the ceiling or think about baseball or whatever the hell you need to do” because she wanted to fuck me and come.

Saturday night started in the hot tub for us. She brought the key with her and I took the device off and she stowed it in her robe. The penis immediately started to chub out (as it does hopefully and expectantly whenever the device is removed), but even though it was dark and we were alone, nothing too rambunctious could happen as there were Muggles about. Eventually, I was behind her and massaging her shoulders while grinding the stiffy into her gently. I moved one hand from her shoulders and neck down to her pussy and rubbed it through the fabric of her suit for a while before slipping my fingers beneath. The feel of her snatch in that very sexual position (though one we never use) made me very hard and quite light-headed from arousal. We stopped after a bit and went inside to bed.

Though my fucking wasn’t supposed to happen until the next morning, the hot tub must have gotten her going because before I knew it, she was on top of me pounding away and I had her tits in my mouth. I was doing pretty good until she started to make “I’m going to come” kind of noises and all of a sudden I lost it. Not an orgasm, but the closest I’ve come since January. One strong surge of ejaculate right at the moment of withdrawal, but none of the accompanying sensations or afterglow of coming. Even though I was able to get ahold of myself sufficiently to let her have another go, her moment had passed. I failed the one thing I’m supposed to do in bed: get her off.

Next morning, more of the same except the close call on my part was avoided. It was very frustrating for both of us. I told her not to worry about me and just go and whatever happened to me happened. I didn’t really want the orgasm, but I wanted her to have hers more than anything. In the end, she had a calmer head than me and again she was left without. I failed again. I felt (and feel) very bad.

“Keep that up and I’m going to have to find a surrogate,” she said, exasperated.

More trigger tripping.

So here it is, the eve of my departure, and she still hasn’t gotten off. I don’t know if she’s going to want to try again tonight or not, but I do know I’ll be keeping the steel on, in, and around the penis until she tells me I can take it off. Whenever that is.

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Hair control

It’s funny the things I can find sexy. Not funny as in clowns (because those motherfuckers are terrifying). Funny as in things typically not thought of as sexy by normal (you know) people.

Case in point. Belle likes hair on men. I don’t know where the line is (like, this dude’s probably over the top for her, but probably not this guy and definitely not this one), but luckily for me, I’m a reasonably hairy dude. Belle says the first thing that attracted her to me was the view of the triangle of chest hair that stuck out of the dress shirts I wore when we worked together. In fact, in writing that, I remember another girlfriend who was similarly focused. Guess it’s a thing then.

Anyway, the guy who cuts my hair likes dudes with little or no hair. At least, he likes them to have very short hair on their heads (and shaves his own). Unless I remember to specifically remind him not to cut it too short, he will. He also seems to find offense that Belle thinks he’s too energetic with the clippers because when I tell him to leave more on the top than he wants to, he scrunches up his face and like a jealous old drag queen and says, “Why, because Belle wants me to?” But, you know, he uses her real name. To which I reply, “Yes,” and he asks if she’s the boss of me and I tell him, well, in actual fact, she is. He rolls his eyes.

The other thing Belle likes is facial hair. I have a beard right now solely because Belle likes it. I grew it earlier in the year for her and won’t shave it off until she says I can (and even then, I’ll leave the Van Dyke-like thing I’ve had since forever, again because she liked it, but now it’s been there so long I can’t imagine not having it). At least she’s OK with me keeping the beard short. Unlike my pubes.

My pubes are longer now than they’ve been in a really long time. Maybe since I started attaching things to my body down there. I went away on my camping trip with a bit of a shag and, upon seeing the additional growth, she told me how much she liked it. So it stayed. Now, they’re noticeably fuller than usual and I am indefinitely suspending any pube trimming (except for some shaving around the edges and on the shaft, mostly for the devices I wear and because I think hair on a penis is revolting and she hasn’t expressed an opinion on it). Last night, when we were heading off to sleep, she was on her side facing away from me (as usual) and I was nakedly clutching her from behind (as usual) and her left hand happened to land right where her fingers could just touch the lock on the Looker 02 and she made a happy sound.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just felt your little bushy part and liked it.”

Warm.

Had I my druthers, I’d have probably shaved the beard off by now and cut my hair shorter and I’d have definitely trimmed my pubes down to about a 1/4″ , but I haven’t done any of that. How is this different than any person modifying how they are to be more appealing to their partner? Dunno. What I do know is, I’m doing this stuff with my hair because of her and her preferences and that lights my submissive circuits up.

EDITED to add that this, BTW, is my 800th post on the blog. For serious! Eight hundred! 

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One thousand percent

“I really want to come in you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“That’s not going to happen.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Are you sure?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“One thousand percent.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“OK, you’re done.”

 

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Back to business

So yeah, I wussed out on the staying locked up while camping thing. Made it one whole night before taking it off. Privacy and hygiene were the driving factors (as in, no privacy necessary to keep things reasonably clean). I’ll be camping again next month and am already thinking of ways to stay in. We’ll see.

While away, Belle sent the following texts to me (though I didn’t get them right away due to spotty cell coverage):

Currently staring at my fav pic of you (FB profile of the moment) and thinking how I’d like to be on top of you right now…

You may need to stay unlocked cuz Belle needs her Thumpie bad.

Needless to say, that got me going. By the end of the trip, when I was smelling my worst and ready to go home, I kept thinking about having Belle on top and fucking me while I had her tits in my face and, while I didn’t actually play with it, I did find my hand squeezing the resultant hard-on. All the way home, she was all I could think about. I spent a night in a hotel while driving back and put the device back where it’s supposed to be, both because I missed it and know how hotel rooms are a historically tempting place for me and the penis to have some fun.

We were finally able to get down to business Monday night ( a snippet of which I posted yesterday). It was all too much for me, though, and when she finally straddled me, I found there was nothing at all I could fill my brain with that would take me even an inch away from what was happening on the penis. None of my distraction techniques worked worth a damn. The world dissolved into the twin joys of her wet pussy and awesome tits. I had to stop her twice and, the second time, she climbed off. I felt bad, but the pre-game activities had me running too hot to be able to perform satisfactorily.

After getting her off, she told me she was willing to let me have a go at the pussy but didn’t want me to get all uppity and grumpy.

“I won’t be grumpy,” I said, very quickly.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” again, quickly. Before she even finished asking me. Honestly, at that moment I would have agreed to anything she asked just to get inside her again.

It was, of course, glorious, but short lived. I came close to coming fairly quickly and she told me that was it. I need that. To always feel like I’m being contained, deprived, controlled, and left wanting more. I didn’t get grumpy the next day and maybe it was leaving me in that needy state that kept it from happening. From feeling in any way indulged. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t given me pussy for more than a month.

After, I was high as a kite and figured I’d never get to sleep. I asked Belle if I could put the device back on she had just let me take off a little earlier. I needed to feel it on me and not have an annoying tube steak constantly swelling and swaying around. She said, “Of course,” and I pushed and squished the semi back into its home and clutched her from behind, holding her body as close to mine as possible.

“At least I’ll have given you something to blog about,” she said to me as we fell asleep. Indeed.

I honestly can’t recall ever being this happy in my life.

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Only she could

She slid her fingers out from her hot, wet pussy and brought them up to his face, rubbing them over his nose and lips and allowing him to hungrily suck the essence from her digits.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.

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Transmuted pangs

Belle’s experiment with controlling my moodiness enters its third week. I’ve been out of the Steelheart for about an hour (since the day she let me out overnight earlier in the month) and that was for cleaning purposes only. I didn’t even get a boner. As I mentioned recently, I’ve found myself to be very irritable after being allowed to fuck her since we were on vacation so she’s decided I won’t get to do that as much as before and has stuck to it. I’ve essentially been locked up for month and have only been inside Belle once in that time.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

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Want

“It’s trying to get hard,” I said to Belle. We were laying next to each other and kissing lightly, my hand ranging under her clothes, from her ass up her back.

“Yeah,” she replied, “So?”

Ungh. 

Earlier, Belle and I had discussed briefly the grumpiness I’ve been feeling when let out and inside her. We agreed that it seemed to be caused by her indulging me. By letting my lizard brain think there was a chance to come. So, she wasn’t indulging me. But fuck, I wanted to be indulged. Badly.

The kissing intensified and Belle rolled back and pulled on me slightly, indicating I should be up and over her. On all fours, I kissed her face and neck and her hand ran down my naked side, over my ass and thigh, and then back up to find my nuts. She fingered that wondrously sensitive area between my ass crack and balls, including the steel ring anchoring her chastity device to my body. The ring of power, I thought. Where the metal did her business with me. The very spot where her control over me was made real. I felt myself slip lightheadedly into shallow subspace.

Her caressing of the tightening skin felt fantastic. I moaned into her neck and pillow. Her touch was light and playful. Then, SMACK! I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t really wanted it. But not so much that I wouldn’t accept it. She could do what she wanted and right then she wanted to hurt me. She didn’t have to ask permission. I fell more deeply into subspace.

WHACK! *gentle gentle* THWACK! Repeat.

The penis yearned to become fully erect, but the steel restrained it cruelly. The dull pain of the hard ring clenched around the captured erection mixed with the pain she was causing me. I wanted it gentle but also wanted to submit to her. Each time she made contact, I collapsed a bit but raised myself back up again hoping she’d stroke me lightly from then on. I tried to encourage her in that direction.

“That feels so good,” I whispered.

PUNCH! Immediate. No delay. As if to say, Oh? Really?

That one hurt deeply. I collapsed again and groaned as the wave of hot pain radiated out from my groin. But then I raised my ass back into the air and spread my legs a bit more. She was making me crave her attacks, but Thumper Time was up.

She pulled up her top exposing her fantastic tits and their hard, fat nipples. I greedily sucked them, one then the other. The penis raged and the lizard fell back in abject dispair knowing it was a futile effort. This was about Belle completely now. She would not be getting the key. I would not be indulged.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her pajama bottoms and felt the moist heat of her pussy glowing beneath. I pulled her pants off and sank my fingers into her hot wetness. So soft, so smooth. I craved it. The craving ate at me from within. So fucking close, but so far away.

I played with her clit and sucked her tits and she slowly arched her head, neck and back as the orgasm creeped up on her. Her hips started to gyrate beneath my fingers and her breathing grew short and ragged and my hips started to rhythmically grind against her thigh. I humped her leg in my impotent fashion, raging hard-on compressed and painful in its trap, in syncopation with her gyrations. She was coming and I was fucking her in my own way. The only way I could. The only way she’d let me.

After she came (hard) I felt like a man about to reach a summit that was suddenly not beneath him anymore. She was glowing while I was left to try to restrain myself from further grinding. I moaned. I whimpered. She ignored me.

She fell asleep. I stayed awake. I do love her so much.