Libéré en étant enfermé
I’m not allowed to tell her what I want out loud. To put words to my desire. My craving. So I scream it in my head. With each thrust into her, “Let me come!” With my eyes, “PLEASE.”
She smiles back at me.
I whimper.
“What?”
I can say it now so I do.
“No you don’t. Thanks for the fuck, though. It was a good one.”
She told me it was time, so I climbed between her legs. She took the hard shaft in her hand and, as usual, placed its leaky tip against the lips of her freshly orgasmed pussy. I tilted my hips a bit and felt it. That feeling. Of warm, wet, soft envelopment. Not confinement. Not hard steel. The feeling that makes my eyes roll back. She made a little sound of pleasure.
I left it right there for a moment, then pulled it out until I felt her lips slip past the sensitive flare of the penis, then pushed it back. Just about a third. In and out. In and out. Not too much. Not yet. God, I wanted it all in there. I wanted more than I had inside her. I wanted to feel every bit of her pussy push back against me, but that’s not something the penis can do on its best day and, if I were to try, it would be more about what I wanted and less about my job. She likes to be fucked. She likes to feel a hard man inside her. She wants to feel him take his pleasure from her pussy, but were I to do that the whole thing would be over too quickly. I might even come.
I fuck her for her when she lets me. It’s like a dance. A performance. For her benefit. I pretend to be a man concerned only with his own ends because that’s what she wants to feel. If I forget myself and become the part I’m playing, I lose my control. I can’t lose control.
I shift my weight forward and feel her pussy grip the penis about two-thirds up. I wrap my arm over her shoulder and behind her head. She brings her hand up (the one that put the penis in the spot she wanted it) and feels my bicep. I flex it hard as part of the dance. She purrs.
Her breathing is pronoucned in my ear. Her eyes are closed and she’s enjoying the feeling of being penetrated by a real hard shaft. I turn my head a little to the right and put her nipple in my mouth. I lick and suck it while pushing in a little deeper. I quicken my pace. Won’t last too long at this speed, but I know my limits. I know when to stop. In and out. In and out…
Right there.
I freeze. A hot shot of fluid flexes out of me and into her. Another. Ejaculation without orgasm. I wait a moment. Let the urge drain away. That’s it. Push it in a little. Pull it out a little. The orgasm, which was so close, now is far away. I can get back to my job. I won’t get close to coming again.
The consistency of her snatch has changed. It’s super wet and slippery with the added ejaculate. I fuck through it and pretend it’s not my mess. That she’s already been taken and these are his sloppy seconds. The penis, if flagging at all, regains its strength. Full pressurization.
Now the penis is fully inside her. I’m fucking her deep – well, as deep as I can – trying to hit her cervix. Push it in, pull it out a centimeter, push it in, pull it out a centimeter. Her nipple is back in my mouth. She’s liking this. The penis is how she likes it. The fucking is how she likes it. We both pretend like I’ll come in a minute. But I won’t. I just keep fucking and sucking. I keep giving her what she wants. And she keeps taking it.
We had to leave the northern retreat a day earlier than expected. On the long drive home, with my daughter and her friend in the backseat of the truck, I was unable to ask Belle the one thing I really wanted to know. In a moment of stopped traffic, I texted her…
Belle continues to be reticent when it comes to having me go down on her. When it happens, which is relatively infrequently, she always asks me if I’d do it. Asks. A) She doesn’t have to ask. She can simply tell. “Eat me out.” My only acceptable response to that is to put my face in her pussy. B) I always want to eat her out. I simply cannot describe how much I love her pussy and the closer and more intimate I can get to it, the better. There really is no way to get closer once my nose is buried in it.
I think women in general (not all, of course, but a fair number) aren’t as socially conditioned to have the same kind of feelings towards their junk as guys are. I don’t want to psychoanalyze, but it seems our culture spends a lot of time shaming the pussy and talking about odor or idealizing the labia-free image or whatever and that leads to a generally negative vibe in many cases. Personally, I think pussies should be celebrated. Belle’s is like the center of my universe. I want to touch it, taste it, be inside it. I just Want. It.
But even more than simply telling me to eat it, she seems even more hesitant to climb up and push it down into my face. But, invariably, she absolutely loves it after. It’s that moment when we reach the fulcrum of effort and she starts grinding and gyrating down on me more than I’m licking and lapping up at her and the pussy monster inside her gets feverish and insistent of its release that I love the most. When the lower half of my face is slick with the combination of my spit and her pussy juice and my face and mouth become an elaborate masturbatory aid and she lets her need for pleasure override any lingering reticence. She rarely seems to come harder than at that moment, squatted down over my mouth. Bliss for us both.
“Why don’t we do that more often?” she asked, still breathing heavily.
“I have no earthly idea,” I replied.
“Can you breathe when I’m up there?”
And I think, Obvioulsy otherwise I’d be dead, but I say, “Yes, easily,” and chuckle.
After, she went down on me. This always takes me by surprise because even before she kept the penis locked up most of the time she rarely sucked me off. She seemed especially inspired because I’m quite sure had she kept it up I would have come in her mouth. I am under explicit orders not to come in any circumstance, but in her mouth is a way I’ve never done it. It was surprising how good she was at is considering how rarely she does it. But oh fuck did my toes curl.
“Did you like that?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Good. I need the practice.”
For him, she left off because we both knew what she meant. The little bit she’s told me regarding what he’s said to her suggests he likes getting sucked off and expects her go down on him. I warned her getting me into her mouth is going to be easier than getting him, but I’m perfectly happy if she wants to practice a lot more in the future. It’s what makes us perfect, after all.
I’ve tried to write a post about TOG, Belle’s possible other guy, but I couldn’t get it right. Not only because I struggle to write about it in a way that isn’t all soap opera-ish (and I said I wouldn’t do that) but also because the status and nature of their acquaintance keeps changing. And yes, it’s true I said I wouldn’t write a play-by-play of what was going on between them, I eventually decided this blog is about me and my relationship with Belle and TOG is part of that, too. So ignoring it is just as weird as writing about it too much.
First I wanted to describe how the reality of living with the prospect of TOG (wish I had given him a better name, but oh well) was different than the initial fantasy of him. Then I wanted to write about what it was like tending to the hurt feelings of one’s spouse when their guy on the side seemed to evaporate in an unexpected and thoughtless way. After that, I wanted to talk about the unique experience of trying to find Belle another, better and more mature match. But then TOG came back. So we’re kind of back to the start again.
Before he ghosted Belle, it was clear things were kinda shaky. The issue between them, I think sitting over here on the sidelines, is that Belle’s in a relationship she has no intention of leaving and, in that relationship, she’s already got the kids and the house and the job and all that whereas TOG is in a place where one is usually starting to think about those things (if one is going to think about them) and he’s more than a little smitten for my wife. That’s a scary place to be for a guy, I get it. I do feel for him. I worry about him in that what he’s going through emotionally will spill over on Belle and that will spill over to me. But I have no control over him whatsoever. There’s nothing I can do about any of it. So the reality of TOG’s situation kinda lets the air out of the cuck fantasy ballon (or, to be more precise, lets the blood out of the cuck’s locked up penis).
Another issue is its difficult for me to objectify him and their relationship. It’s hard to let go and just think of him as a cock that will fuck Belle. I’m too empathetic. Too aware of the person carrying the cock around. And too concerned for how his issues and behavior will affect Belle. Case in point, the other week he without warning blocked her on Facebook. That’s how they have been communicating. It’s an abrupt thing to suddenly find an empty lot where you used to go for a good time. It hurt her. I was slow on the uptake and could have been more supportive, I think. Belle’s trainer (who used to be my trainer until I stopped going to him because he’s kind of a dick but who is now kind of my trainer again since I’m back with him once a week yes I have two trainers get over it but I still call him “her” trainer) asked me how it felt to know Belle was working hard to make herself all fit and stuff for him but, once he evaporated, stopped even though I was still around. I thought, “Fuck you,” but said something about her being on the rebound and I’m there for her, etc.
Did I ever mention the trainer was hep to the whole open marriage thing? Can’t recall. Anyway, Belle spilled the beans to him. He’s been pretty fascinated but doesn’t ask me too many questions about it (other than the basic expression of being somewhat perplexed at it all). He’s also very pointedly not asked me if I’ve ever partaken in the openness which I think is interesting. If he does, I’ve decided to tell him I have and with what gender. But he hasn’t yet. Odd.
But now TOG is back. I think he’s as close to being in love with her as you can be virtually. And she’s enamored of him, though I won’t put words to her precise feelings. I am, as I’ve said here before, more than OK with Belle developing emotional attachments to other men (up to and including the Big L). I am both supremely confident in my position in her heart and also aware that no one person can be the everything any other person needs or wants in life. I continue to feel not the slightest, molecule-sized piece of jealousy (which I consider the radioactive energy put off by insecurity). His ghosting of her, he says, is due to his intense feelings for her (well, he says through her so you’re getting this third-handed). He’s still coming to the US and again wants to see her, though probably on the West Coast not NYC. If this happens, it’ll be in August. I don’t know if I give it more than a 50% chance to be truthful based on previous experience, but I’m hopeful for her. And for me.
So the other night we were laying in bed up at the cabin talking about it. We were there when he reestablished communications. Apparently things are right back where they were. She made sure to tell me he once again intends on fucking her. Even used the phrase “serve her” which I thought was interesting. I don’t think she needs another like me, to be honest. Could probably use someone a bit more dominent, but I don’t pick for her obvs.
Regardless, all this led me back to the initial feelings towards TOG. Namely, I had a hard time falling asleep due to the visions of his big dick sliding into Belle for the first time. Pushing her open, stretching her out like I can’t. That and the moment he’s got it shoved inside her when he’s pumping her full of his seed. You know, the usual. Just those things running over and over. Her getting fucked by his big cock, coming inside her. I was unlocked and totally hard but didn’t play with it. Just laid there and tossed and turned.
The next morning, we started to kiss and the visions were back in rotation. I got about as hard as I can get without her even touching it. And it stayed that way. When my fingers found her pussy, it was already slick and dripping. I thought about how he had designs on that pussy. Wanted to fuck it. Wanted to show me up. Pretty sure she was thinking about those things, too.
Belle climbed on top of me rode the hard penis while I sucked her tits and focused on baseball with all my might (Kershaw was pitching that night, man Chase Utley was amazing, Carl Crawford is a waste of bench space, when’s Andre Either coming back, when’s Scott Van Slyke coming back, repeat). And I did it. I lasted all the way through and she came well and fully. And the penis never wavered. After, she wanted more fucking so I was on top. I fucked and fucked. I had a sneaking suspicion me and the penis weren’t fully engaging her imagination (a suspician she later confirmed). But I fucked her best I could. Like I was the one with the 7.5″ cock. Never really got that close to coming. It ended when she had had enough. And the penis never softened for a moment.
We snuggled and talked after. I was slowly grinding the still-hard penis into her thigh using the residual wetness from her snatch as lube. She told me then I wasn’t going to come again until TOG did. In her. Then the reality of our dynamic became clear. Her pussy is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it. I have no say in it. And the penis is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it (and that’s just her). I have no say in it.
There’s a kind of symmetry to that that makes all the sense in the world to me.
It was the odd Saturday night in that both kids were out doing their own thing and Belle and I had the house to ourselves. We had been out and about doing domesticy things before deciding to have dinner at our favorite Mexican place. When we got home, she decided we’d fool around.
I was being kind of cluless about the whole thing and was in my comfy clothes and had Game of Thrones all queued up (Belle has decided to finallly start watching so we’re still early in season one) when I looked over and saw her getting into bed naked. Ok, then. I got naked and slid in next to her.
Of course, it all starts with the kissing. But I was unlocked and the candle was lit and my skin was on hers so things escalated quickly. I reached around her leg and slipped my fingers into her snatch from behind. I love feeling her clit from underneath and the different sensation and my mouth on her opposite nipple had her breathing heavily in no time. The position we were in gave her easier access to the penis which was hard and needy. She was fingering it in return, occasionally rubbing her thumb in circles over the flare in its head. Almost enough to make me shoot right there. Made my breathing fast and short.
Having already come once that day about 14 hours earlier, Belle was going to need something more than the kind of stimulation I can give with my body. She grabbed her trusty purple vibe from the drawer and used it on herself while I fucked her with my ring and middle fingers. Up and in and curling around trying to hit her G-spot, eventually finding the right rythym to her own vibratory gyrations. Since we were alone, she could be as loud as she likes to be (which is LOUD). It took her longer than usual but it was all good. She was clearly enjoying the feeling of my fingers in her, the vibe on her, and my mouth sucking her tits. She said, Oh fuuuuuck! in that way that makes me all melty inside. Then she exploded vocally (hi neighbors!) and her pussy throbbed and clamped under my hand.
I’ve had an interesting relationship with erections in recent months. There’s a trope online about chastity making it more difficult to have an erection and I think that’s true, but it’s not a physiological thing. It’s all mental. The other day, we were trying to use the Boyfriend extender and it wasn’t working because I couldn’t keep it up (that whole morning was a disaster). Earlier in the morning yesterday, I had no problem keeping an erection until I got too close to coming and then it went away all by itself. So yes, chastity does affect your erections, but it does so by rewriting how your brain and penis work together. Or complicating their relationship. I know this because when Belle told me I could fuck her, the penis was ready and willing. All systems go this time.
As soon as I entered her, I could feel that my fingers had already been there. But it felt different in another way. I could also be more vocal and used the energy of it to be more primal and physical. This was not fucking encumbered by D/s dynamic overheard. This was fucking. No obfuscation between penis and brain. Not long after I started, I realized I wanted to come. Really wanted to hear her say I could. Then, the magic words. Ah, bliss.
But even this was different. Usually when she says I can, I either do it almost immediate or freak out. But not this time. She said it at exactly the right time. It wasn’t so far away I had too much time to think about it, but not so close that I couldn’t control myself. I let it build. Felt it accumulate energy in my balls and move through me, physically and mentally. My thrusting into her was different than usual when I know I can’t come or don’t know if she’ll let me. This time, each one had a purpose. For once, the rabbit and the lizard were working in tandem. No internal conflict. No regret. Just wanting to feel myself coating her snatch in my release. Feel the hard penis fuck through pools of its own making. Each thrust put me a centimeter closer and each thrust was punctuated by my grunts in her neck. When it finally happened, there were multiple explosions of light and sensation all over my body. As each surge of fluid left me and flew into her, brain chemicals I rarely feel in their full force flooded my bloodstream. It was a Top 5 orgasm. So good and so pure and so wonderful. The kind of orgasm you can’t have if you’re having them all the time.
Then I went comatose. I’m no match for the post-orgasmic hormones and I was immediate high as a kite. Can’t hold my prolactin. But I came around. Eventually. Then we watched GoT. Poor Bran. And oh how young they all look.
You’d imagine that at some point I’d learn not to make assumptions. My assumption this morning was, since I volunteered to get locked up so as to ensure my good behavior yesterday and, had I not, I’d’ve likely been left unlocked until later today, that I was going to get out again this morning.
She told me to go close the door and I did. When I got back into bed, I was on all fours and she reached up between my legs and started to caress my balls with her fingers. All five of them running down the sides of my increasingly taut ball sack, a few occasionally stroking my perineum. The kind of touch that makes my limbs weak and the cage so crowded.
“I’m going to leave you in there this morning.”
Whimper. Then she made a half-laugh amused sound.
But she kept at my balls so I almost didn’t care that I wasn’t getting out. Almost. I kept thinking about her hot pussy and sinking back into it. But then she’d stroke my balls again and the thought would falter and go unfocused.
“You’re leaking on my arm.”
Whimper, again.
The Steelheart was so tight. So fucking unrelentingly tight. I could feel my heart beating inside it as the erection fought the warm steel. Futile. It became a fight between feeling the wonder of my balls being caressed and the ring and tube crushing them in response. Then she pressed on them. Hard. The sack being so tight made it especially vulnerable to that kind of action. I moaned/groaned in response.
“I don’t know how to interpret that.”
Me either. It hurts and I’m frustrated into a stupor but I like the intensity of it. The loving hardness of her. Don’t stop doing it/stop doing it.
I repositioned myself to lay beside her and she pulled off her night clothes exposing her beautiful breasts. I put both my hands on them and rolled her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers. They hardened to my touch and the mean steel pressed into her leg. Her hands went straight for her pussy. Her hips were grinding and moans left her lips and she got herself off while I focused upstairs. I wasn’t expecting this.
Her pussy is so much to me. The whole world. After yesterday’s wonder, today was turning into the opposite. I was getting zero pussy. I could tell by her sounds and her movement this wasn’t a warm up act. She was going all the way and, once there, wouldn’t want or need me to touch it.
She came as loudly as she dared and maybe a quarter as loud as she would have liked. Yes, Belle’s the kind you can hear from down the block in the summer.
Whimper, 3X.
This is a different kind of denial. Denial of access. Of feeling her come. Sure, I was there. In the room where it happened. But it was all hers. It was hard for me. Harder than being locked up. Harder than making myself avoid orgasm when every cell in my body wants it.
We laid together after. She was coming down and I was vibrating inside. Uselessly. There would be no focus of my energy in our bed today.
“I’m so horny,” was all I could say. Stupidly. Of course I am. But I needed to say something and that was the only thing that pulled itself together.
“Hmf,” she replied. In a way that clearly communicated the lack of interest she had in my comment. The pointlessness of it.
“Being horny is better than not, right?”
“Thank you, Belle Fille.”
Later, in the kitchen making breakfast, I felt amped up and jumpy. Wonder why. But I also realized that my earlier comment sounded passively manipulative. What she wanted this morning was to make herself come. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with that and, while I can be disappointed in not getting what I wanted, I don’t get what I fucking want. Because that’s not what our sex is about and I know that and that’s what I asked her for. It is pointless for me to say I’m horny when it was obvious I was. Being horny is normal for me and not her problem. It’s a feature, not a bug, so don’t report it.
I apologized for saying it. I reiterated that she should always do what she wants. I should never say or do anything that could motivate guilt within her if all she was doing was operating under the established rules of our dynamic. Which she was.
The problem wasn’t her. The problem was me and my assumptions. I cannot assume I’ll be let out. And, regardless, I cannot assume that when she gets off it’ll be as a result of my actions. Figure it out, you dumb bunny.
When we got back from Spring Break, as I said, I locked myself back up in the Looker 02. In the weeks since, I only got out to swap devices and have otherwise been secured the whole time. I switched the L02 for the Steelheart because it’s Belle’s favorite and then, due to my own inattention, needed to go into the Jail Bird. Being locked up in a closed tube like the Steelheart as much as I am has made me much more aware of the changing chemistry of urine than the average boy, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, I neglected my hygiene routine for too long and things started to burn after peeing. Nothing a few days in an open air cage couldn’t fix. (For those of you who like their data visualized, I have included a chart.)
She felt it was important for me to stay locked up until today to help me reset my attitude and submission to her. What with all the talk about other men and what they were saying to her and threatening to do, I found myself craving her pussy more than at any other time in recent memory. Mind you, I like it a lot even on the worst days. What I’m talking about here is a whole ‘nuther level of pussy craving.
I woke up with the penis all pushed up against the bars of the JB. My balls have been feeling especially plump for the past week (likely a result of being so turned on so much of the time), and the whole package was the very definition of “straining.” She let me have the bit that fits the locking screw and it went well and fine until I had to get my nuts out. They were just too fat to slip through without a painful wince. In earlier days, this kind of thing would probably have left me feeling the symptoms of blue balls for two weeks, but I rarely feel that now. Just this ouchy quick trip through a steel ring.
Everything is more intense in those moments the penis is out and hard for the first time after a few weeks. I want to devour her from the pussy up and she needs to give me a figurative swat on the nose to calm down and remember my place. But god did I just want to plung right in and fuck her to bits. Regardless, I did my duty and kissed her and sucked her tits and fingered her snatch and felt the hard-on between us throb and grind into her thigh.
There’s this one little spot on her clit. On the right side, down a little. If I let my finger tip flick over it in just the right way I can make her right foot jump. I love that being so focused on her pleasure for so long has left me as familiar with her pussy as I am the penis. I know her spots. I know the places to touch to warm her up and how many fingers to use and where to go when she’s plateauing and then how to bring her home to orgasm. I know her rythym and what her sounds mean and where she is in the process of coming with me. I can tell the difference between her letting it take longer because she likes what I’m doing and when she’s having a harder time getting there. Her body and my brain connect there in a more intimate way than they do when the penis is inside her. And when she came this morning, I had to stifle my own exclamation at feeling her clamp down and pulse on my finger, back arched and eyes closed. The female orgasm — Belle’s orgasm — is one the most beautiful things in the world to me. And like all of them, they’re over too quickly.
I fought the urge to push in as soon as she was done. I found my body positioning itself above her even as I told myself to wait for permission. With just the slightest touch by her, I moved over and shoved the penis home. And…oh, my. I just. There aren’t words for how it felt. To be in her. Soft and warm and wet. The feeling of total gratitude towards her for sharing that part of her with that part of me. Millions of years of evolution to make it as inviting a place as possible to a man all came crashing down on my head and I nearly shot my load the second the penis was totally in her. But I didn’t. She told me I was expressly forbidden to do so. So I fucked her slowly and gently and with a constantly changing rythym so as to avoid getting too close too quickly. I felt like the first time I had to stop to avoid coming she was going to tell me to get out so every fiber of me was focused on not getting there.
Sometimes, when I get to fuck her, I fantasize about other men having been there first. In the past, that was entirely fantasy. To an extent, it still is. Maybe it’ll always be so. But the fantasy is ever so slightly more real now and I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that what she was letting me do to her she was letting me do to her. That I didn’t have any special claim to that place. That someday another might be there instead and her soft cooing would be the result of his actions and her hands would be wrapped around his neck and on his back as he pumped into her as I was. My heart was filled with gratitude that I was being allowed the pleasure. And it was so much pleasure. I concentrated on how it felt to such an extent I could feel the grip of her pussy precisely and the feeling of the individual petals of her labia rubbing past the flair of the penis head as it slid by. I could feel the tip of the penis barely graze her cervix and couldn’t help but think if I was going after him I wouldn’t be near it. I felt drunk on the passion of it all.
I lasted a lot longer than you might imagine. It was glorious, but eventually the lizardly part of my sexuality snaked up out of its hole and muscled in. I started to fuck her harder and faster. I pushed in as far as I could and tried to push in deeper. Her breathing changed as the impact of my body into hers bacame more intense and purposeful. I could feel an orgasm rising in me. I could feel it shoving its way past my inner guards as though she had given me permission to come. But she hadn’t. This wasn’t about having an orgasm. This was about coming in her. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession and competition and making mine the seed she carried. It was older and more primal than love.
Just as the the orgasm started to touch the point of no return, to words screamed out in my head at the same time.
MINE.
STOP!
And I did. I stopped thrusting. I held still. The penis flexed and pumped like a drowning man clawing for a rope that wasn’t there. One lonely shot of ejaculate came out, then nothing. No orgasm. Just intense and nearly overpowering craving to do so. I growled like a Klingon into her neck. I fought the urge to bite her. The lizard screamed at me and yelled about how some other guy wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. Idiot rabbit.
“Mine” it is not. The thing I was fucking her with isn’t even mine. None of if it is. It’s all hers. Every bit of it. My heart filled to explode. So much love.
Afterward, I asked to go back in to the Steelheart. I could tell the lizard was still slithering in the shadows. I could tell by how the penis felt and the impulse I had to grab it and yank on it. If she left me alone with it, things would happen. So she laid there as I assembled the device and turned the lock. And that’s where it sits now. Behind steel and beyond reach. Until she wants it again.
Belle and I experience the openness of our relationship in different ways. For me, the possible reality of it being open in her direction as well as mine has all kinds of net beneficial impacts. My submissive instincts are heightened, I’m deliriously attracted to her, and I’m simply very happy that she’s excited and feeling good (side note: TOG didn’t blow it entirely and is still in the picture and back in Belle’s “good graces”). I remain totally free of jealous feelings and lack any notion of possession over her but do have a noticeable sense of competition resonating within me (not that I can compete with a thick 7½ inches, but I have lots of other talents and attributes).
However, I don’t see a lot of these things happening in her when I’m with other people. I think there are several things that account for this. One, so far, I’ve only been with other men and she knows that I’m not able to develop romantic feelings for them. Close, physical relationships to be sure, but never achieving ingnition into love. In short, these things are really about sex. And the sex it’s about is the kind she has a difficult time giving me. The kind that involves props and pain and buckles that she could do but both of us would know it’d be just for show and then it’d lose its magic. So it’s more like letting someone walk the dog. Kind of a physical maintenance thing you’re perfectly happy letting someone else attend to. Finally, in these scenarios I do not have and will never have a usable penis.
In as much as I’m unpossessive of her, she is intensely possessive of the penis. She feels as though control over it is control over my soul and, if that’s the case, it doesn’t really matter what the body is doing. She reiterated that regardless of who the potential partner is, the penis will never be allowed to penetrate them or be pleasured by them. It will always be secured. It belongs to her and she fucking means it.
I admit, this really works for me. Not just because I’m a sub and like being controlled and denied and all that, but because it makes me feel special that she is so possessive over (at least part) of me. And that makes me wonder if my lack of feeling possessive over her could be construed as a negative thing. It shouldn’t be. It’s not that I don’t cherish her. I do. But for me, that manifests in a way that allows me to want for her all kinds of pleasure and experience. It seems so clear to me that I’m emotionally and mentally polyamorous by nature. But besides that, the notion of feeling possessive connotes an entitled control and, as a submissive, I simple don’t feel as though I can claim that. I’ve exchanged the traditional notion of exclusive partnership (as if that means much to me anyway) for a relationship dynamic that is much more emotionally satisfying and the net result is I have no right of possession over her at all.
I hope that she feels compelled to explore this new openness in the future regardless of how current options play out for her. I’m also amazed and infinitely grateful that we’ve got an arrangement that allows us both freedom to proceed in ways that don’t compromise our conflicting expectations of what “open” means.
In related news, Drew was in town again the other day. He has a client here now and will be visiting a lot more frequently and for longer stretches than he has in the past. We had dinner together at a South American restaurant (covered in some detail here). We had a good conversation and covered in frank detail the issues that led to the ending of our sexual adventures. I admit, most of the issues were mine so it was incumbent on me to be as honest as possible and I was. Maybe it was me playing to the audience of the big purple-haired possibly dykish bartender who overheard 60% of everything we said (and inexplicably turned me on), but I tried not to hold back.
Short story is, we’re negotiating a resumption of that aspect of our relationship. Unlike last time when we kind of rushed into it and didn’t necessarily set good boundaries, this time there will be a contract and everything. Having clearly established limitations and expectations is D/s 101-type stuff. Of course, there is nothing kinky D/s folk love more than contracts.
The big thing I asked of him, the “price of admission” to be able to top me again, was to choose which he wanted more: A friend or a sub. I fully admit that such a request seems cold and unfair, but to follow the whole “Mistress vs. Goddess” thing (but in this case, “Master vs. God” perhaps), I don’t naturally have it in me to worship a guy like I do a woman. It’s just another part of my flavor of bisexuality that I can’t love a man romantically and I can’t create in my head the necessary framework to allow a more passive domination over me by one. The only way a D/s thing with work with Drew is if he is actively working to extract my submission and the only way I can get myself into a place where what can happen is if I don’t have to find a place to put all his insecurities and random life issues while it’s happening. And I don’t say that to suggest he’s excessively insecure or anything. He’s like any other person and has all kinds of issues and attributes mashed up inside him. He’s an emotionally open person and freely expresses himself to his friends. That’s cool if he’s my friend. But if he’s my Dom, it doesn’t work for me. So I asked him to pick. And he did.
The contract is essentially done. All I need to do is send it back to him with acknowledgment of such and it will take effect. I’ll probably do that today some time. One of its provisions is I won’t be expected to write about my relationship with him here or on his blog or anywhere else. It’s not that I don’t like to share the intimate details of my sex life (obvs.) but I found the expectation that I would to be difficult to deal with. So I’m sorry for the hot homo sex fans amongst you, but I won’t be going there this time (he is, of course, free to write whatever he wants on his blog). Also, the new deal more clearly establishes when I’m doing “Drew time” and when I’m exclusively doing “Belle time.” Also also, it makes clear that there will be periods when the contract is being recognized and followed and times when it will not be (and those dates will be understood by both beforehand). I think that’s important because I found last time I needed some space and never really felt like there was time to get it.
So, that’s that. Further experimentation in ancillary D/s. Tally ho.
I experienced a whole new thing on Sunday. Belle and TOG had arranged a time to Skype and the time came and went with no word from him. She was disappointed and hurt, as anyone would be, and I was mad.
Thing is, “mad” doesn’t really capture the emotion. I was really mad. Furious, but not letting it show to her. There’s a flavor of anger that is specific to someone wronging one of your own and that’s what I was feeling. It’s not a thing I’ve ever felt in that context. I was left to comfort her because this guy had flaked out on her, like you would a good friend except this good friend was my wife. The objective, Vulcan part of me has tried to understand what his POV might be and appreciate what he may be going through, but the rest of me gives not a shit about any of that and wants to hurt him.
They have exchanged communications since but I’m not privy to the convo because she’s decided not to tell me. All I know is she told him what she felt she needed to considering his behavior. No idea if this is the end or just a bump, but I’ve decided to stop writing about TOG for the time being either way. There may come a point when it makes sense again, but not now. Last night, Belle said to me, “Your readers are going to be so disappointed,” sort of in rueful jest. That punctuated the growing feeling I already had that spending so much time documenting them here was feeling way too invasive to her. The very last thing I want her thinking about is how her outside relationship is potential wank fodder for people who read me for the prurient details (and trust me, I’m very much pro-prurient details in other contexts), how they’d react if that doesn’t work out, what they would say in comments, etc. I have enough trouble with that.
So, if I talk about it, it’ll be in an abstract way and from the POV of a submissive in an open relationship (while the idea of calling myself a cuckold is dirty hot, I’m not sure I am once since I am also free to have outside sex…as long as it doesn’t involve the penis). For instance, having to console her drove any and all sexy thoughts from my head. It made this even more a Real Thing, not just because it affected her but how it affected me (the quiet rage thing). This is the part the hawt cuck porn doesn’t help you with and accentuates how real life is. You get all kinds of emotions and outcomes, not just the formulaic. I was part concerned husband, part submissive partner, part comforting friend who wanted to drive over to his house and kick his ass all at the same time. He wasn’t the potential bull for my hotwife, he was an emotionally immature idiot who didn’t know how to use his words. Maybe both at the same time, but the one eclipsed the other (and still does).
Objectification issue: Resolved
Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.
Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky.
I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.
The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.
In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied.
I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.
I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.
To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?
I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!