Horrible no good night

“Well, at least it’ll give you something juicy to blog about,” said Belle following the biggest, nastiest, most horrible fight we’ve had in…maybe ever.

It all started on Instagram. As regular readers from way back should know, about eightish years ago I had an affair. The Other Woman (TOW) was a friend of mine and still is (though we have far less contact now, for perhaps obvious reasons). I follow her on Instagram and we’re friends on Facebook, etc., because as friends join these sites you follow them and they follow you, but I can’t even recall the last time I laid eyes on her or we spoke (another reason for this is she lives about 900 miles away). Our contact is tangental and not unlike a lot of acquaintances in the age of social media.

In any event, she posted what could be described as a provocative selfie to Instagram the other day. I found it a bit of a surprise (I know, the guy who posts penis pictures to Tumblr should be surprised, but whatevs) and commented something like, “Um…hello.” I didn’t “like” the picture and no back-and-forth comment conversation took place as a result. I honestly felt as though I did nothing wrong.

Of course, you can see where this is going.

Belle’s also on Instagram and, it turns out, looks at the activity of those she’s following (like me). Also, it turns out, that comment showed up there. I hardly ever look at that and didn’t even think about being “caught” by it. I wasn’t thinking about being caught because I didn’t think I had done anything to be caught over. Regardless, she caught me.

And then everything went to hell.

I’ve put off writing this post because I really don’t want to get into it again. It was the worst fight we’ve ever had, I think, including the rows we had back when I told her about TOW. These were worse because I felt as wronged as she did. I have literally given her the key to my heart and yet was being accused of…what, I can’t say. Betrayal something. And I know her reaction was just pure fear and unearthed all kinds of nasty nuclear waste. It was all horrible. It was the only night I’ve ever not slept with Belle.

Oddly enough, Belle had let me out of the Looker 02 earlier in the day. We were going to have a kid-free evening and, even though she was on her period, she let me out for good behavior. We floated in the pool (me totally naked) and planned on just hanging out with one another. It was to be a good time, even though I didn’t expect any penis action.

So, on that horrible no good night, laying on the guest bed steeped in my rage, there was opportunity. My higher brain functions were generally advising “this too shall pass” but weren’t too terribly in the mood for an in-depth analysis. My lower brain functions — the Lizard — was whispering all kinds of things. I felt the “devil on my shoulder” thing more strongly than ever before. Ideas were popping into my head seemingly from outside my brain.

The Lizard and the potential orgasm it advocated became a kind of entity in the room with me sitting just to my left. It presented a path I could take. A justified path, it argued. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not even close. The penis never even got hard. The Lizard/orgasm entity slithered back into whatever crevice it inhabits all the rest of the time.

Belle and I talked the next morning. We shared our relative positions and gingerly moved forward in the haze of an emotional hangover. Raw and tender and trying not to touch the bits that had yet to scab over.

The next day, I told Belle something that I had assumed was perfectly obvious, but I don’t know I ever said it in so many words. She is the most important thing in the world to me. More important than my own sexual relief. My love for her exceeds my love of orgasm. And it will always be that way. I am hers.


I work with a lot of women. It’s just how things ended up, but at my company, most of the people are of the fairer sex. So I’m sitting at a conference table with three of them yesterday and the topic of Anthony Weiner comes up (you must know who that is by now, right?).

Now, I’m a guy who knows a thing or two about putting pictures of my junk up in public. Yeah, I do it like all the time. I am obviously without issues in that regard. I get a little thrill from it. Why else do it, right? I can tell myself it’s educational or some shit like that (and a few of them are, to be sure), but at the end of the day, I get something from knowing that thousands of people saw my bits and pieces. That’s not exactly what Mr. Weiner did. He sent photos to individuals who presumably knew who he was while I broadcast mine to everyone under the guise of my secret identity (no, really, my name isn’t actually Thumper). What this means is, obviously, I will find a soft spot in my heart for penis picture perps.

Back to the women. They were unanimous in their condemnation. Not just that he was married (more on that in a bit), but that he did it at all. And how that made him some kind of freak. A pervert. Or whatever. And I defended him, to a point. They asked, “What kind of person does that?” and I replied, “Lots of people. Lots of otherwise normal looking people.” Because it’s true. Not just me, but obviously a metric shit ton of others (there’s even a fucking word for it). It can’t be that everyone who snaps a quick pic of their member and sends it out is a borderline sexual predator (of course, the context of the sending is important). I’m just saying, all things being equal, I see nothing wrong with this behavior.

Of course, not all things were equal. For one, he lied about it. Proves yet again that the lie is always worse than the act. If you’re a person who is in a public job with a recognizable name, it is only a matter of time before you’re…ahem…exposed. I get how the charge of doing it anonymously isn’t as high, but dude, have a back up plan. Get your story straight before you get caught so when (not if) it happens, you’ll just get up and keep going. But no, he lied. And then he tried not to lie within the lie (“can’t say with certitude”) and the whole world comes apart and he’s crying behind a podium and the law’s looking into it and fucking hell man, what were you thinking was going to happen!?  It could be that the only way this worked for him as a sexual outlet was by purposefully willing himself into thinking he’d never be found out. That’s probably true. On one level, he had to know it would happen, but it worked better for him if he pretended otherwise.

There are parallels in this for me. I have lots of pictures of myself here. Lots of pictures that, if they were to “get out”, would clearly have some affect on my life. I actually expect that they will someday. Sooner or later, how I have no idea, someone I know IRL will stumble upon this site and see the cock, locked up and otherwise. They’ll read all about our sex life and how I like to be tied up and beaten and dominated and all the rest. My plan for when (not if) that day comes will be to admit it. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Can’t help it. In a way, it will be a relief when it happens. I abhor secrets.

The big issue with Weiner, though, is his wife who presumably did not know about his photography hobby. Had he only been single, how much simpler this would be (assuming none of the girls were underage, consensually received the images, etc.). But no. For me, it begs the question; Is what he did “cheating”? As a guy who actually did cheat, I’d say no, dick pics are small potatoes (especially when wearing one’s boxer briefs). As far as we know right now, he never met with or fucked anyone he sent photos to. But I am apparently in a very small minority of people in my opinion. The aforementioned females all thought he was off-leash. I’m not sure if this is a gender thing, but all the people I know who have criticized him for the act of sexting have unanimously been women (keeping in mind I’m surrounded by them daily). I guess my biggest issue with him is that he probably lied to his wife about it when it all blew up. I don’t dig betrayal and dishonestly, though as I said, I probably don’t consider the pictures themselves as an act of full-fledged betrayal.

It also bothers me to be reminded once again that we are a sexually fucked-up people. I spend so much time reading the words of others who, perhaps aided by the anonymity of the web, are so much more connected with their sexuality and exploring it and reveling in it that I forget the nearly everyone else is all bunged up and freaked out by it. That’s too bad. It’s the one way I wish we were more like Europeans in this country (well, that and the socialized medicine).

This was all pretty random, as have been my thoughts on the subject. I’m perfectly prepared to be convinced I’m wrong on a few points. I’m also perfectly prepared to see us move on from these ridiculous titillating voyeuristic side-shows and start focusing our considerable talents on things that really matter.

Questions from a reader III

Part one and two.

I have to admit, that last asnwer kinda knocked the wind out of me. There was a lot of stuff in there that I hadn’t dragged out in a while…

Here’s the next one:

Do you think that your infidelity in any way still informs the relationship between you and Belle Fille?  I know it’s simplistic to say it, but it is tempting to note that your cock got you into a heck of a lot of trouble and nearly cost you your marriage.  By handing over control of it to Belle Fille and denying yourself orgasms, you achieve 2 things: (a) you ensure that it can’t happen again, and (b) you could be seen as punishing yourself, or atoning, for your transgression.  I don’t think that’s why you have chosen this dynamic, but it does achieve both those things.  The main reason that I ask if your infidelity might still be present in some form is because of an entry in which Belle Fille came home after a night out and a few drinks and, at your request, repeatedly punched you in the balls.  Now I know you wanted it, but I don’t think I could bring myself to do that to someone I loved, even if they wanted me to.  Or not unless I was really, really ANGRY at them.   It’s the ultimate response to a cheating husband – to really hit him where it hurts.  I know you love her for doing it, and that she is getting in more and more touch with her inner domme,  but is there any anger or resentment present in her enjoyment of your submission?

I understand how on the surface my chastity and denial might be seen as a result of the affair (and, were I in a hawt chastity porn story, not only would that be the case, but the device would be somehow magically and permanently attached to me while she enjoyed a succession of lovers with ever-larger cocks), but in reality, experimenting with chastity was my idea, not hers. I have reflected on the apparent irony of the former cheater being denied access to the weapon used in the crime, but I am totally unaware of any connection in my mind in wanted to be locked up and what I did. They’re two separate things divided by personal revelations and events and aren’t connected.

You’re correct that, by keeping the cock locked up, it is ensured that I’ll never put somewhere it doesn’t belong again, and it’s also true that the last time I saw TOW, Belle had me locked up. Belle will have to answer herself if making me wear it then was a safeguard against her or to keep me from playing with myself in a hotel room (I think the latter). Belle and I have regained trust in our relationship with or without the device. With regard to the idea that I might be punishing myself or atoning, that’s not the case either. I admit that the idea of being punished and forced to atone is super-hot, that’s not what’s happening at all. I am locked up and denied because Belle loves me and knows I want to be controlled by her in that way.

As far as I’m concerned, the only way chastity and denial are somehow involved in the affair is how they make impossible a repeat of the conditions which brought it about in the first place. When we were vanilla, my sexual gratification wasn’t connected to our relationship. For the most part, it happened outside our bedroom. Now, since she’s in control of my orgasms, I will never find relief without her. Before, my cock would lead me away from her while now it leads me closer to her. Sex and our relationship are now intertwined in way they’ve never been before. Had it not been for the affair, we wouldn’t be here today.

Regarding anger or resentment in her domination of me, I don’t believe it’s present. She’ll need to address that herself, but I don’t sense it. Rather, I sense her domination comes from her love for me and an actual enjoyment on her part in playing that role. When she punches me in the nuts, it’s not to express anger or relieve frustration with me, it’s because she cares for me. Yes, kicking a guy in the nuts is a great way to get back at him for something terrible, but for me, it’s also a way to make love and that’s how she approaches it. Truth is, it took her a long time to really let loose and hit me as hard as I wanted to be hit. If she was doing it to make me suffer, I suspect she would have let loose from the beginning.

I note a comment by Belle Fille that your submissiveness makes her feel “desired, appreciated, respected”.  Did she not feel like that before you became submissive?  Or did she feel it less?   I can understand why she did not feel it at all on learning of your infidelity, as that could destroy those feeling.  But I feel desired, appreciated and respected not just because my partner treats me like that, but also because I know, with or without that relationship, that I am desirable, appreciated and respected.  I don’t need someone to fold my laundry or put a ring around their cock to generate my feelings of self worth.  (Reading that back it sounds really harsh and critical, which is not what I intended, but I am not sure how else to say it and make the point).  Or am I making too much of her comment?

Previous to the affair, neither of us felt especially desired, appreciated, or respected. The affair wasn’t the cause of that condition, rather that condition was the cause of the affair. Now, my submission to her allows her to feel those things, but her domination of me makes me feel them, too. It’s not just because of the D/s that we feel that way, but because we have an active, healthy, and engaged sex life. It could take many different forms, but for us right now, it’s D/s. The laundry folding and cock hardware don’t create her feelings of self worth, but what they represent in our relationship do for both of us. They mean we are committed to one another’s needs in a way we may never have been prior to the affair.

Your confusion over this point is, I think, very common for people not engaged in our kind of relationship. Focusing on the trappings of D/s is wrong. All the D/s is is a type of commitment we’ve made to each other’s satisfaction. It may look one-sided or like she needs to force me to behave a certain way, but that’s just wrong. We do it for each other because we love one another and like how it feels and how it feeds our foundational relationship.

Time to start the day. More to come later!

Questions from a reader II

Part one is here.

You mentioned some time ago that you and Belle Fille were attending couples counselling.  I am not sure if that is still the case, but do/did you discuss your current relationship dynamic with your counsellor? I am not asking what you or your counsellor said – obviously, that is entirely private but I was interested as to whether you raised it at all.

We are no longer in counseling. I can’t say exactly how it happened, but at some point we realized we didn’t need it any more. It was primarily the vehicle we used to get past the infidelity. Once we saw the path through that and had basically put it behind us, we stopped going.

My deviant sexual desires did come up in the last handful of sessions, but it was very early on in our exploration of them and the dynamic between us hadn’t yet come into focus. At that point, she was just starting to beat me and we had already started playing with chastity (I remember wearing it to her office and trying to sit so it wasn’t so obvious), but we never really got into the specifics with her. I remember the first time we mentioned my kinkiness, she immediately went to the extreme conclusions (warning us that breath play can lead to cardiac arrest, etc.). I was put off by her initial reaction, but over time felt more comfortable with her attitude. She wanted to make sure Belle was a willing participant and that we were cognizant of her limits. Other than a vague reference to “power exchange” and masochism, it wasn’t discussed in much detail.

Had our counselor been more “kink-aware”, I think I would have advocated for more sessions. Since she wasn’t and since we had moved on from what had brought us there to begin with, stopping was the right thing for us to do.

This may be another one of those questions/comments that falls in the “way too personal and I’m not even going to consider answering it” categories, in which case please don’t be offended and just ignore it, but I am going to include it anyway.  What was the basis of the relationship with the other woman?  Was it a purely sexual relationship?  Did you get as big a sexual kick out of it as you get out of the submissive relationship you have now?

The other woman (henceforth referred to as TOW) and I had developed a friendship over several years based on our shared interest in a wildlife organization. Since she lives in another part of the country, I’d only see her once or twice a year at group events (conferences and camping trips).

I won’t speak to her motivations in developing a relationship with a married man since I have no idea what they were, but I was driven to her as a result of Belle and I having an essentially sexless marriage. I told TOW from the very moment we started the affair that I was never going to leave Belle. All I needed was sex and the feelings of being desierable and appreciated that come from it (though I couldn’t articulate that part to her at the time). The actual affair went on for a couple of months through phone calls, emails, and text messages while the sex part only happened over a single weekend. And yes, as vanilla sex goes, it was very satisfying. I got what I needed from it.

During that weekend, I felt like I was living in a fantasy world. In retrospect, I’m shocked at how well I had been able to compartmentalize my real world with Belle and the fake world of TOW. In the moment, I felt no guilt or even a realization that I was involved with something that had no future. I was getting what I needed right then and refused to allow myself to think about anything other than the present. However, sitting alone in a different hotel room by the airport waiting to go back to my life, all that I had been missing in my relationship with Belle (a satisfying sex life, honesty, closeness) yawned open before me and threatened to suck everything that I cared for away. I was suddenly and acutely aware of how profoundly fucked up my life had become and it scared the crap out of me since my overriding desire was to stay with Belle and preserve my family.

I had stepped into my fantasy world expecting to be able to keep it separate from the real world, but at that moment (and to my horror) they came crashing into each other. All the guilt that had been accumulating like lava beneath the surface of my actions erupted all at once. I knew that it was just a matter of time before I’d have to expose Belle to what I had done.

Fast forward to the present. Do I regret what I did? I regret the pain. I regret the dishonesty. I do not regret where we are now. I can’t really square this in my mind, but had I not entered into my affair, Belle and I would likely still be living the life we had before which, I understand now, was deeply dissatisfying. Sooner or later, it would have happened. I guess it’s possible that some other force would have made us face up to our relationship’s issues, but I firmly believe that my path was set. Had it not been TOW, it would have been someone or something else. The journey we took back to our marriage has made us much, much closer and allowed me to reveal the things I wanted and needed from our relationship, to both her and myself.

So I said the sex in that hotel room was satisfying and, relatively speaking, it was. However, the sex life I enjoy now is infinitely more satisfying. Our relationship has a depth and texture it never could have had before. I am totally happy and feel light years away from where I was back then. I know it was me and I know I did it, but the thought of doing it now makes me feel like I have memories of someone else’s life.

Belle has always been and always will be my best friend and I have never felt closer to her than I do right now.

Your next question continues down this path, but I feel the need to recharge before I tackle it.

The rabbit returns

I’m back. Miss me?

So last night, the first full night of my return, was full of talking (and a little sex – I’ll get to that in a minute). Belle was somewhat put off by my lack of subbie Belle-oriented behavior. Funny, she thought, since our “arrangement” was my idea and now she’s so accustomed to it that when I’m not in the proper state of mind, she’s annoyed with me. Unfortunately, she really didn’t say anything about it until we were in bed at the end of the day. She was right, of course. I hadn’t been focused on her in that way, though I certainly was horned up and wanting her in more mundane ways. My excuse (such as it is) is that I was so far out of my headspace after a week in the woods and 18 hours on the road getting home, that I couldn’t just snap back into the groove. As I’ve said, I’m not by nature a submissive person. It’s a state of mind I need to work on in order to achieve. Had she said something about it – made it clear that I was underperforming and that she was disappointed – I think I would have fallen back into the groove (or started to, at least). She feels she shouldn’t have to say anything, though that’s difficult for me. Hearing her assert her dominance over me gives me quite the charge. She suggested that I had been out of the device for too long and I felt a combination of foreboding and excitement that always exists within me after being free for a while. I value my freedom but also crave her control. She neglected to say when she’d put me back in.

After that, we talked about my trip. The one rather important thing I neglected to mention here on my blog was that the The Other Woman was also on the hiking trip I took (along with eight other people, including her fiancee). As I’ve said previously, I met her through a group of wildlife enthusiasts – the same group I was hiking with. My participation in this trip was always kind of up in the air. Belle and I are in a very different place than we were nine months ago when I was unfaithful, but still, it was difficult. It was difficult for Belle and it was difficult for me. In any event, Belle wanted to know how it was. How I felt, etc.

What I decided once and for all on the trip – something I’ve pondered quite a bit over the past three-quarters of a year – is that the dominant paradigm of monogamous life-long relationships is not the only entree at the buffet. In fact, I do still have feelings for TOW, but they’re entirely different that those I have for Belle. As I told her last night, Belle is my mate. My other half. She completes me. I have never wanted anything other than to be with her for the rest of my life. She really is the love of my life. My feelings toward TOW are clearly inferior to those I have for Belle. They lack depth, richness, and complexity but they exist. I don’t know that I’d call it love. If love is what I feel for Belle, then it’s not exactly that. I feel like I need a new word. More than like, less than love. In any event, these feelings don’t in any way detract from my feelings for Belle. If anything, they enhance them. During those moments over the past week where I felt a resurgence of my feelings for TOW, I felt even more in love with Belle. I can’t say I fully understand how that works, but there it is. I know in my heart of hearts that TOW is no threat to what Belle and I share, even though I continue to carry these feelings around for her.

I also wanted Belle to know that I didn’t regard these feelings for TOW as representative of anything lacking in my relationship with Belle. They are separate and parallel and in no way competitive. I do not want to leave Belle and/or replace her with TOW, but the affection I feel for her is real. Is this polyamory? I don’t know. Perhaps. I can’t say I fully understand the concept enough to be able to say that’s what I’m experiencing.

What I am capable of saying, however, is that the idea of Belle having a little piece on the side seriously turns me on. Like, seriously. I told her as much. As soon as I brought it up, I felt myself stiffen considerably. Unlike Belle, who loses energy to the perceived competition TOW represents, I feel that I’d gain energy from her having a paramour. It’d make me want her even more. The competitive energy would convert to a greater desire on my part. Again, I can’t explain this. It runs entirely against what we’re all taught by society as to the model of the perfect relationship. I’m sure a part of this has a lot to do with where my head is now with regard to her sexual satisfaction. We’re not equal. My sole purpose is to ensure she’s totally sated at all times. In fact, according to Our Covenant, “Belle Fille claims the right to achieve sexual satisfaction in any way she sees fit.” When she decides she wants a vibrator over her cock, that’s a major turn-on for me since she’s sacrificing an element of my pleasure to ensure hers. It reinforces her position. If she took that several steps further and replaced the vibrator with the cock of another man…well, I get somewhat light-headed just thinking about it.

All this talk of cuckoldry had me well and truly worked up. She instructed me to close the bedroom door and remove my clothes. As she laid on her back, I was again looming over her body on all-fours. She gently rubbed and stroked the stiff flesh between my legs, my balls, and – eventually – even my exposed crack. Sweet Jesus, that felt glorious. I flexed my hips in order to fully expose myself and told her, even though I knew it more than a little squicked her out, I totally wished she could fuck me. Feeling her fingers glide smoothly over my puckering little hole sent me into a drooling stupor. I was snapped out of that when she slapped my nutsack. She didn’t hit me hard enough and in the right place to cause the level of pain I really crave, but she got a few good one’s in there.

After being reduced to a simmering pot of sexual energy, I pleaded for a chance to do something to her. Anything. Please.

She pulled up her top and I latched on to her nipple as though my life depended on it.

“Gentle,” she reminded me.

“Yes ma’am. How would you like to come?”

“I can’t decide,” she replied.

“Your cock is available,” I reminded her.

“I don’t want to hear your lobbying.”

“I’m not lobbying. Just making a statement of fact. I know how much you like it.”

“Yes, but your fingers are so sweet.” She removed her bottoms, now totally nude. “Put them in me.”

I obeyed. She was incredibly wet as I ran my fingertips up and along her slick contours. She moaned.

After a few moments, “Stop! I’m going to come too soon.”

My fingers retreated from her snatch, but continued to stroke the inside of her legs while my mouth stayed on her breasts.

“Oh god, you’re going to make me come without even touching me. STOP!”

I pulled away entirely. She was significantly turned-on. It had been more than week since her last orgasm (she neglected to use her vibrator while I was away) and her body, now that it had become accustomed to regular relief, had a lot of pent-up energy. It didn’t take much to put her on edge.

She climbed on top of me, but didn’t put the cock in. She just rubbed her outer lips against it like an animal in heat and almost immediately came (hard). My desire reverberated within me. I felt a pang of regret for not getting inside her, but also a thrill at how turned-on I could make her.

After she had a few moments to bask and glow, I asked, “Can I put it in? I want to fuck you so bad.”


I grabbed what used to be my cock and positioned its head between her lips and pushed it home with my hips. Holy fuck, that felt good. Her moist heat sent the reptile brain within me into autopilot and I began to slide it in and out like a piston.

“I promise not to come.”

“Liar. You’ll come.”

“No, I won’t. I promise,” as I continued to fuck her.


“I swear I won’t come without permission!”

“Good, because you don’t have permission.”

And I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. Crude, half-formed fantasies about her non-existent paramour flashed though my brain. I can’t imagine my desire could have gone any higher. I so badly wanted to come, but knew it wasn’t allowed. I had to stop once as I got close to the edge, but had plenty of time to pull back before starting the steady rhythm again. I could have gone on like that all night. At one point, I opened my eyes to see her head being propped up by one hand, a bemused and somewhat bored expression on her face.

“You’re being so kind to me,” I told her. “Thank you for humoring me…uhhhng…oh, that feels soooo good.”

I had to stop again as another orgasm approached and she decided to pull the plug.

“OK, that’s it. You’re done,” she said as she lifted off me. I felt her hot wet pussy start to slip away and I lifted my hips in order to keep it inside her as long as possible. She pulled completely clear of me and I felt her soft wetness slide its last over the head of her cock as it fell back and bobbed, so hard and so desperate for more of her, suddenly cold. It flexed on its own volition. So, so desperate.

A short while later, after she had put her pajamas back on and the majority of my desire had eaten itself, I said to her, “I bet you’d let your boyfriend come.”

“Who says it’d be a boyfriend?”

Oh, fuck!

Wednesday night smackdown

This is quite likely my last post before leaving on my trip. I can’t imagine I’ll post again before the 29th. Belle might post while I’m gone, though I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. For the next week, I’ll be communing with nature (read: hiking, camping, fending off mountain lions and bears, crapping in little holes).

Last night was all about the talking. For various reasons, issues related to my infidelity to Belle were raised and had to be unpacked and repacked. I think it all went well, but I admit to feeling frustration that these areas are revisited at this point in our relationship (which, as it turns out, is a very typical point of view from the unfaithful male). I try to be understanding. I work through whatever it seems like needs to be worked-through. Last night, we left things better than we found them.

Toward the end of the conversation, I was able to relate to her something that had dawned on me earlier in the day. I was grocery shopping and listening to the Masocast (this episode) when I started to wonder what life would be like if I was a young submissive male looking for love (not unlike Axe). I know how lucky I am having my Belle who is eternally GGG and does things for me she’d probably never think of doing on her own, but just imagine how much more complicated the entire “dating” thing would be if, at a point 10-15 years ago, I had realized what kind of sex I liked and was looking, not only for a compatible mate, but a mate who was also comfortable topping me.

And you know what? I can’t imagine anyone else doing that. I don’t have any fantasies of being dominated by anyone other than Belle. I have never seen another person and thought, “Oh boy, wouldn’t it be great if they did [insert dominant act here] to me?” All the things I still want to do that I haven’t had a chance to do, I want to do with Belle. And yeah, I am the luckiest SOB in the world that I not only uncovered this side of me that I find to be extremely satisfying, but I uncovered it while married to a person I’m comfortable exposing it to. Is it possible I’d want to be submissive to other women (or even men)? Sure. But the point is, for me it’s all about her.

Which also led me to tell her all I really wanted was for her to smack my nuts around. I’m totally free and unlocked, so they’re just hanging there (lower than they used to) and begging for abuse. She was on her back and I was naked and on all fours over her, kissing her, telling her I loved her, etc., when she started to land her blows. The first one was, as always, shocking, but not really painful.

“That didn’t hurt,” I said, knowing it would goad her on.


She finally landed a good one. I dropped like a sack of kumquats onto her as the pain raced up and though me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her close to me and feeling the throbbing reverberate everywhere. I started to laugh. Then she started to laugh. Hell, it was funny.

“OK, now I can’t breathe,” she said.

After a minute or two of giggling at the pain, I started to lift myself back up on all fours again. I felt the part of my brain responsible for self-preservation fire off all its alarms and try to stop me, but the other part of me – the pain slut – fought back and kept me moving. I assumed a position where my legs were well-spread and she smacked at my nuts again. Not as painful as before, so I found myself actually lifting one leg trying to give her a clearer shot.

“JESUS GOD, MAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” yelled the little safety director in my head, but I ignored him. Feeling that conflict within me – desperate for more abuse while struggling with my body’s autonomic need to protect itself – is so fucking hot.

In any event, we had talked for a long time and it was getting late. I could have gone on for hours (or, at least I think I could) but she was tired, so we stopped. I spooned into her, erection pressing stiffly against her ass, hot, buzzing, feeling the last of the testicular pain ebbing away…wishing for more.

P.S. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite post of Dev’s. It’s like she wrote it just for me: ball smacking, domination, biting, orgasm denial and forced orgasm…all in a nice tidy package. Yum.

An ocean of her

Oh, what a night. And forgive me if this one’s a little all over the place, because the evening was, too.

So it starts out with me telling Belle that the “other woman” contacted me via IM. I have agreed to always tell Belle when this happens since, as should be pretty obvious, my cheating on her has put certain trust issues between us. O.W. IMed me on Tuesday and I forgot to tell Belle until last night. Sometimes I forget, but I always dread it because it’s an opportunity to dredge up the silt from the floor of our relationship.

I can hear you saying to yourself, why the fuck do you have any contact with O.W.? Just cut her off. The issue is, I met her through my involvement with a wildlife non-profit which we are both still associated with. I have chosen not to do anything that could potentially damage her standing within this group (or, of course, mine). It’s made up of a lot of fairly conservative folks and an extramarital affair would be very serious to most of them. Our history is not known to more than just a few of the group and there are occasions when, due to the group’s activities, we need to communicate.

Anyway, Belle knows I’m with her for good and we’ve figured out all the things that led to the affair and have successfully addressed them. I am now more fully committed and closer to her than I have ever been, as evidenced by my ability to draw out my kinky side with her. She knows this. But of course, it’s difficult for Belle to deal with these instances where O.W. appears uninvited in our lives. Last night was no different. She cried, I cried, things I did that make me cringe and feel incredible guilt are dragged back out from under the bed. It was an all-around no-fun time.

However, it didn’t end that way. Prior to all the drama, it had been a great night. I made dinner, did all the cleaning, and Belle relaxed and sipped wine. I rubbed her neck, she read the blog, we talked a little about it. It was all heading in a good direction. I desperately wanted her to be in a mood that would allow me to go down on her. I’m at about two weeks denied at this point and I find, as I’ve written before, that my reptilian brain starts plotting ways to consume her. Last night, I wanted desperately to bury my face in her pussy. No, I mean REALLY. I wanted to cover myself with her scent.

I totally saw from a mile off that we were definitely not heading in that direction. In the past, I would have gotten mad or overly frustrated by this, but not now. I still tentatively made the offer of orgasm, but she rebuffed as expected. I was over the top horny, but accepted it as part and parcel of the position I want to hold in our sexual relationship.

I was able, though, to talk to her about us, rather than O.W. and us. I wanted to go over the whole “is she enjoying/getting something out of our sex” thing. She says she’s not doing anything she doesn’t like and likes some things better than others, but to ask what she needs more of or differently is a bit premature. I’m totally cool with that and don’t want to rush her in anyway. I built-up my courage and asked her if she enjoyed the other night with the ice. Did she enjoy, in any way, hurting me? In fact, she said she did get some cruel pleasure from ripping the clothespins off my nipples. Seriously! I was over the moon happy to hear that. It was wonderfully cruel and hurt like fuck and she liked doing it! It’s like I won the lottery. After she said that, I started craving more pain. It was almost like craving sex. I wanted to get slapped or whipped across my ass with a belt or something. I offered a couple of times that if she wanted to take her frustration over O.W. out of my hide, she was more than welcome to it. No dice (and probably not a good precedent, anyway).

So on that high note, we turned off the light. I stripped (as she instructed) and spooned into her. I asked if she had thought about when I was going to come next. She paused for a while, as if unsure she should tell me, but eventually said I was going to come on Saturday. The cock jumped. I asked her if she knew when I was going to be locked up again. She paused again. Yes, immediately after coming. The cock did more than jump. I pressed my hardness into her.

Wanting her to understand better my desire (and, perhaps, to try to make her feel better following the emotional thrill-ride of the previous hour), I told her that I was profoundly horny and deeply frustrated, but instead of some free-floating need to fuck, it was entirely focused on her like a magnifying glass over an ant hill. I wasn’t just horny. Porn, for example, would not do it for me. It had to be her, specifically. That’s what I craved. She turned over and faced me in the dark. Hmm, I thought. That was unexpected. I continued to tell her that I thought she was beautiful, fucking hot, and was really turning me on. I let my hand wander over her body, down her pajama bottoms, over her ass…and she said nothing. I continued, thinking it was surely a trap – I would probably end with nothing and I braced myself to accept it properly and without resentment. I kept talking. I said that thoughts of her punctuated my day, that I couldn’t get her out of my mind, how badly I wanted to bite every part of her, how desperately I wanted to take her in my arms and pleasure her in every way.

At this point, I was squirming, crushing my hard cock into the bed, and pawing her like a bear cub. My desire was running high and on display. She wasn’t saying no, but she wasn’t saying yes either. I asked her, can I pleasure you? Yes, I could.

I dove under the covers and pressed my face into her midriff. I lifted her top and suckled her breast while my hand went between her legs and felt her heat. My male animal lust started to rise and I had to fight to keep myself gentle and tender. I wanted to eat her alive. Her pussy was too tempting and I found my face pressed against the fabric of her crotch, inhaling deeply. I actually bit her mound before getting back under control, but it wasn’t very hard and I don’t think she felt it. I pulled down her bottoms and planted my face over her hot, wet snatch.

Oh. My. God.

I was on all fours, parallel to her body, head down in an ocean of her. Her smell, her juices, her soft and tender flesh. I rubbed my face all around getting soaked and feeling her juices run up my inverted nose. My tongue dove deeply into her then flitted over her clit like a hummingbird, back and forth, over and across, again and again. The entire world ceased to exist and all there ever was or would be was HER. I lost myself in it all. It seemed to go on and on, but was over all too quickly. Suddenly, her thighs closed in on my head. She was pressing her pussy against my mouth and clamping onto me. I couldn’t hear anything, but felt her hips buck in rythm with the pulsing of her orgasm on my tongue.

Afterward, I came up for air and she laid there, as if lifeless. My cock was raging, straining but I was feeling her reflected afterglow and all was good.

So now I know I’m coming on Saturday. For a brief moment, I was deflated it was so soon, but that didn’t last long. Now, right now, I want to come badly. I want to come in her, on her – I don’t care. I just want it so bad.

My task

Where to begin? Last night started out bad, got worse, then ended on a hopeful note.

It was my Belle Fille’s last night at home before she left for her week overseas. We made dinner together. It was fun hanging out in the kitchen, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company. I was buoyantly optimistic that we’d have a good night in bed and was building up the courage to suggest a few new twists to our repertoire. Just after we finished eating and the kids had scattered to consume their preferred media in the far corners of the house, we were alone. We were sitting close. I put my arm over her and kissed her neck. She put her hand in my lap and sneaked her fingers through the opening in my pajama bottoms. Then, through a series of events too obscure to detail here, we found ourselves reminded of my past infidelity.

The thing is, after you cheat on your wife and burn through all the psychic energy of traveling through the pain and healing and therapy, etc., the detritus of your stupid decision always remains scattered about just under the turf of everyday life. Sometimes, through no fault of anyone, you stumble upon it. It can be no big deal and you laugh it off together. Or, it can be like stepping in a pile of emotional dog shit. Other times, like an emotional land mine. Last night was somewhere between dog shit and land mine.

Belle wasn’t angry at me all over again or anything. No, it was more like the scab had been ripped off and the nasty feelings came oozing back out again. At one point, she was in the bathroom crying. I went through the typical range of “god, I’m such an asshole” to “god, not this again” feelings. Once the kids were down for the count, we went to bed and talked it over. She doesn’t like how it feels to come across like a basket case whenever this subject rears it’s shaggy head. I don’t like seeing her continue to suffer for my stupidity. In any event, we talked it though. Again. And not for the last time.

We were through it, though I knew everything was still too raw to expect any sex. I was disappointed, but only in myself since it was all the result of my actions. However, we were in a happy talky place and I thought I’d take the opportunity to go over some of the things I was hoping to spring on her before the night went all to hell. As I began, she cut me off, albiet nicely, and said she wasn’t feeling up to anything sexual that night.

As I retell that moment, it sounds very innocent. However, I reacted negatively. As I said, I already knew there wasn’t going to be any sex. That was perfectly obvious. She was simply confirming that, but I expect due to the all the emotions of the previous few hours, I took it as some kind of passive-aggressive rejection of the topic. And, through her rejection of the topic, she rejected me. Of course, I was overreacting. I know that now. But at the moment, it suddenly surfaced a tangle of conflicting emotions all bubbling under my skin.

First and foremost, I felt like a freak. All the sexual urges and kinks I have left me feeling exposed, insecure, and overly complicated. I apologized to her for being so weird and complex. If only I could go back to being “normal”, everything would be better. She challenged me on that and asked what normal was. I don’t know, but it’s not me, I answered. I told her I felt she wasn’t really into the role I asked her to assume. She was doing only the basic, cursory things I asked of her and wasn’t trying to grow into her dominant role and truly make it her own. Yes, she was controlling my orgasms, but that was about it. There wasn’t much in her actions that demonstrated she was very interested going very far beyond that. All the books I had purchased had basically sat unread by her. I apologized for asking too much of her, for putting her in this active, difficult position that obviously did not come naturally to her. For not the first time, I suggested that maybe we were heading down the wrong path and it was all my fault for putting us on it.

Now, I know there are many blogs on the web that could have produced the preceeding paragraph. There are gaggles of submissive men out there who came to realize what they wanted from their partners only after years of marriage. I know, I’m just another in a long line of whiny malesubs. I also know I was being totally unfair and excessively self-pitying. She has tried. But I’m feeling as though we’re moving too slowly and that her heart’s really not in it.

One of my biggest issues is how hard it is to actually tell her what I want her to do. I want to be submissive to her. I want to serve her, sexually. I want her to find my boundaries – the edges of where I’m comfortable – and ask me to go farther. And then I want to go farther, for her. I know where some of those boundaries are, but I feel that to simply tell her would be to rob them of their magic (which is also pretty fucked up, I know). I want her to discover them herself through practice. Besides, several of them are somewhat embarrassing to me. That’s why they’re on the edge. Yes, I understand that I’m basically asking her to read my mind and, yes, I get how that’s unfair. But she’s not really trying. And instead of being mad or frustrated at her, it all comes out as my insecurity and inferiority. It’s all my fault for being a freak.

She said a lot of things last night trying to bring me off the ledge. She says she doesn’t think I’m a freak and that she wants to do what it takes to make me happy, but I’m still feeling freakish. In order to help her help me, she’s left me with a simple task to perform while she’s gone. I am to detail here, on my blog, all the things I want. Not in broad, general terms (“I want you to dominate me”) but in actionable, specific terms (“I want you to spank my ass with the wooden hairbrush”). Over the course of the next week, that will be the theme here. It will be difficult for me since, even though only two of you know who I really am, I will be putting out there for all to read the dark corners of my sexual wishlist that have only been glimpsed or hinted at before.

We’ll see how it goes.

Christmas break

It’s been almost a week since I last wrote here. I guess I’ll call that my Christmas Break.

I was trying to get into a rhythm where I blogged about once a day, so six days off has left me a little rusty as well as contemplative regarding how I’ll blog in the future. On the one hand, I want to blog regularly (like I said, maybe 5 times a week, or thereabouts). On the other hand, I don’t want to get too repetitive. I mean, how many times can I come here and write that Belle denied me another orgasm before you all wander off? Once the bloom is off the orgasm denial flower, how many times can one write about the same non-event? The secret, I think, is spending more time describing the donut and less thinking about the hole. Of course, the longer I’m denied the more I think about holes…and what you can do with them…and how even now I’m getting plump thinking about a freakin’ donut hole. Sheesh. OK, back to it, then.

Christmas Day was notable for two things. First, my Belle Fille had the stomach flu all day. Merry Christmas, sweetie! That sucked (mostly for her). Luckily, she was right as rain the next day. Second, Christmas was the first day I actually forgot my dick was pierced. No pain, no uncomfortableness, in general, no weirdness of any kind. I count it as the first day of the rest of my penis-pierced life. The next day, Friday, Belle felt so good that she wanted me to fuck her. During the healing period, Belle hasn’t been able to enjoy her cock as often as she’d like and, since it was feeling pretty good, she wanted it in her. I used the one non-sheep intestine condom I had. I felt a wince once or twice, but otherwise it was a good experience for both of us. She reports being able to feel the curved barbell a little, but not a lot.

After she came, she told me I could, too, if I wanted to. It’s a testimate to how far orgasm denial has taken me that I actually had to think about it for a second. Three months ago, the option of not coming would have seemed very strange to me. Now, I find myself more than willing to trade the momentary intense pleasure of orgasm for the long burn of denial-driven frustration and basking in the reflected glow of her pleasure. But yeah, I came anyway. Unlike last time, it was good. Really good. Not head-exploding good, but pretty damned good just the same. Afterwards, I pulled off the spent condom, tied it off like a water balloon, and was surprised at the volume of ejaculate it contained. Man, that was a lot of little swimmers.

Yesterday was a good day. Belle and I were really into each other all day. She was giving me long looks and saying nice things and I was loving the attention and looking forward to pawing her that night. Once the kids were down and out, the pawing commenced. I asked to be able to pleasure her with the cock again and, while puting on the condom (we bought more of the latex variety), made the offhand remark that it had been a while since I had to deal with the things.

If you’ve read this blog for a while or spent time reading the old entires, you’ll know that this past summer Belle and I went though a difficult period in our marriage. In short, I cheated on her. We both agree that we should share the blame for allowing our marriage to get to a state where that kind of thing was even possible, but I was the one who cheated and therefore am the one who bears more of the blame. While we’ve come a remarkable way from those days, the pain I caused her occasionally surfaces, as it did with my seemingly innocent remark about using condoms. She immediately deduced (correctly) that I did not use a condom during my affair. I can explain why I chose not to, though it’s not important to this story and will only sound like I’m defending myself.

Belle did not stop me when my comment suddenly opened up the old hurt and anger. I was in her and doing my best to pleasure her when I felt something wasn’t right. I stopped, we talked, I apologized for the millionth time. I think she felt bad that her feelings got in the way of our moment, but I tried to tell her she shouldn’t. How could they not? Her feelings are more than valid and if anyone should feel bad, it should be me. In any event, we were able to get past it and she allowed me to bring her to climax manually.

As she approached her orgasm, I again felt the sympathetic vibrations within me and heard the little whimpering moans coming from my throat. I simultaneously relish and dread the moment of her orgasm. I’m allowed a fractional share of her pleasure but, shortly after, my access to her body comes to an end. Perhaps it was the earlier penetration, but for some reason I found myself hornier than I would have expected just 24 hours after my own release. She told me it would be a while before I was allowed to come, if for no other reason, because she’s leaving the country for a week starting next weekend. I asked if she was going to take the little vibrator, Pink, with her. Yes, she is.

If any part of me was coming off the hormonal edge, the sudden and crystal thought of her pleasuring herself on the other side of the world with Pink while I was hard, horny, and denied here at home had me instantly hard and miserably flooded with desire for her. Even now as I write this, I find myself in a state of excited frustration more suited to three weeks without release, not three days. Exacerbating this is Belle’s promise to let me know each time she comes while she’s gone. Due to the time difference, I imagine I’ll be in an afternoon meeting when I receive a text message from her with the news. She’ll be basking while I’ll be squirming. Not fair. Wonderfully, gloriously, not fair.

Out of the box

Belle let me out of the CB6K Wednesday night and I suspect I won’t be seeing it again for a while. There are several reasons for this. First, we’re in period of transformation in our relationship. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that it was less than two months ago that I revealed my infidelity to Belle. From that nadir to today’s zenith has been a remarkable period of discovery and growth that continues to evolve. The emotional and physiological impact of enforcing chastity was not adding to the joy of this period. Second, Belle’s still adjusting to her role as my keyholder (and I’ll continue to use that phrase even when not locked up since the key I’ve given her isn’t just a physical one). No small part of our emotional transformation is the sexual aspect. I feel like I’m dumping all kinds of stuff on her that I’ve had in my head for years and years (more on that soon) and she’s understandably going to need time to figure out what to do with it all. Frankly, she just isn’t ready to deal with a whiny, locked up male. Lastly, there are just so many other new sexual adventures for us to explore that the slow burn of chastity was taking the hitch out of our giddy-up. Once we get past this “kid on Christmas morning” period, I really hope well revisit the acrylic prison. Right now, though, is the wrong time.