The campfire rule

Good news is, the Steelheart didn’t wake me up as I expected last night. Bad news is, that’s because I barely slept. Yes, the Steelheart did wake me up from time to time between fitful periods of sleep, but it wasn’t due to discomfort as much as it was obvious to me I was wearing it again.

As I’ve said, that first orgasm after a long period of denial is pretty crappy (like the one from Saturday). The impact of coming following such a period of inactivity lands with a thudding implosion, not the sky full of fireworks you might expect. It’s the second one that lights up the night like the 4th of July. But I didn’t get a second one, did I? No I did not.

I’ve said before that long term denial isn’t like climbing an endless roller coaster incline into the sky, ever more horny and turned on until release. There’s a period in the first week or three when starting from zero where one can find themselves feeling that way, but once you get past that it’s more of a slow burn. I find it’s not so much that I’m ever more horny, just that I can get really turned on in the blink of an eye. Also that when I do get turned on, I get really turned on. But then it subsides into the background radiation of everyday horniness again.

It used to be, one shot and I’d lose all the effects of being denied. But that was then when I assume my body was still adjusting from pretty much always getting orgasmic release when it wanted it. As time went on and the periods of denial lengthened, things changed. Now that first time is not the reset it once was. But it does play a role.

Now it’s basically a set-up for the next time I come. Like dumping kerosene on a campfire, the intensity of my denial flares up and rages. If I come again in the days that follow, then it’s a near-total reset. The campfire burns itself out. But if I don’t come again, I’m a basket case of unrequited desire.

And that’s why I didn’t sleep last night. Being back in the Steelheart gave me just enough of a boost to make it so I couldn’t stop being turned on. Every movement in bed reminded me I was back in the heavier device. A persistent radioactive need nestled inside the hard steel and burned in my imagination. But I eventually did sleep. I don’t know how much, but it was after midnight before I got there and I kept waking up. I never got to the point where I was so asleep that the raging nocturnal erection happened because every time it started to plump up a bit the feeling woke me up again.

But yeah, I did sleep. I repeated my mantra and allowed myself to feel as I felt. I didn’t let it panic me. I let it happen and relaxed into it. I didn’t get good sleep, but I got some and the difference between a little crappy sleep and none at all is huge.

I suspect tonight will be more normal. Eventually, the kerosene will burn up and leave my denial campfire as it normally is. I can’t stay like this forever.

 

Moody 2

Drew asked me if publishing my post yesterday made me feel any better. I have to say…no. It didn’t. No offense. I thought that maybe it would have, but no such luck.

In fact, last night was especially bad. Since Belle’s was gone for most of last week, I really wanted to be with her. Just be with her. But kids have extracurricular activities and she has work and it just didn’t come together until later in the evening. Going to sleep, it was all good. We talked a little. She read the post. She asked a few questions then she turned away from me and I snuggled into her and nearly fell asleep. I can’t really sleep spooned into her, so I had to flip over and that kind of woke me up. Then I laid there and the pillow felt weird and the covers were too warm and I woke more and more until I was fully awake. It wasn’t especially late, but I could only feel sleep moving away from me.

There’s this state I want to get to when trying to fall asleep where my thoughts get all thready and start to curl into themselves. It’s hard to describe, but when that happens I know I’m heading towards sleep. When they don’t, I’m not. When they just kind of flow around and stay pretty linear. Then, in my current condition, they take a turn towards a topic that’s stressing me out or a scenario that’s unlikely but also very stressful and that makes my heart start to thump and that makes me even more awake and pushes sleep further down. Then there’s that moment. When I realize I’m not falling asleep and am unlikely to do so soon. Like a little switch flips inside me and I know I’ll be up for hours. Then that freaks me out on top of all the rest.

About an hour and half after first trying to sleep, I took a Unisom. Those usually work well, but my anxiety fought back. About two hours later, I was totally under the influence of the pill but not asleep. I was dizzy and felt weird. I was, indeed, very sleepy but totally unable to close the deal. That woke Belle up. Waking her up made me feel worse, though she did her best to comfort me. I felt so damned frustrated. And angry. Mad that I didn’t feel like I had control over myself and couldn’t pull my shit together. Mad that I wanted to sleep so badly but couldn’t. Mad at the whole fucked up enchilada of my emotions lately. I ended up crying hard. The kind where you don’t make much noise and can’t breath between jags. Not from sadness. From frustration and anger. From hating how I feel. The only upside is, it tired me out and I did fall asleep shortly afterward.

These issues are not new. If I think about it, I feel as though I’ve been dealing with elements of whatever this is for years. Slowly feeling motivation and confidence ebb away and being unable to complete tasks. Having ideas for things that would have energized me in the past now just demoralize me since I can’t seem to raise the energy to do them. Setting myself up for more pain by making commitments with the idea that it alone would force me to act when all it did was multiply the anxiety over being unable to do so by about 100. None of this is new. It’s just worse now than ever. It’s forced itself into nearly everything I do or think about.

In the comments to my last post, there were some who might have misunderstood my reticence around writing posts like this. It’s not that I think they shouldn’t be written, it’s that I have a particularly difficult time writing them about myself. There’s still a healthy-sized part of me convinced my issues are not “mental health” related and are more about just generally sucking at life. Also, with regard to Drew, clearly I’m not in the best place to be dealing with some of the complications that come from having a multifaceted relationship structure. It’s sometimes a challenge for me to engage with him, but that’s not his fault. It’s just where I am right now.

I don’t know what to expect from tomorrow’s visit to the shrink. I need to temper my expectations that anything can change in the short term. But, it’s a step. Steps are good.

My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. 

By the light of the sun

It’s been bad sleeping the past few nights. I have a hard time getting to sleep (or even feeling sleepy), then have a hard time staying asleep, then have to deal with insistent erections from about 4:00 AM on that wake me up. I have a few tricks to make them go away, but the most efective is to get up and pee. So anyway, crappy sleep. Occupational hazard of the chronically denied.

Belle and I woke up at about the same time this morning as dazzling sunlight poured through our window. The device was, as usual, very tight as the penis within was doing its stupid best to get as long and as hard as it could. I whined to Belle about it. She didn’t seem too impressed, but closed the bedroom door so I could get her off. To me, it felt like a quick, hard fuck. I didn’t linger or draw it out. I got her off as fast as I could. As if the faster she came, the better I’d feel or something. But once it was over, I was in even more misery. The penis was throbbing against it’s confinement.

I whined again. This time, about how I wanted to be inside her. Yes, it was lobbying, but I do that from time to time and it’s seldom successful. But this time, she seemed moved by my predicament and got the key.

“You can go for a ride,” she said, “but you can’t come.”

I frantically fumbled with the key in the lock. The penis had subsided just a bit and I had a very short window of opportunity to get the whole thing off before it responded to its new opportunity.

“Don’t get hard, don’t get hard,” I repeated under my breath.

I got the tube off and the PA fixing out of the way, but was too far gone to get past the ring. I was either going in with it on or would have to wait god knows how long before the hydraulics would allow it to be removed. Time was of the fucking essence. Her pussy was right there, all wet, hot and inviting. Somewhere in our house were children who would soon be demanding our attention. Even the dog was antsy.

Fuck it, I thought. I mounted her and pushed the stiff penis home. It felt, in a word, glorious. The cuff ring is too small to wear absent the tube which helps keep the penis from achieving its full erect girth. When it’s not there, the ring bites even more than usual. In my mind, I could see the penis with its veins all standing out and the head deeply red and swollen from the constriction at its base. It felt weird. Not bad, but different. As if I was fucking with someone else’s cock.

After a few minutes of this, the reptile brain took charge and told me to bite Belle. Of course, that’s not allowed, but I wanted to do it badly. I wanted to totally destroy her with this miraculous wonder boner and chew on her face. It was as if my brain was being doused by a fire hose spraying pure testosterone. All semblances of submissive bunny were swept away.

I growled into her ear, “I just love fucking you,” thrust, “so,” thrust, “much!” THRUST.

As I said, the sun was pouring in and Summer is making a last stand here in the Great North, so I was soon getting sweaty with my effort. I felt my forehead bead over and the sweat lubricate our grinding thighs. I kicked the blanket back and my pumping ass was exposed. Even it was sweaty. I felt like a rutting animal. The only human thought left in my head was DON’T COME.

The ring around the penis was becoming insistent in its biting. I would withdraw completely so just the tip of the head was surrounded by sweet pink pussy, then I’d thrust balls-deep, feeling the pain of the ring, the smooth, wet action along the swollen shaft from the folds of her labia clinging and caressing, the throbbing head going deep inside her, my mouth open on hers.

Holy FUCK! I got really, really close. Really. Imagine a beer commercial where they show the bottle tipping in slow motion and the golden fluid cresting over the edge about to pour into a frosty mug, except substitute the bottle for the penis, the beer for my ejaculate, and the frosty mug for Belle’s hot pussy. Then freeze the shot as the beer has just peeked over the edge. Leave it there for ten to fifteen seconds, then roll the footage backward. That was me, heart pounding, head swirling as she said, “I think that’s it, Thumpy.”

Pause. Think. Grind teeth. Flex the penis in her pussy.

Stop.

“Yes, Belle Fille.” And I withdrew.

The penis looked just like I thought it would. Swollen and purplish, glistening with her lube. The ring deeply embedded in the base of the penis shaft. It stood there and throbbed.

“You can stay out until tonight, but then you’re going back in.”

I pulled up my underwear and took the few bits of the device I could get off into the bathroom for a good cleaning. I scrubbed out the tube and, using cold water, cleaned the penis. It was still 80% hard and the corona of the head was massively sensitive. Chilly water or no, it wasn’t going down. And I knew, were it to be left out all day, I’d be messing with it every chance I got. With lots of work and more cold water, I shoved the genie back into the bottle. The lock closed with difficulty as the penis continued its futile effort, stuffed back into the dark cold tube.

I left the bathroom and put the key on Belle’s nightstand. I went to her in the kitchen and put her hand on my crotch.

“I’m not to be trusted,” I said as I buried my face in her neck.

Of lizards and pistons and pinchy bits

The answer to the question, “Why hasn’t Thumper posted recently?” isn’t “Because he had an orgasm,” it’s “Because he had two orgasms.”

It all started about ten days ago. Belle told me she was going to let me out for the weekend and I’ve found that once the meat knows its freedom is set at a fixed point in the future, it starts to get irritable. On that Thursday, I was dealing with an odd pinch in the tube and no shifting or pulling would make it go away. Finally, I asked for Belle’s key so I could remove the internal pinchy bits but she decided to just let me out altogether a day earlier than scheduled. And, of course, upon inspection, I found nothing wrong with it. It was just bitching.

That Saturday morning, we had sex. I got her off using Pink, the hard cock being essentially ignored by her. Not a bad plan on her part because it had been two months since the last time it had been of any use and its effectiveness as a pleasure object would likely have been limited. After she came, she let me mount her. I tried my hardest to make the experience count since I was not sure she’d let me have more than one shot this time around. I was doing OK at keeping a good pace and varying the tempo so I could just feel her soft, hot wetness slide along the hungry shaft, but at a point much too soon for me, something snapped. I would describe it as a mutiny in the control room of my brain, but it wasn’t like that. More like a rerouting of control around my brain. The lizard brainstem and lower half of my body essentially told my brain to fuck off and that they were going to handle the action from that point forward. I literally could not stop. My only function and my only focus was being a meat piston. I fucked the shit out of her…for about 28 seconds.

Then I came in a way unlike the more recent events. No tingling, no feeling of being pulled inside out, just grunts and flexing and surging and the need to fill her up. Fill her with the cock and fill her with the seed and make damned sure nothing else happened until that was over. I cannot say it was the most fun orgasm I’ve had, but “fun” is a concept unknown to the lizard brain. It was function. It was like when two dogs start going at it and you have to turn a hose on them to make them stop. The basic need for all living things to pass on their code drove my hips into her and pinned her to the bed with the cock until the transfer was complete and, finally, felt its own sense of animal satisfaction at the effort.

Sunday night, she gave me a handjob. I thought she’d let me come, but all the way up until the final moment I half expected her to pull her hand away so there was a bit of a race going on internally between her stroking and my getting all the ejaculatory mechanisms lined up in time. I grasped the headboard, hands up over my head, as she pulled the orgasm from my body. It was actually quite wonderful and left me feeling dopey and fuzzy sleepy warm. But, she wanted me back in right then, so she rubbed the sticky goo on her hand all over my chest allowing its stench to fill my senses. Then, she handed me the key and sent me off to the harsh white light of the bathroom to reaffix the steel and clean the goobery mess from my chest hair. I did it, reluctantly. My fuzzy sleepy warmth was all washed away by the experience. I came, and I liked it, but I was not allowed to bask.

For the better part of the week after, it was this thing. This annoying, clinging, intrusive alien sitting in my pants. Almost immediately, the internal security bits were biting me again, so she let me take those out, but that didn’t make my mental opposition to being encased any less severe. Just the opposite. None of my usual routines work the same way when the PA fixing and ring aren’t in there. With them, enough space is held open to allow water to be easily flushed though, but without them the stupid meat is easily squished and squashed and blocks the free flow water in and urine out. The end result of all this wasn’t as bad as I probably felt it was, but for days it was like canned meat swinging between my legs. Nothing good about it.

Things started to shift by Thursday. I was to drive a few hours away that day and be apart from Belle for two nights. Suddenly, the idea that I had to have the fixing and ring in place was paramount. Their absence made me feel incomplete rather than inconvenienced. My device was not whole and neither was I. That morning, Belle left me with her key and I dutifully tended to the total securement of the cock with no ill feelings or surreptitious squeezes. She had given me an opportunity to make it right so the idea of taking advantage was furthest from my mind. I put in the ring, threaded the fixing though it and then slid the still-flaccid cock into the tube and felt along with it the sensation of warmth and comfort and security. It was like putting on my favorite sweatshirt, not an implement of bondage and sexual frustration. I was where I was supposed to be and it felt right.

I was back home by Saturday and she let me give her an orgasm. I had the palpable feeling of being a human sex toy as it was all about her and not at all about me. She didn’t care that I would be left horny and caged and unable to sleep. That was my place. I should get used to it. I was cleaving to her as the orgasm pulsed from between her legs and I grunted along with her moans. I was coming, too, but though her pleasure. As expected, I slept fitfully.

Now, a week in to a lock-up of undetermined length, the meat and its cage have settled back into their symbiotic relationship. It’s a part of me again. I look in the mirror and I see it and it looks like me. Its contents don’t. That thing looks like the other. The intruder. But it’s OK because the lock is on and it can’t get out.

Funny how that works.

Stryker’s beast

If you’re really not into graphic accounts of self-administered anal action, this post probably isn’t for you.

Last time, I said the “realistic” Jeff Stryker dildo seemed ridiculously large. That got me doing some research to find out how big he really is. According to a page called Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Penis Size But Were Afraid to Ask, Jeff Stryker’s cock is 7.5″ long (measured in the proper way along the top, from the pubic bone to the tip). As you can see in the picture below, the “realistic” dildo is actually about 9″ long measured in the same way. That’s about a 20% increase. I’d estimate the insertable length to be about 8″.

Besides the length, the really interesting thing about this dildo is its girth. The circumference just under the head is a half inch greater at 7″ than lower down the shaft where it’s 6.5″. While I can’t find any reliable information about Stryker’s actual girth, I can say these proportions are accurate based on the numerous times I’ve watched him put it to use, though the actual size of the dildo is much larger.

So yeah, it’s bigger than the original. For me, it’s at the very limit of a usable size. While I might be able to get something bigger inside me, that’d just be showing off and not really all that enjoyable.

I haven’t had anything this big to play with in a while. In the recent past, when I felt like getting fucked, I’ve used a cheap vinyl dildo that’s 6″ insertable with a circumference about 4.75″. Nothing too impressive, but also pretty easy to use. Prior to climbing Mount Stryker, though, I made preparations. First thing I did was remove the hair around my asshole. I’ve found that hair is hard to lubricate and will grip a dildo and get pulled in and out with it keeping things from being nice and slippery smooth, so I shaved an area about two inches all the way around. Also, I used one of the other new items I bought with the dildo: the Colt Anal Douche.

As Dan Savage says, having anal sex without douching your rectum is like having oral sex with a mouth full of food. The obvious issues of residual fecal matter is what squicks out so many people who might otherwise really get into anal. This is too bad because it’s so easy to deal with when you have the right tool and the Colt Anal Douche is that tool. The really nifty bit, and what makes it better than the run of the mill bulb enema you can get at any drugstore, is the 6″ attachment you put over the spout on the bulb. The water comes out of it along a seam near the top as opposed to squirting out a hole way up into the colon. It feels better and keeps the water where it needs to be. There’s no point in filling your lower intestine with a gallon of water since the only part that really needs to be cleared is the rectum. All you have to do is fill the douche with warm water (get all the air out!), squirt it up your butt, and push it all out. After three or four times, if the water coming out is as clear as when it went in, everything is ready to go.

As I said, it’s been a long time since I had anything this large in my ass. I approached it in the only way you can when dealing with this much mass: slowly and with tons of lube. I used water-based Astroglide as opposed to the silicone lube. I like to put a condom over my toys to make clean up easier and also because I find vinyl actually causes irritation and stinging. Perhaps I’m allergic. In any event, I decided to get things going with the smaller vinyl dildo, sheathed in latex, to open things up and distribute lube all along the soon-to-be assaulted path. Maybe it was because I was staring down Stryker’s beast, but the smaller dildo slid in rather more easily than normal and was soon in all the way to the base. I could feel my prostate was already crackling with electricity. I left the small dildo in for several minutes while preparing the main event. Once it was out of the way, I moved the big guy into place.

It was as if the smaller dildo had never been there. As the fat, blunt head of Stryker’s beast pressed against my hole, I remembered that there’s nothing subtle about this cock. It’s all business from the very start. My sphincter complained, but I kept a steady pressure against it. I’d push, let it sit there as the tight ring of my ass stretched against it, then I’d pull back to give it a few seconds rest. Then I’d push again, trying to get just a millimeter further. At about 2″ in, the fattest part of the cock was starting to come into play and I found the compression of my hole against the condom squeegeed all the lube off. I had to reapply it again and again.

Push, wait, withdraw.

Puush, wait, withdraw. Lube.

Puuush, wait, withdraw.

Puuuush, wait (oh, god, the stretching), withdraw. Lube.

Finally, after maybe 15 minutes of this, my sphincter had finally opened wide enough to envelope the fattest part of the cock. I admit, if I had never actual had this thing up my ass before, I might of chickened out at this point. The sensation of being opened to that extent was incredibly intense and I only had about a third of the thing in me. But I persevered, slowly yet forcefully, until the 7″ circumference of the first half was past my rim.

After that, it was like the cock got sucked up inside me. As the shaft moved along and the slightly thinner part entered me, I felt myself being opened like I hadn’t been in a very long time. Eventually, I had the dildo in all the way to its balls. I couldn’t move it, though. I was so full of it, the best I could do was leave it in place and let my chute stretch along the entire 8″ of the beast. I’d leave it in as long as I could stand it, then pull it all the way out for more lube. I felt my rectum collapse behind the retreating invader.

Then, back in. All the way. I actually bottom out at precisely the point in which the Stryker dildo is in all the way. The entire length of my rectum is opened by it and its head presses against the point where my anal passage turns and becomes my colon. It’s as if it was custom made for my body.

After another 15 or twenty minutes of repeating the cycle of putting it in, leaving it there, and then pulling it out for more lube, I felt myself loosen up sufficiently to start fucking. I can’t even describe it. It’s like having your guts punched, but in a good way. Eventually, I was pistoning the fat dildo in and out, faster and faster, grunting and moaning and feeling the stretch on the way out and the filling sensation on the way in. Over and over. I can’t say how many times and for how long. In the past, I would have come well before I got to this point, but of course, I couldn’t even see the cock let alone stroke it. My entire being was focused on the feeling of this giant slab of rubber invading me, insistently pushing my prostate and everything else out of its way again and again.

I eventually just tired out. My legs were cramping and sweat was flowing down my forehead. A cock that couldn’t come was fucking a body that never would. The only barrier to going all night was physical fatigue. So much effort had gone into even getting to the point were I could put it inside me, that my tank was close to empty by the time things really heated up.

Finally, the dildo slid out heavily with a slurp and a pop. My asshole gaped at the abuse. I felt it with my fingers and easily could get two inside to massage my fiery gland. I could tell I had leaked, but the natural lube mixed with the Astroglide so I couldn’t tell which was which. I used the douche again to sooth my chute and flush out all the extra lube. I had to concentrate to keep my asshole closed so the water wouldn’t simply fall back out. The first time I pushed it clear, the action caused a huge glob of semen to escape the end of the chastity tube. I was well-milked.

After cleaning up and putting everything away, I went to bed, exhausted but still spinning. I read some porn and worked The Portfolio until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. After about three hours of sleep, one of my various electronic devices made a small sound, but it was enough to wake me up. I was in a hormone hangover, still buzzing with unexpressed sexual energy. My hand reached around to my asshole and it felt smooth and well-fucked and entirely not mine. It was as if I was fingering a stranger. A stranger who had been used and abused. I could feel the absence of the giant cock inside me and I remember why I loved it so much. I wanted it again right then. I wanted to feel it split me open and stretch me to my fullest, I wanted to feel it punch me again and again.

But I didn’t get up. Instead, I went after my nuts. I squeezed and pulled and slapped them. I found that whatever internal lock that usually keeps me from really working them over had been released, so I crushed them and beat them and felt the tendrils of warm aching pain snake throughout my body. Instead of pulling up when I normally hit myself, I was able to strike them with greater and greater force. They felt swollen and hot and they throbbed. All of my unreleased sexual frustration was taken out on the fleshy punching bag. Putting my finger back on my hot, shaved hole, I decided it felt not unlike a pussy. My pussy. Wet and loose.

Exhaustion retook me and I fell back asleep with the ache of my abused testes still rolling though me. I slept fitfully and woke often, each time finding my hands either on my nuts or along my crack. This morning, I’m still swimming in the hormones from the night before. My ass is craving the Stryker dildo again. I can still feel the void it left inside me. My guts hunger for it. Night can’t come fast enough.

Needing it

Belle and I hadn’t had sex before last night since a week ago up at the cabin. She had been enjoying the warm waters of the hot tub while I was with the kids when she came in and told me she needed me to do something for her in the bedroom. I left the boy playing video games and the girl with her art while I walked to the back of the cabin to see what Belle wanted. As I entered the room, she closed and locked the door and dropped her towel.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said.

Holy crap! It’s daylight! The kids are awake in the other room! I’m…all dressed and stuff. Regardless, she laid back on the bed and told me to get my face between her legs.

Her pussy, fresh from the hot bubbly water, was so clean and wet that it almost didn’t feel like itself under my tongue. It was flavorless and smelled of chlorinated water and it took a few minutes before I started to taste her juices start to flow. She told me to get pink and shove it all the way inside her while I licked her clit. I could still hear the little vibe thrumming away, muffled by her soft flesh, while I sucked on her outer lips, reaching up and fingering her nipples, and trying not to grind my stiffly sore tube into the mattress too much.

Eventually, she came with my mouth on her tits and pink sliding all over and into her snatch. Then she told me to leave so she could take a nap. It was all so sudden, hot, and over. I went back out into the living room and pretended like nothing happened, tube thumping in my pants.

Then there was a week where nothing really did happen.

Then there was last night. There wasn’t anything especially interesting about the sex. Functionally, it was like most of what we have: She came while I fingered her and sucked her tits. It was a nice orgasm for her, but like I said, not unlike most of what we do. The difference was how hot I was for it beforehand. I told her, as she informed me she was going to share an orgasm with me, that I wanted to fuck her. I didn’t think for a second that I would, but I wanted to fuck her so bad.

There’s a little rhyme she’s been saying ever since I met her. “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Outdoor fucking starts today!” But upon hearing me whine about how badly I wanted inside her, she changed it up to “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Too bad about your cock today.” Needless to say, I wasn’t going to fuck her.

So then I started with the tit sucking and clit fingering and she came. It was a good one for her, but as soon as it was over I was absolutely out of my mind obsessed about feeling her pussy wrapped around what used to be my cock. I could feel it, warm and wet. Seriously, I’m running out of ways to say just exactly how profoundly fucking horny I was. It almost hurt, I was so horny. Come to think of it, it did hurt as the steel ring bit into the stifled erection’s root.

She got out of bed to pee and I was left there alone, like so many times before I stopped having reciprocal orgasmic rights. In those days, I’d feel the cock, semi-flaccid, laying heavily against my upper thigh, cold and sticky wet with the combined juices of her passion and my climax. The dank smell of semen would be hanging in the air as the ropes of wakefulness fell away and I drifted groggily into a restful sleep. I could feel it all as if it was just yesterday, but really, I can’t even remember when it was anymore. So long ago. Months and months, at least. Maybe longer.

It was another night of restlessness, tossing and turning and semi-wakefulness, always with a full tube. Sometimes, painfully so. I wanted to always be touching her body, either spooning fully into her or, if she was facing me, then at least touching her foor with mine. I craved her contact. I craved her attention. Even in sleep, I wanted all of her.

And I still do this morning. I woke up just as horny and just as desirous of her attention. I’ve been locked up (with the exception of that one day) for a month and have more than another month ahead of me before there’s any hope she’ll let me come, let alone get out of the device. That will be well over the hundred days I offered her back in March. Far, far longer than I’ve gone before between releases. She’s hinted that, when my time finally arrives, that she might let me come more than once. She’s even suggested “a lot.”

It’s all I can think about. Yes, I want to be denied, and yes, I asked for and even offered her this, but I want to come. I want to fuck and come and feel my hand and her pussy wrapped around a fully realized erection. Even if she only gives me one, I need it. Bad.

Just five and a half more weeks.