Tag: FLR

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A dream, a thing, and a scene

I had another dream a few nights ago. In it, I reached down to feel the device (something I find myself doing quite a bit, actually) and discovered that, somehow, the cock was outside it, long and hard. I couldn’t process this as it was unharmed and yet the device was still in place underneath. I was very confused. Then, instead of acting on the unexpectedly free meat, I started to try to stuff it back in the tube before Belle found out. I felt guilty and even somewhat ashamed and very much annoyed that the perfectly secure device had somehow failed. Then I woke up, hard and stuffed into the tube, ring biting. Still perfectly secure.

I feel like writing a post that probably covers some old ground, but I’m sure you’ll humor me. What choice do you have, right? I want to talk about how things have changed with regard to chastity and Belle and I. How her attitude and the new Steelheart have combined into a new thing. A better thing, from my point of view. Then I’ll tell you about a hot little scene to make up for it.

Like most guys, I guess, chastity devices are part of our relationship due to my interest, not hers. For the better part of the first year we used them, I always suspected she was humoring me when she had me wear one. She didn’t seem willing to push my tolerance and acted as though being out was preferable to me than being in. At some point, though, in the past three months that changed. She wants me in a device more than not now.

A week ago, when the new and improved Steelheart went on, she and I were standing in the kitchen together. I had been chastised for all of about 30 minutes at that point, and for the first time in weeks. I was standing very close to her and put my face against her neck.

Belle laughed a little. “I can tell you’re wearing it,” she said.

“I feel different when I have it on,” I replied.

“Good!”

“You haven’t like me out of it?”

“I always love you. You know that. But I’ve come to prefer you the way you are when you’re locked up. You’re more focused and attentive. I like that.”

I think I may have whimpered a little. Shoving your meat into a chastity device because you want to is plenty fun but doing it because it’s expected of you – because she really wants it that way – is another game altogether.

One of the things those of us who wear these devices often hear from those who don’t is that we really shouldn’t have to wear one. We should be strong enough to maintain our chastity through no other force other than our desire to do what our dominant wants. I don’t really argue with that point of view since it’s just another way to play the game, but I think it misses out on something that, for me, is pretty huge. Something I’m only just experiencing now.

The first ingredient is what I just talked about and has been present for a little while now. That is, she wants me in the device more than I want to be in it. The second ingredient is the Steelheart’s newly inescapable features. If one kinks on submitting to their dominant partner, then great. I get that since I do, too. But I also kink quite hard on not having any control. In the past, when the device I was wearing was one I could escape from, I always maintained a certain amount of control since it was only my self-control that kept me in it. I wasn’t really interested in escaping, but knowing I could meant I still had control. Now, I can’t get out. And I don’t decide when I go in. Or how long I’ll be in there. All my control is gone because she’s taken it. That’s hot.

I told Belle this night before last. I told her it made me happy. I’m in a very good zone right now with regard to the D/s and my new found total lack of self-determination has a lot to do with it. That night was also one in which I could, according to Belle’s Rule, initiate sex. She wasn’t really in the mood, but she told me to get undressed and to bring her the butterfly clips anyway. I gave them to her and she kind of played around with them a little by clipping them on the fleshy webbing at the base of her thumb.

“Ouch!” she said, “That hurts.”

“Yeah,” I said, sounding not unlike a stoned surfer. I’m a pretty big fan of those clips.

She experimented with pulling on them and saw for herself how they clamped harder that way. I was getting kind of dreamy watching her fiddle with them. I could feel the tube’s contents plump up.

She finally attached the clamps to my nipples, first the right, then the left. They’re so intense. Wonderfully intense. Belle picked up the chain and started to pull. Gently, then with more force. The tube fully pressurized, biting into the shaft and pulling my scrotum tight. I got up on all fours to help ease the strain of the heavy device pulling on the erection.

That gave Belle a vector into my balls. At first, she stroked them and the hard steel making them tight.

“So smooth,” she said, “I love how smooth it is.”

I looked down and watched her stroke the steel. “I wish I could feel that.”

She pulled me closer and my face down to the mattress with the chain. Then she gripped my balls hard and squeezed them. I instinctively pulled away which caused her to yank on the chain again. In this way, I found myself to be something of a human yo-yo. She’d pull the clamps to make me come closer, allowing her to punch me in the nuts. I’d pull back and she’d yank on the chain and start the whole thing over again.

Pain flashed up and down my body. My balls were aching, both from the device and the abuse. And my nipples were on fire from the yanking and pulling. She was being wonderfully cruel. So thoughtfully, lovingly cruel. As usual, when she’s hurting me, I lose my sense of time. I have no idea how long this went on, but when it was over and the clamps came off, it was as though my nipples exploded. Incredible surge of pain. And as I laid next to her, spooning the solidly filled tube into her backside, my balls throbbed.

I felt completely abused. Thank you, Belle Fille.

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Thumper’s night

Yes, she let me come on Saturday.

The whole thing was wonderful. Before we got down to business, she told me to undress and get into bed. I did, on my knees, burrowing my face into her, kneeling and demonstrating my willingness to submit. She ran her hand up my naked back and caressed my skin with her nails. I hadn’t been feeling super submissive up to that point, but the weight of the event was starting to dawn on me. I was going to have an orgasm. An orgasm I really wanted and was only going to get because she was allowing it to happen. I got under the covers and laid next to her, opening myself to more of her caressing.

She ran her hands all over me except on the aching part that wanted it the most. I shifted around trying to help her find what she was obviously avoiding.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please touch it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied calmly. She’s always calm in bed. I get so turned on and fight for control and she stays cool and collected.

“I want it so bad.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she finally found her cock. I gasped. Even though I had been unlocked for weeks and had plenty of opportunity to feel a hand on my erections, this was altogether different. This was her hand.

“How many times did you play with this while I left you unlocked?” She asked. I avoided her eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I felt guilty. “How many times?” she repeated. Not angrily, but firmly.

“I don’t know…” I said sheepishly. I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You don’t know,” she repeated.

“No, I don’t,” I said. Then, eventually, “Lots. More than I should have.”

“Uh huh.”

“You said I could that one time,” I said, gamely groping for an out.

She grabbed my nuts and squeezed. The pain was instant and severe. I gasped as her griped tightened and I felt one testicle slowly and uncomfortably grind against the other. She let go and I collapsed against her, panting. The pain throbbed dully and the cock was harder than before.

After a few moments of relief, she quickly grasped my testes in her hand again, squeezing even harder than before. The pain seared up and out of my groin and spread throughout my body. Her nails began to dig into the soft scrotum skin. I realized I was being punished for playing with her cock.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasped and she released me.

I nuzzled into her and apologized again.

“You’re weak,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I’ve been far too indulgent with you,” she said. “I’m going to lock you back up tomorrow. You need to focus more on me.”

“Yes, Belle Fille,” I whispered. Her attitude was unexpected, as was the intensity of her punishment. She had quickly driven me deeply into subspace.

A short while later, she allowed me to begin bringing her to orgasm. I pulled up her top and started suckling her nipples, feeling them stiffen in response. I brought my hand down between her legs and felt the glowing heat coming through the material of her pajama bottoms. I pulled them down and felt her slick wetness under my fingers.

“I want your tongue in my pussy,” she said bluntly. “I want you to eat me out.”

I moaned and quickly moved between her legs, planting my mouth on her wet snatch. I absolutely reveled in her juices, slurping them down as the soft folds of her flesh responded to my insistent tongue. I reached up and played with her nipple. Soon, she was breathing hard and gasping “oh, fuck” repeatedly. She came really hard and I laid my face against her wet heat, rhythmically grinding the hard cock pressing into the mattress.

After basking for a few minutes, she brought me back up and indicated it was time for me to go. I easily slid the cock into her pussy, loosely relaxed and supremely wet as it always is post-cunnilingus. I quickly got up to speed, wanting to enjoy the feeling of purposeful fucking but also wanting to feel the orgasm I knew I’d have. I held her head with one hand, the other on her hip, and kissed her face. I felt such love and affection for her. Felt so grateful to her. So connected to her.

All too soon, I felt the orgasm lock and load. I was still pumping, but beyond the point of no return. It started to well up inside me from great depths. I gasped, “This is yours,” and shot my load inside her. Again and again the cock flexed and more of my seed surged into her. I was grunting and gasping and just fucking coming like a feral pig. I had been so horny – wound up so tight in anticipation – and all of it was swirling away inside as the pent-up energy drained out with the orgasm like water down a drain.

Immediately afterward, I was spent. Totally spent. Exhaustion came over me like a heavy blanket. I felt contentment unlike any I’ve felt in quite a while. This was no half orgasm. There was no restraint on my part. It was my night and I came completely. In no time, I was out. Deeply asleep. Content.

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When the means become the end

Belle’s last orgasm was Sunday night, so I’m not supposed to be expecting anything until Wednesday night at the earliest. However, the continuing unlocked status of the cock has left me more focused on it than usual. Last night, as Belle was drowsily watching the football game, I was snuggled up against her and slowly dry-humping her leg. Based on a strict reading of the law, I may have been crossing a line, but I was careful to keep my hands off restricted body parts. She was clearly unimpressed with my efforts, however, and it was obvious I wasn’t going to get anything from her.

“Can I mess around with it?” I asked hopefully. Meaning, of course, could I play with her cock.

“Well…be quiet about it.”

Shortly afterward, she was out like a light, but I was on. Tenting the covers over my crotch, I jacked off for 45 minutes by the glow of the TV. I edged myself again and again, though never spilled a drop. Perhaps assisting in this remarkable conservation was the stretchy silicone cock ring I was wearing. It certainly contributed to the erection. After three quarters of an hour of near non-stop stroking, my balls felt twice their normal size and my epididymides were pronounced and swollen (presumably caused by the constriction of the ring). The act of masturbating, once a necessary means to achieve the desired end, is now an end unto itself. Physically, I had the urge to come many times. I felt all the internal mechanisms prime for launch, only for liftoff to be scrubbed again and again. Mentally, though, I was reveling in that space I formerly tried to pass through as quickly as possible. I don’t know that I’ve ever jacked off nearly continuously for 45 minutes (absent any porn) in my life, but I do know that doing so has become just as seductive and habit-forming as when it always ended in a gooey mess. Also, being able to do it with such abandon and in such close proximity to Belle somehow made me feel closer to her and contributed to an overall happy disposition.

This morning, Belle’s Outlook alert box popped up with her day’s meetings and to-do items. Included in that list was a reminder consisting of a single letter – my first initial. Saturday is my next day to orgasm, as chosen by me blindly and randomly. New-found love of endless masturbation aside, I am very excited for the weekend.

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I am not dead!

Anyone who’s read this blog for a while knows that extended periods of quiet are signs of alarm. Not unlike a collie bursting into the room and barking like mad (which might lead you to look around for young Timmy, whose absence would then cause you to run off to check the local well/abandoned mine). In any event, I haven’t posted because a) there wasn’t all that much to talk about for a bit, and b) there were, in fact, issues.

The issues are basically the same we’ve gone over before and involve the fact that my internal submission engine requires a certain level of sexual frustration to remain engaged. Belle left for NYC immediately following my last post, which was fine because our sex the night before was outstandingly frustrating. However, for a variety of reasons, we didn’t do much of anything sexual from the time she got back through the next weekend. In addition, she wasn’t giving me any tasks to perform or otherwise flexing her domination over me (and, in fact, did several things I told her I’d be happy to do for her). By the time Sunday night rolled around and she fell asleep while watching the Vikings collapse in front of a national audience, my tank was full of fumes.

I laid there, listening to her sleep, and calmly thought through where we were. I, certainly, was not feeling it. She, it appeared, wasn’t feeling it. Not only that, she didn’t seem to have any desire to bring it back (and, of course, by “it” I mean our D/s dynamic). I wasn’t really mad or full of despair or anything like that. It seemed normal that after a year or so of messing around with this and after a several month period where she left me locked in a chastity device pretty much 24/7 that maybe the one or both of us would get our fill. I really wanted out of the CB6K. Once I felt I wasn’t being denied as much as detained, the bloom was off. Also, since living with the Steelheart for a while and even the chrome CB6K, the old clear CB6K is only barely erotic for me (and her, I think).

So, long story kinda but not really short, I decided to propose a break the next day. By “break” I meant no device, I can come whenever I want, I’m not submissive. At least for a while. Until we both wanted it back. That was the idea, anyway. Turns out, when I said it, she took it pretty hard. What seemed to me a logical extension of how we were living, to her, was a rebuke of sorts. I didn’t mean it that way and didn’t expect her to take it the way she did, but there it was. She gave me the key on Monday morning but was also obviously distressed to do so, so I gave it back to her and said we’d discuss it that night when we had a chance to talk.

Monday night came around and she removed the lock. I was very happy to be facing the prospect of taking it off, but it was still obvious to me that she was unhappy about it. She said it made her feel like she didn’t own the cock anymore. That wasn’t my intention. Really, all I wanted to do was take it out for a spin. Laying there, device still on but unlocked, and against what I wanted, I suggested she put the lock back on. She declined. I offered again. She declined again. Soon, I was practically begging her to put the lock back on. The deliciousness of the situation (me, begging to be relocked even though I really wanted out) was not lost on me and I found myself forcibly holding the device together as it strained against my erection. I finally told her to replace the lock just for the night. Whatever she wanted to do the next day, we’d do. Obviously, the device and the control it represents has developed into a potent symbol between us.

Next day, she let me out. Her period had just started, so she said we’d do the opposite of what’s normal and I’d be unlocked until she was done bleeding. However, we were not going to be on a full break. I was not allowed to come without her permission. I really did want an orgasm (more to the point, I wanted a whole fucking lot of them), but wanting out wasn’t the same as wanting to be out from under her control. Feeling full and unencumbered erections was, I admit, glorious. I also admit to doing what came naturally with those erections, though I never went all the way to the logical conclusion.

Last night, Belle started giving the cock some pleasant attention (mixed in with occasional and random strikes to the balls). It got hard again, really hard, and I wasn’t sure which I wanted more: the nice cock contact or the ball hitting. I rolled over and got onto all fours and she started to milk me like a cow. I closed my eyes and zoned out on the sensation of her hand moving over the hard cock. It didn’t take too long for me to start feeling the tickle of an orgasm bubbling up. I warned her, asking if she wanted me to come. She said I could.

Because I’m me, I didn’t think, “Oh, fuck, YES!” I thought, “Oh shit, not on the sheets!” I cupped my hand under the end of the cock just in time to catch the spurts, but doing so took my eye off the ball just long enough that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the orgasm. Regardless, I really liked it. I wiped my hand off on my balled-up underwear, curled into her, and almost immediately fell deeply asleep, heavy scent of ejaculate hanging over the bed.

This morning, the PA piercing kinda hurts. She was pretty rough on the cock and the ring flopped around with a lot of force. I’m totally feeling it today, along with the normal post-orgasmic rush of additional horniness. One orgasm never seems to get it all out.

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Moving right along

I’ve exchanged a few emails with Dietmar at Steelworxx. Not only is he making me a new and smaller A-ring, but he’s also working up a custom PA fixing. It’s similar to the regular one, except mine will run continuously from one post to the other (in a long U-shape) and be open on top (so it can be run through the PA ring). It won’t maintain the PA ring’s position at the bottom of the tube, but it will make it impossible (with the right ring) to fully remove the cock from the tube. It’s the same idea as the PA wire I fixed up a little while back, except in steel. It’ll look a little less MacGyver, a little more Cyberman.

I told Belle last night that, except for a day or two here and there to heal, she’s had me locked up almost continuously for a month (in three different devices, no less). She didn’t seem to think that was very interesting. Before our Mexico trip, I was locked up for a similar amount of time (though there was a 10 day to 2 week break around the trip, I think). I haven’t counted up the days with any specificity, but it seems like my default condition now is to be locked up with only special occasions where she lets me out. This is a fairly significant escalation over previous months where I’d be secured 50% of the time (or less). It would be 100% now, except for the occasional injuries.

This increased frequency is entirely attributable to Belle. There have been several times recently where, had I been able to choose, I would have stayed out but she was determined to put me in. I now believe she prefers to leave me locked up. All residual guilt or worry or insecurity seems to be gone. A year ago, I would have wanted nothing more. Now that it’s transpired, I have decidedly mixed feelings about it. It’s all good, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I now realize that 1) I really don’t have any control over wearing a device, and 2) it’s left the realm of über hawt fantasy and entered the more mundane world of the every day.

I said yesterday that I was “fully accepting that we’ll only have sex according to her needs.” This, too, is slightly different than my previous outlook. Before, I’d say something like I was “fully accepting that she controls our sex” and that’d be true, but adding the nuance that not only was she controlling it, but that it was only happening when she needed it is a new way of looking at it for me. Maybe I’ve talked around this before without knowing it or maybe it’s been assumed by my readers, but saying to one’s self that “I want sexual relief, but she’s not letting me have it” is very different than “I want sexual relief, but she doesn’t, so I’m not getting any.” A lot of this wraps back into the idea that my sexuality has been subsumed into hers, I guess. I’m sure I’m not saying it very well, but I think it’s amazing that even after more than year of playing around with this that it continues to evolve.

Last night, we tossed and turned quite a bit. She was dealing with jet lag while I was dealing with arousal. At one point, I wanted to wrap around her and feel the hard plastic press into her ass, but she was facing me and spooning a pillow. I couldn’t get a good vector and eventually rolled over to face the other direction. The cock was really hard, not because of any routine physiological reason, but because I was fucking horny. I wanted her so bad, but what “want” means I cannot say. My stifled needs and desires burned in my chest. And, I have to admit, it felt good.

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Belle’s back

I neglected to change into my acrylic PA ring before locking the old CB6K on. Truth is, I really like how the big steel ring looks and, since it’s visible now, I wanted to keep it in. Pure vanity. However, this means I’m no longer operating in stealth mode. Unless the cock is feeling a little porky and is pushing the ring down and holding it against the tube, the ring knocks around a bit. It’s not consistent and some times are worse than others, but there’s almost always some kind of sound being made.

I walked around most of the day yesterday with change in the pocket of my sweats to help cover the sound. This morning, I’m in jeans and can still hear it in there. Truth is, I kinda like that I’m making an odd sound. While I’d rather be quiet around the house, out in the wild it’s like I’m making a coded declaration of my position. It’s not like anyone who happens to pick up on the sound will think, “Is that a 4 ga captive ball ring I hear knocking around the inside of CB-6000 male chastity device!?” In fact, it’s not so obvious that anyone will think anything, but I can hear it and, occasionally, so with they and that, I must admit, gives me a perverse satisfaction.

Ironically enough, after I wrote those first two paragraphs, I had to leave my desk for several hours and locked my laptop’s screen using my screen saver. Upon returning, I found that the last person to unlock the screen was a user called “admin”. Not me. My office is on the small side, so I know exactly who “admin” is, though I’m not entirely sure why he’d need to access my computer. In any event, this post was up and visible to him as soon as the screen saver went away. I can only assume that he’s now wise to my little secret. For a moment there, I felt somewhat violated and pissed, but not right now. If my cover’s been blown, it’s not because I was being overt or obvious or anything. I trust he’d be discrete and not tell the world, but even if he did, I guess I really don’t care. It also helps that I can fire him if I want to.

In any event, Belle arrived home yesterday as previously reported. One small hiccup, though, in that I thought she was landing in the early afternoon when in reality she landed late morning. I was planning on using those hours to finish the laundry and clean up the whole house, so when she got there, everything would be perfect. Instead, the laundry was not folded and the sheets on her bed were still in the dryer and the kid’s playroom was a disaster. Regardless, it was really very nice having her back and there were many moments when we stopped and hugged and kissed and exchanged little bites on the neck for the rest of the day.

As we went to bed, the jet lag was hitting her kinda hard so I wasn’t expecting much beyond more kissing. Expecting, no, hoping, hell yeah. I’m back in the “proper” mindset now and fully accepting that we’ll only have sex according to her needs, so I would not have been disappointed had she wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep it off. Turns out, though, she wanted to come.

Hearing her say the words, I felt like a greyhound jumping after the fake rabbit at a dog race. I quite literally leapt into action. I immediately started to run my hands over her body, especially those areas I’m not normally allowed to touch. She was immediately responsive and it wasn’t long before she asked me to go down on her.

Asked me, mind you! Like there was ever a question. Fucking hell, YES, I wanted to go down on her. I think it took about 4.5 seconds for me to get my tongue in her snatch. She maneuvered me into a position where I was able to eat her out while simultaneously reaching up to play with her nipples. That required me to lay on my stomach with the device (and it’s fully engorged contents) painfully pressed into the mattress, but the payoff was enormous. I could not get enough of her. It was all I could do to focus on the task at hand and not rub my face into her soft wetness. I had the palpable urge to mark myself with her scent. Even after she came (all too quickly), I laid with my face pressed against her. If I could have, I would have crawled up inside.

That power her pussy has over me – the way it consumes my thoughts – is completely a byproduct of the denial. Of course, I was always a fan, but now, I’m in fucking awe of it. Its taste and its smell and its heat – everything. It’s the embodiment of her power over me. It radiates her feminine will over my actions and I’m left able to do little more than worship it when given the chance.

This morning, I asked her if she let me pleasure her because I was so apparently desirous to do so. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” I did that to her because that’s what she wanted. Plus, she felt I deserved a reward for maintaining the house so well while she was gone.

Hooray for rewards!

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Reruns

I occasionally go back and reread some of my own posts. Two things happen when I do that:

  1. I realize I tend to repeat and even contradict myself.
  2. I cheer myself up.

 
Case in point where I do both simultaneously: Back in September, I wrote a post called “Feeling Good” where I said:

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Sound familiar? Pretty much the same vibe I’ve been feeling recently actually seems to have started two months ago. But, unlike recently, I was feeling pretty good about it (hence the title). I wish I understood better how the exact same emotions can, in one case, leave me a happy little sub and, in another case, cause me to spiral round the psychic bowl.

I don’t know. It’s complicated, right? Like a little machine made of brass rings, emotional and hormonal and more, constantly turning so that all the tiny variables of life can’t interact on it in exactly the same way more than once. I am evolving. I should make a list of posts like this one for those times when I find it difficult because there are moments of lucidity where all the rotating segments line up and I can see, right in front of me, satisfaction. Then they turn again and I’m left to coast until the next alignment.

Why do I find this so hard? There are a metric shit ton of guysub blogs out there and a very tiny number of those guys (at least, according to my limited census) ever seem to enter into periods of funk and doubt. There are notable exceptions, but so many of them seem to chug right along, never looking back, never really thinking about where they are. Belle accuses me of thinking too much. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should stop trying to figure out the mechanics behind the constant rotation and just accept things as they happen. The difference between trying to stop the wave as it crashes into me so I can analyzing it, interrogate it, catalog its every atom or just letting it crash and wash over, savoring the sensation.

Either way, I’m pretty sure at this point I’ve already written about it, both loved it and loathed it with anticipation and dread.

In rereading this, I feel I can’t leave the impression that I’m still funky. I’m not. I miss my Belle terribly and crave her return. I miss her body next to mine as we sleep, I miss the sounds of her moving through the house, I miss making her coffee. I want to be and do exactly what she wants and I know that will satisfy me. Whatever alignment caused me to slip into my foul mood has moved on. I can feel it. Now all I need is her, with me.

Also, I want to bring special attention to Elle’s most recent HNT. Just awesome. Maybe her best yet. (And don’t forget to click through to the second image).

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Calibrating

Reader BT left the following thoughtful comment to my last post:

The malaise is a normal part of the progression of a real Female Dominated relationship. We males are always “on” when it comes to sex. Always the reaction is “Why not?” when the possibility of sexual activity comes along. Women are generally “off.” Their reaction is generally “Why now?” when faced with sexual possibility. By handing over the control of the sexual activity in your relationship to your wife you are naturally going to find yourself subjected to periods of “drought.” It’s a female thing.

But as it turns out that you can find that you actually can enjoy some aspects of it. It is during the times when the focus isn’t on the sexual in your relationship that it can be on deeper personal attachments between the two of you. More on your devotion and trust and caring and mutual support of one another. And that can be very fulfilling and satisfying. That probably doesn’t seem like crazy-talk to the gals reading this comment, but it might seem like it to the guys.

In addition, after having your wife in control of sex for awhile your body learns to react in new ways. There will be times when your “big” brain is saying “Man is she looking hot. I really want to have some sort of sexual contact with her!” while your other “brain” seems to know that there is no possibility of that occurring and so doesn’t bother to rise to the occasion.

Don’t sweat it. (the malaise and the slight ED) It is all part of the process and a good sign that you are happily progressing along this path together. At times like these concentrate on trying to do considerate and thoughtful and romantic things for the one you love. You don’t realize it yet, but you have been emancipated from the chains of always seeing everything through the lense of sexuality, and because of that you are free to enjoy pure romance and love in ways you probably never have experienced before.

Go Thumper, GO!

While formulating my response, I realized it might go on for a while and figured a full-blown post would be more appropriate (because maybe everyone doesn’t read comments). Also, Belle told me in an email from Hong Kong that she “really liked” what BT said, so it’s relative importance has been elevated.

First, I will pick a nit with something BT said regarding how I’ve given Belle control over sexual activity in our relationship. In fact, she always had control over sexual activity in our relationship, from the first time we did it straight on through to the wedding night until today. The only real change in the last year is that I can no longer guilt her into giving me some. She pretty much does exactly what she wants when she wants, as is her right as outlined in our Covenant.

What I’ve actually given over to her is the cock. She now controls what I do with it at all times, not just when we’re having sex. When I can touch it, when I can see it, and of course when it gets to come. The net result of this is that our sexualities have melded – mine into hers. I no longer have the ability to achieve any kind of sexual release on my own. Everything has to go through her.

I’ve struggled with that because I feel as though my sexual identity disappeared into her somewhere. We still inhabit two bodies, but sexually we are one – and not the one who wants to do it all the time. Maybe I’m mourning the end of my separate, distinctly male sexuality. Maybe I’m having a hard time fitting her female sexual motor onto my male engine mounts. Maybe, as she’s suggested, I’m just feeling sorry for myself.

The upshot of this, though, is that a great deal of the tension between what I want and what I get went away. That tension powers all the other stuff, to a certain extent. I agree with BT that I should focus on being considerate and romantic during these slow periods, but at least for the past month or so, I only felt the wind flutter out of my sails. I lost my sexual North and she didn’t really give me a new one to replace it – a point to sail towards.

The bright spot in all this is I don’t feel any resentment or anger. I did feel that when we started down this path (a hang-over from feeling it for the better part of the last ten years), but not recently. Not really at all. Angst, sure. But that’s very different than stewing over her perceived neglect. I completely accept her control over my sex and really don’t want things to be any other way (and neither does she). So maybe BT’s right and this is all just “part of the process”. If so, I’d like to move on to the next part, please.

And maybe I already have. I don’t feel at all like I did before she left. I’m actually kind of horny again and feeling the familiar tremulous anticipation of something I’m not going to get. I can’t say I understand all the levers or that living as the s to her D has been easy, but I can say we’re both in this for the long haul. We’re going to make it work.

Practice makes perfect.

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Floating in the void

I’ve been trying to write something for a few days but each time the WordPress editor comes up, all blank and intimidating, I wither and slink off. I’m wandering around in a bit of a funk and I can’t say what it’s really about and if I can’t do that I certainly can’t write about it. I suppose I could do a chastity nerdery post and compare and contrast the CB6K and the Steelheart (and mention that I’m currently in the CB6K instead of the Steelheart because we’ve decided it needs to go back to Germany and get a smaller ring), but that wouldn’t feel right. I certainly will get around to writing all that, but to do so now would be like describing the ballpark when I really should be calling the game.

So yeah, malaise. I’ve been denied for 19 days today and locked up for just over two weeks. In the past, this’d mean something, but at the moment I’m not feeling it. I’m feeling something, I just don’t know what it is. Belle’s aware of it, of course, and we’ve bandied about the “taking a break” thing, but I don’t know what that would mean and don’t want to be any way other than I am now. I don’t want to come by myself. I don’t want to be unlocked. I don’t want my orgasm back. And that’s really the issue. I don’t want it, period. While I haven’t come in nearly three weeks or felt a free erection in over two, I’m kinda not missing them. And that bothers me. A lot.

It could be that we’re not being intimate right now. We’ve had a few moments. We shared her orgasm this weekend, but then I ruined it by letting myself get too carried away and not leaving her alone in the bask and glow stage. I felt very bad about that. Then the other night she slapped my balls around a little and I really liked that (so much so that it caused me to excrete a thick slug of precum afterward), but in between these events I’m not feeling what I used to feel. I’m not feeling horny, at least not a flavor of horny I’m familiar with. If she made a move toward sex, I’d do it happily and enthusiastically, but I’m not feeling compelled to push the issue. She doesn’t seem to want it, anyway.

It’s not just Belle. Porn, my old standby and the thing that’s in the past helped me get my motor running, hasn’t been very compelling. I used to be able to appreciate it even when locked up but now, while I might get a momentarily tight tube when looking at it, I don’t feel much interest in doing so and the residual affects are fleeting. I don’t recall there ever being a time in my life when I felt so apathetic towards arousal.

I wonder if this is the point I’ve been trying to get to. Have I lost my independent sexuality? Is it entirely about her now and, absent her motivation, do I not have a sex drive? And if so, am I OK with that? I really don’t know. I feel like there should be more. That I should be feeling more. I miss the subbie vibe and the drive to do things for her. Now, instead of feeling the need to demonstrate my submission, I just do it. There’s no charge around it. So, is this right? Is this where you get when the newness rubs off?

I don’t really know the answer to that. All know is I’m not horny, but I’m not not horny, either. I’m not happy, but I’m not unhappy. I don’t feel subbie, but I am acting that way (or trying to). I feel like I’m floating in a void, neither light nor dark, cold nor hot, no up and no down. I don’t want things to be different, but I don’t want them to be exactly like this, either.

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Punished

Apparently, I was being snarky. That’s what Belle said, anyway. I certainly was poking fun at her, but, you know, in the most respectful and loving way possible.

Whatever. She didn’t appreciate it.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” She asked.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“OK. Get the Icy Hot.”

“What!?”

And it went on like that with me begging and squirming and trying to talk her out of it. Eventually, she made me get up and retrieve the tube of devil paste from the bathroom. I got back into bed, placing it on my nightstand, and tried to distract her. I was hoping to be able to wait her out. Soon, she’d be sleepy and maybe I’d get off the hook.

After a few minutes, “Get naked and under the covers.”

I did so, still hoping there’d be a reprieve. In theory, I want her to punish me when she sees the need. In practice, Icy Hot hurts like fuck. Plus, I wasn’t really prepared mentally since I wasn’t even aware I was committing a punishable offense.

“Give me the Icy Hot,” she said. I gave it to her while still doing my best to talk her out of it. She seemed to very much enjoy my pathetic protestations.

“Close your eyes.” Whimper. I closed my eyes and opened my legs, exposing the poor, unsuspecting scrotum.

I heard the cap open…I heard the paste squeezed out…I heard the cap snap shut…a few moments of silence…then I felt her fingers smearing the cold lineament across my skin. As usual, for the first several moments it just felt cold. Then even colder as whatever hellish combustion process it utilizes started to take effect. Then hot. Then really hot. Motherfuckinghot.

I tried not to make too much noise, but each wave of burning was greater than the last. I rolled over on my knees and spread my legs so my nutsack would hang freely. She placed her hand on my back in a gentle, loving way as I clenched my eyes shut against the burning. The fumes of the Icy Hot were traveling up my crack and started to provide my ass with a contact burn. That was new.

She must not have put nearly as much on as last time. The burning waves seemed to start to subside after the forth or fifth. Soon, all I felt was a lingering, low-level heat. As I moved about, the burning would intensify for a few moments and then retreat again. I felt well and truly punished.

The next morning, all the burning just a memory, I still felt the difference. I was much more contrite and feeling the subbie vibe. Icy Hot is almost too intense for us to use in a scene now, but as a punishment it was quite effective. I enjoyed the psychological afterglow of being punished even though the actual act was hard to take. From her perspective, its impact far exceeded the effort she needed to put into it. All she’d have to do in the future to make it a more severe punishment would be to increase the amount applied. Since I really don’t like it all that much, I will truly want to avoid it.

I’ll have to do something about the snark.