Tag: kink

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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).

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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.

Smack! SMACK! WHACK!

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.

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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.

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The bad bite

It’s been much cooler than normal here in the great northern wastes for the past few days and that’s left Belle with cold toes at bedtime. Therefore, she slides them up my leg and buries them in my nutsack, then has me close my other leg over them to warm them up. Sometimes she wiggles her toes. Happy to be of service.

That’s how last night started. Toes in my nuts. Happily, it was all up from there. We kissed quite a bit and I said many things, mostly related to how exceptionally happy she makes me, how beautiful and sexy I find her, how lucky I count myself to have a wife who will manage my orgasms, etc., etc. I was feeling pretty emotional. She really is the most wonderful mate any subbie bunny could have.

The kissing got more intense and that eventually led to her squeezing my toe warmers nuts pretty hard. I told her, breathlessly, how badly I wanted her to hurt me there.

“I am trying to hurt you,” she said. “That doesn’t hurt?”

“Well, yeah, sure, it’s uncomfortable. It feels really great, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like I want to be hurt.”

Which led to a quick tutorial on how to inflict pain to Thumper’s testicles. First, I gave her a little tour of each area and its relative sensitivity. The back of my nuts are the least sensitive. The bottom only slightly more. Sure, you can hurt me there, but you’d really need to give them a good thwack. The front of the sack (the part shielded by the tube hanging in front) is good territory. Much more tender than the previous two sections. It is hard to get to with all the plastic in the way, but totally worth the effort. Finally, I showed her the ultimately tender areas on each side. Also difficult to get to due to plastic and the fact that I have legs. A well aimed, forceful shot on either side will leave me squirming.

With that out of the way, she started flicking each testicle with her finger. Starting lightly and then with more intensity. It was good. Jolts of pain shot through me, but only a little of it lingered. And that’s what I’m looking for. Lingering, aching, internal pain. She’d be hard pressed to give me that just by flicking her finger, so I showed her how encircling the sack with fingers pulls it tight and exposes and entraps the two testicles like a couple of shaved bunnies in a cosmetics testing facility. Then she started hitting them. Again, more gentle than necessary at first, but with more force as she went on. She did create some lingering pain before it was over, but god, I want so much more. I want to know just how much pain I can take there. How badly can she hurt me? I hope she ties me up and tries to find out. Soon.

All the nut slapping had me lathered up (“Is it hot in here?”), so when she eventually gave me the green light to pleasure her I had a pretty good head of steam behind me. I was in my feral sex beast mode and wanted nothing more than to consumer her essence. All that energy that previously would go into getting the dick wet has nowhere to go and occasionally goes to my head. It’s not too surprising then that not too long into it, while I was sucking her nipples like a newly born calf, she cried out.

“OUCH! That hurt!”

“What? What I’d do? I’m sorry!”

“You bit me! That hurt!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Please, I’m sorry! Are you OK?”

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be hurt.”

“No, of course not. I’m so sorry!”

“This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

SMACK. She didn’t hit me, but it felt like she had. Of course, she was right. I had lost control. I let my animal lust get the better of me. I don’t recall biting her, to be honest, but I had been struggling with the urge ever since she started smacking me around. I felt horrible. Really horrible. Not only had I hurt her, I had let her orgasm become more about me than her. Too much an outlet for my desire. As I said, I lost control. Totally.

After that, it was as though she had thrown a big wet blanket over me. Before, I was lost in a buzzing headspace of pure sex, but after I was totally cognizant of my every action. Total control. It was all very measured and gauged toward what would give her the most pleasure. I still feel very guilty for hurting her.

The orgasm was intense. I don’t really understand how it works inside her, of course, but she said it could have been so intense as to actually be painful, so she backed off of it a bit. She had already had too much pain. Ironically, the pain she caused me came back to her through my heightened desire.

Early this morning, I laid in bed, tube throbbingly full and waves of repressed sexual energy reverberating through me. It’s been a quite some time since I’ve been so horny. So abjectly, pathetically, profoundly turned on. The cock was flexing rhythmically almost all by itself. I could will it to stop, but it would start again if I wasn’t concentrating on it. It was as if some autonomic process was trying to push out ejaculate, because eventually I felt a surge of fluid leak out. Nothing like the amount in an orgasm, and nothing at all like an orgasm, but a good little slug.

I feel like I’m in uncharted territory, and it’s still another month before she’s said I’ll be able to come again. She makes me so, so happy.

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Dipstick thinking

I’ve never been more aroused by a motor oil commercial.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mj5ms9PJDNY&fmt=18]

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Nuts!

Even now, after Belle and I have done so many things with (and to) one another over the past six months or so, I still find it difficult to tell her about some new perversion lurking deep down in my nether-psyche. There’s still a layer of embarrassment mixed with vulnerability mixed with guilt that gets dredged up alongside the revelation. No, there aren’t too many things out there that are actually new (as opposed to variations on already established themes), but even taking something we already do at one level up to the next is hard for me to talk to her about.

While I was on my trip, during the evening I couldn’t sleep, while looking at too much porn and struggling with the fact that I couldn’t relive my surging desire while simultaneously unable to stop building on that desire by looking at the fucking porn, I found myself more and more desperate for some kind of sensation.1 Had I the appropriate tools, I’d have probably gone after my ass since it can provide me with a lot of sensation. But I didn’t have the appropriate tools and nothing at hand I could press into service. All I had was my brain, my hands…and my balls.

In the past, I’ve found pleasure in the sensation of having my balls squeezed and pulled or even stung by Belle’s little flogger. Enough that I could see, through the crack of the door, that there was a larger room back there. A deeper desire for testicular torment. I suppose one could make the argument that enforced chastity is, in itself, a form of extended cock and ball torture, so it’s not much of a stretch to think someone who gets off on that would get off on other forms of CBT.

*smack* *whack* *THWACK* (Yes, it was just like an episode of Batman.)

I started smacking them around. Gently at first, but later with more force. Testicular pain is, as any guy can attest, unique. I’m not aware of any other part of the body being able to generate the same kind of sensation. Plus, it’s form changes as it becomes more intense. Low levels of force create small, localized ripples that can make you jump but are over as soon as they come into being. Ratchet up the force, and you’ll find yourself experiencing pain that reverberates through your whole body. It will radiate out of the testes, flood from head to toe, and quickly coalesce into an aching, cramping pool in the pit of your gut where it lingers. This is not the surface pain of being flogged or spanked. This is interior pain. This is reaching deep inside, to the center of one’s being, and making it hurt.

All the plastic in the area complicated the vector of attack, but also did a good job of keeping the targets together and vulnerably positioned. I found that, even in the middle of a series of steadily building smacks on either side and the resulting waves of pain crashing over me in quick succession, that I wanted it harder, more painful. Each time, after a dozen or so strikes, I’d end with a hit as hard as I could possibly bring myself to use. Then, I’d writhe on the bed, doubled over, holding gently the objects of my torment, and absolutely luxuriating in the sensation. Once the pain had fully retreated, I’d crave it all over again. Really, I craved it. I could not get enough.

I also found a certain amount of psychological interest in doing this. The idea that I would actively inflict pain on the one part of my body I’ve always been conditioned to protect – to exploit the most potent of all a man’s physical vulnerabilities – was incredibly stimulating. I was pushing myself to find my limit, to hit my most delicate body parts harder and harder each time. I’m not sure I found that limit. Each time I ended with a harder smack than the last time (and suffered through the resulting torment), but never found one that went too far, that hurt too much. In way, it was kind of scary.2

Eventually, I had to stop. The abuse had left my balls swollen, flushed with color, and aching. They ached all the next day, but not in a way that made me sorry I had done it. On the contrary, the lingering pain left me desirous of the time I’d be able to do it all over again.

And that led me to last night when I finally found the intestinal fortitude to tell Belle that I wanted her to hit my balls. I felt very vulnerable and even embarrassed. She took it in stride, though, and did her best to make me feel at ease for telling her. But then I went further and told her I was also fixated on crushing them using a physical device (like maybe this, or that – but don’t even get me started on this admittedly non-crushing yet still deliciously evil thing *swoon*).

At this, she balked. Belle’s got this thing about bringing objects into the mix of our sex (which is hard to avoid when playing with BDSM). She continues to deal with it to this day. I don’t think she’s entirely comfortable with the cuffs and straps, etc., involved in bondage and flogging. She’s resisted the introduction of a strap-on for me to use on her saying she prefers the real thing (which is sweet) even though she’s never had a high quality dildo inside her and certainly not while it was strapped to my bucking hips. She hardly ever even puts me in my collar.3

Also, there was a tone in her voice that she meant to be playful, but I heard as bordering on teasing or mocking. Not only didn’t she want to add any more accoutrement to our portfolio, but she seemed a little squicked-out by the whole crushing thing. That sent me into an immediate subby tailspin. I closed my eyes, unable to look at her.

Luckily, we worked it out. As usual, “working it out” means I gave in. Hitting, slapping, punching the testes is OK, crushing them will not happen. I have to admit that I’m not sure how I’ll approach the next revelation regarding my ever-evolving perversions. I know I need to communicate and tell her what I’m thinking and what I want, but I still fear being judged by her. It’s still very hard to unearth and expose these things that have always festered secretly inside me. I can’t say this experience helped me get past that issue, but I’m sure it was the right thing to do and a step in the right direction.

I don’t know. As long as she occasionally punches me in the balls, I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best.

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1 Desperately seeking an alternative to orgasmic release is, for me, one of the signature components of denial. It’s what leads me to find sexual satisfaction in her orgasms and powers my desire to serve her. It also leads me to try or imagine things I wouldn’t have otherwise. ↩

2 I know, I know. This is potentially dangerous stuff. Don’t worry, I have a pretty good resource and am aware of the potential issues. ↩

3 All that said, she sure does like her vibrator, doesn’t she? 😉 ↩

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Thrice

Belle let me come three time last weekend. Three times in three days (only once inside her). I feel somewhat bad for not coming over here and posting about it (and even worse that I ignored the blog all week), but the truth is, after the three orgasms, I didn’t really feel like it. Every little bit of whatever energy I use to write what I write had left me (plus, I have a very busy week at work). Not only that, but (of course) my sub reservoir was totally drained.

The first orgasm was pretty straightforward. Shortly after getting in the room, Belle and I got into bed. I fingered her to orgasm and she told me to have my way with her. For a few moments, I thought she was going to keep me waiting, but she’s excessively nice to me. My resulting orgasm came quickly and explosively.

The second time, she had me blindfolded and tied to the bed and had just abused me with the flogger, ice, and wickedly cruel nipple clamps. Again, she’s crueler in my mind and I though she might have been stroking me just to leave me edged and horny, but she kept going and I eventually came like fountain. Whatever had spurted onto her hand she smeared all over my lips. All I could do was laugh hysterically at this, though I kept my mouth clamped shut and wiped the spunk off as soon as my hand was free.

The last time was Sunday morning. She had ridden me to her own orgasm and wanted me to go too, but something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t come from underneath and had her roll over but couldn’t come from on top, either. Eventually, she let me jerk off and that felt almost as good as fucking her considering how long it had been since I had been allowed to enjoy my own hand all the way to pleasurable orgasm. Masturbation is quite unfairly derided, in my opinion. I really like it (and miss being able to do it).

The week passed with me slacking off on my duties until Wednesday when I finally confronted the mountain of laundry that had piled up. I don’t feel as though I’ve been of much service to her, partly because she’s on her period now but mostly because, as I said, all my submissive juices were juiced out of me. Yes, I’m one of those guys. I told Belle last night that I wanted us to get back into the rhythm, though. My 41-year-old libido has finally recovered from all the ejaculatory action of the weekend and I’m getting horny again. I know I said in my last post that I wanted to take a break from the dom/sub thang, and I guess we did, but mostly because I wasn’t energized and she was on the rag. I still haven’t come since then or had any sexual contact with her at all. She never released me from my servitude, though, and I’ve been faithful to her control over my sex even as the meat between my legs made it presence known this morning in a way that suggests the lizard within is starting to stir.

She’s left me out of chastity for the week, so this morning as I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, I snuck a little edging in. I’ve been counting how many times I can rapidly stroke myself before feeling the urge to come. I got up to over 120 before having to pause the first time. After a few moments of rest, I’d go again and find each time the number – unsurprisingly – got smaller. The last time, I only got to the high 30s before having to stop (and even then, a little bit leaked out). I bet I got about 400-500 strokes in. As long as she keeps me out of lock-up, I’d like to keep up this training program. I’d like to be able to stroke myself 1,000 times and not be close to coming. We’ll see how it goes.

I don’t expect to get much more time to practice, though. I leave town Monday for a three day conference and she’s said she thinks I need to be locked up before I go. Normally, business trips are an opportunity to consume porn and jack-off like a rabbit, but that was all before the new paragdim. If I’m really lucky, her period will end soon and she’ll let me service her a bit. That’ll leave me nice and worked up for the trip, and well motivated to keep up the blogging.

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I want

We leave today for our three-day, two-night, adults-only trip to the charming B&B next to a river in the boonies somewhere. Apparently, there are things to do around the B&B, but I don’t care. If it were up to me, we’d never leave the room and stay naked the entire time. It would be hour after hour of debauchery and dirty, nasty sex punctuated with occasional beatings (and maybe some sleep).

Belle has been keeping me on a pretty short leash. It’s been days since I’ve been allowed to have sexual contact and last night she told me that was on purpose. She says I need to become stronger. More motivated to see to her pleasure. That’s why she only let me massage her feet, even though she had made enough comments during the day as to my obviously desperate state to lead me to hope I’d get some action (which, of course, is code for “she gets some action”). I rubbed with abandon. At one point, I was practically masturbating her feet.

I feel as though the cock’s hard all the time now. I’m so desperate for any kind of sexual or even sensual contact and she knows it and does nothing about it. I can’t give her just a peck. When she’s near me, I want to give her deep, reaching soul kisses and I find my hands on her tits and migrating south to rub her mound through her clothes. I can feel the static sexual charge crackling up and down my spine.

This afternoon, when we’re in the room, I’d want her to tie me up and hit me. Besides the sex, I’m craving pain. I want to be tied up, hit with various objects, have my nipples clamped cruelly, the cock slapped, my balls squeezed and crushed. Oh, Jesus, I almost want to be hurt more than I want the sex. It’s been so long. I want to be tortured and used and abused. I want her to tie me up and then sit on my face until she comes. I want her to ride her cock to orgasm, but every time I get close to coming, I want her to slap my face or reach back and crush my balls. I want her to cuff me and leave me that way all night. I want to be collared. Oh god, do I want to be collared.

Then, of course, there’s my ass. Whenever I’m like this and locked-up for a while, my ass (which, for me, is a valid and available sexual organ) beckons – “Always open!” it says helpfully. She’d never do it, but I’d also like her to violate my ass while I’m tied to the bed. If we had a gag, I’d want her to put it on me so I couldn’t complain or tell her to stop (note to self: get gag). I want my ass pounded, fast – really fast – and hard until my prostate sings and my entire body burns with the feeling of it.

Can you tell? Can you tell how surreally horny I am?

But, when it’s over, when all the reservoirs of frustration are drained and I come off my hormonal high and back to earth, I just want to fuck her. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck her in the sweetest way. I want to be in her body like when we first started to date. And then I want to take a week off from all this. I want to be able to come on to her like any other man can with his wife. I want to have normal, vanilla sex a half dozen times just so the sturm und drang of denial leaves the memory of my body and my Belle gets to be just my wife for a little while.

And once that’s done, I want her to tie me, beat me, and lock me because where I am right now – seathing in my own sex – really isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

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Whimpering, doggie-style

My dog hates it when Belle beats me. I’m sure he thinks that if I’m getting the crap beat out of me, then he’s next on the list. The problem he presents is twofold. We can’t leave him outside our room because he’ll want to come in and will sit out in the hall and whine, scratch, etc., eventually waking the kids. Having him in the room is problematic since he’s a major distraction. Kinda hard to really get off on being whipped when the dog is pacing around whimpering and trying to sqeeze into places too small for him. By the time she was through working her aggression out on my ass, the dog was hiding under the bed and didn’t want to come out.

“Thumper’s Choice”, for those who are curious, involved being tied to the bed on my stomach, wrists secured by handcuffs, handcuffs strapped to the headboard, ankles separately cuffed and strapped to the footboard. I could almost raise myself up on my elbows and knees. She blindfolded me, rubbed some Icy Hot on my nuts and nipples, and proceeded to flog my ass with her little toy flogger. I call it a toy because it’s just a bunch of thin rubber cords on a plastic handle. Not the most beautiful of implements, but it was what we got at the beginning of our exploration. While it looks like a toy, it definitely does not feel like one. When she gets going with it, the resulting stinging and burning can get pretty intense. Still, I’d like to get something a little sexier.

It was a longer session that usual, though I can’t tell how long. I kind get all timeless when she’s hurting me. I know it was long enough for the Icy Hot to stop burning like a motherfucker, so maybe 30 minutes? I dunno. There were times when the combination of the burning nuts and the hard, repetitive striking of my ass was nearly more than I could handle, but the times in between were heavenly. She’d lazily brush just the ends of the flogger along my spine, over my ass, and then up between my cheeks. Just when I was grooving to the gentle sweetness of it, arching my back and raising my ass into the air, I’d hear the thin rubber strands whistle through the air a microsecond before they struck me again. She’s getting pretty good at the hitting thing. She even said she enjoyed it. Says it’s cathartic. Well, baby, you can get your catharsis out on my ass whenever you want.

Afterward, she wouldn’t let me get her off. I had to wait until last night for that. She told me to give her a back and shoulder massage (with the oil) before having me use the little pink vibrator on her. Again, not good with keeping time, but she came so hard and so fast it felt like it was over before it even got started. I have to admit, I felt somewhat cheated. Seriously, it was maybe ten seconds from the time I put the vibe against her clit and the time she started to come. Through all this, she never let me get naked – not even when we went to sleep. I wanted to. A lot. But she never gave the word. This means one of two things. One, she just forgot. I can’t explain why (trust me, I just started and erased four different attempts), but simply forgetting to allow me to do this would leave me feeling a little neglected. Kinda like forgetting to feed the dog or something. Anyway, the other option is she was purposefully withholding that permission. In which case, telling me she was doing so would have felt better, as it does whenever she demonstrates her control over me.

Speaking of which, I’m still not feeling the subby vibe. In fact, I’ve been in a funk for about a week and it’s getting funkier. I’m not panicking and questioning my entire world order as I have previously when this has happened. I’ve learned over the past four months that being flooded with all these hormones and abdicating self-determination regarding my sexual satisfaction makes me emotionally vulnerable. The slightest thing can push me into the mood I’m in right now. I know it’ll work itself out shortly. At least, I hope it will.

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One reason

There seems to be a lot of never-ending web chatter asking and discussing why men like to be denied, locked-up, etc. I can’t answer for all men, obviously, though I’ve been thinking recently about what makes me like it and I think it might apply to many other men. For me, it’s above and beyond simply being a common ground where many of my kinks come together.

Belle and I have been married for eleven years. For the past several, leading up to my infidelity, we had what the textbooks refer to as a “sexless marriage”. We did have sex, but on average less than once a month. After my infidelity and the exploration of our relationship that immediately followed, our sex life picked back up. In fact, it was better than it had been at any point in our entire marriage. Then, we got kinky.

As I’ve said before, I “discovered” my denial kink late one night while surfing the web for sex toys. I stumbled upon a site that sold chastity devices and was off to the races. Prior to that, I knew little and hardly thought about chastity, denial, or D/s. Certain elements of those things kept coming up in the porn I liked, but the inclination to engage in them never coalesced into reality. Because we were in a very open and communicative mode, it wasn’t hard for me to show Belle what I wanted to experiment with and she, because she’s wonderful, agreed to try it all out.

What has become obvious to me now is that by engaging in that kind of play – by transferring to her total control over the most basic expression of my sexuality – I have, in effect, bound her to our sex life. We can never drift apart again since, for me, she is the only way I can get any kind of sexual relief. She cannot disengage because I will always be there, horny and desperate. In effect, my denial is like a little bell tied to a fishing line indicating even the smallest change in status.

It’s not as though this is the primary purpose of our arrangement. I found chastity and denial and immediately had a deep and visceral reaction to the idea. Never did the cause and effect of it flash though my mind or even enter my conscious thought until much later. In short, I am not using this to achieve the end of keeping her engaged with me sexually. That’s just a happy side effect.

So, as I’ve read more stories on teh interwebs from men who are desperate to get their vanilla wives to plug in to their domination and denial fantasies, I can’t help but wonder how many of them are doing so, consciously or not, in order to “trick” their wives into being more involved with their sex lives. I can’t imagine anyone going so far as to bring enforced physical chastity into their relationship unless it tripped one of several kinky triggers for them, but who knows?

The bottom line is, moving in the direction that Belle and I have places a tremendous load on the woman in the relationship. Especially if she’s not instinctually dominant or sadistic. Yes, there are a lot of benefits for her, but they come at a cost. And the man gets what most men want more than anything else: A partner intricately and permanently involved in a prolonged sexual adventure.

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The nipple meat follies

Infants are wonderful, glorious, magical little creatures…who suck all sexual energy out of a person and shove it down a deep, dark hole – never to be seen again. Luckily, Belle and I are past all that now. Ours are grown sufficiently to get up by themselves and more or less deal with life while mom and dad “sleep in”. Belle’s sister and her husband, though, are still about five years, ten months out from that luxury.

Last night, they brought their two-month-old baby over to us so they could attempt reentry into adult society. While we were hanging with the little peanut, they went and sat in a bar before having a lovely meal, uninterrupted by crying babies, in a dimly lit restaurant – only to spend the entire time talking about the baby. By 10:00, they had returned, packed up, and gone back to the hellish existence called “new parenthood”.

I was thrilled because 10:00 isn’t crazy late for a Saturday and Saturday is the one night I look forward to all week long. Nine times out of ten, we have sex on Saturday night. And not just any sex. It’s usually the night we use to break out of the box and try new things. However, this Saturday night was that tenth night where, because the bouncing baby sex energy black hole had tired her out, Belle was uninterested in hanky-panky.

We should have left it at that. Sucked it up and considered it a donation to the young couple with the screaming ball of joy. But, either due to her lingering desire to please me or my pathetic, deprived posture – or some combination of the two – we did not leave it at that. Belle, bless her heart, decided to experiment some more.

Let me say right off, I am a big fan of Belle’s experimentation. I do not fault her at all for what went down. Just so we’re clear about that. You win some, you lose some. Last night was a loser.

She wanted to know if I could sleep with clothespins on my nipples (and not the wimpy wooden ones we have, but the firmer plastic kind with rubber ends for better gripping). I told her I wasn’t sure if I could, though I immediately felt trepidation. Even if I could fall asleep pinned, should I? Could I be damaged by leaving clothespins on my nipples all night? Also, was I supposed to try to keep them on all night? What if they came off? Should I put them back on? What were the rules here? I didn’t ask any of these questions, of course, because I was in my subbie painslut headspace. I dutifully got the clothespins and gave them to Belle.

Her intention was to put them on me, then go to sleep. She was tired and didn’t want to do anything but also didn’t want me to go empty handed. Very sweet, but more warning bells. Pain is not a passive plaything. Bondage can be (hell, I’ve been in bondage for over a week 24/7 if you count the CB6K), but pain requires attention. I endure it – the really strong stuff – because of her feedback. She inflicts it and I absorb it because she inflicted it and, presumably, wants me to absorb more. The idea that she’d set me up then roll over and go to sleep just felt wrong. And I should have said that. But I didn’t.

So, on went the plastic clamps. She’s figured out that by not grabbing a big hunk of nipple meat she can make it hurt more. She pinches just enough to hold on and that creates a more intense pain. I reacted immediately. It felt really good and I got pretty hard. She was touching me, asking me how it felt. It was all great. But then she started to drift off. She knew I wasn’t in the right place and asked what my score was, but I answered with the pat, “I want to do what you want me to do,” line. She wanted me to sleep with clamped nipples. OK, I’ll do that. But I knew it was not going to be good.

I actually did skate pretty close to sleep a few times, but the clamps kept my brain anchored to wakefulness. Belle, eventually, started breathing deeply and regularly. Then I felt neglected. The pain turned that corner from warm and pleasant to harsh and mean. It wasn’t feeling good any more. Since she was out for the next eight or nine hours, I was in limbo. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to fall asleep. Should I lay there for hours awake and hating it? Should I wake her up and ask her what to do? Should I just take the friggin’ things off, roll over, and go to sleep? No option seemed good.

It says something about the state I can get in that I felt paralyzed by the options before me. I did nothing for a long time because none of them seemed like the right way to go. I didn’t want to disappoint her, I didn’t want to disobey her, I didn’t want to bother her. Of course, I removed them. I rolled over onto my stomach and felt bad. Belle, asleep, instinctively moved her hand to touch my side when she felt my movement, but she didn’t wake up. I could have cried. I felt like shit.

The important and good thing from this experience is that I was able to talk to her about it this morning. We both know now why that didn’t work. We know where not to go in the future. As long as we’re always moving forward and learning new things, I’m perfectly fine with the occasional potholes.

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The organ of the dominant paradigm

I wasn’t going to write about this. It seems as though I’ve been running over here to tell everyone each time we have sex and, I suppose, that would get a little tiresome after a while. I mean seriously, who wants to sound like that guy in high school who told you each and every time a chick let him get to third base?

I wasn’t going to, but I figured out an angle – a way to use what happened to make a point. And my point is, last night we had terrific, mind expanding, deeply satisfying sex and at no time whatsoever were any penises involved in any way. Just the idea of that kind of blows my mind. Never would I have said such an thing could be possible four months ago.

It started in the kitchen. I was throwing together dinner and I think Belle was emptying the dish washer when she slapped my ass with a spatula. Even though it was through my sweats, it kind of stung. She was just fooling around, but when she saw my apparent interest in the sensation (I think I grabbed the granite and bit my lower lip), she did it again. And again and again. Ouch. But, you know, in the good way. She had previously said that that night she was going to do something painful to me, but hadn’t really settled in on what it was going to be. A few seconds swinging a spatula and she knew. That night, she was going to hit me on the ass with a kitchen utensil.

She hasn’t really hit me all that much and never on the ass. Yeah, she’s bitten me there (fucking awesome) and scratched and dug her nails into it, but never hit me. I’ve very much wanted to be hit there and, lucky for me, she found something she wanted to hit me with. Apparently, she finds it amusing that such a common item could be used for such an uncommon purpose. I told her we could find kinky shit to do with all kinds of stuff, if that’s what she wanted.

So, of course, I’m thinking about getting whacked with the spatula all during dinner. Afterward, while I was cleaning up and she was lounging on the couch in front of the fire, I went to her. I needed to kneel there and just be close. The idea of being hurt by her always makes me the most submissive I can be and so I wanted to be near her and show her how grateful I was for what she was going to do. I feel like there’s a room I go to when she’s abusing me and, when I know it’s coming, I kind of stand in the doorway – half in and half out, a foot on each side. And that’s where I was there, kneeling on the floor. Standing on the threshold of my secret room of pain.

Later, in the bedroom, candles all lit and semi-dark, I felt a trembling anticipation. I had placed the spatula on her nightstand (she let me pick which one she’d use). I got up to make sure the kids were both asleep and came back in and closed the door behind me. She told me to strip. I did and stood there naked before her wearing nothing but my chastity device. I’m quite self-conscience of it when I’m like that and the feeling layered on top of the knowledge that I was about to be hurt. I climbed back onto the bed and again, without even thinking about, put myself in a very submissive posture – face down, ass up, rubbing my head up against her torso. I was as deep into the headspace as I can get.

She ran her hands along my back and up and over my ass. At first, gentle caresses, then light scratching, then, suddenly, hard, deep scratching. She raked her nails from my ass all the down my back to my neck, then would pick a spot and dig her nails into me deeply. I whimpered into the sheets and she switched back to the gentle before attacking again with the harsh. She had me on edge and jumpy, hurting me randomly in a way I hadn’t been expecting.

Then she picked up the utensil and moved into position. At first, she hit me lightly getting me used to it. Even then, it stung more than I thought it would. Beforehand, I asked her to eventually hit me as hard as she could just to see what the worse could feel like. It didn’t take her long to get there. Left cheek, right cheek, left, right, left, left, left. She’d rain down a quick series of blows, then stop and stroke the burning surface of my ass with the cold, flat black plastic. I probably would have dealt better had I been tied down. As it was, I writhed and whimpered and cried out with each hard thwack.

At first, it was very hard to take. I liked it, but it was so intense. Much more than I’m used to or was expecting. I didn’t think of asking her to stop, but it was getting difficult to imagine it continuing. After a few minutes, she asked me how I was doing. Was I OK? Long pause. Yes, I was fine. The hitting continued. My ass was stinging and I could feel it radiating heat. At some point, I felt myself start to draw away from the intensity of the pain. It still hurt, but the harsh jagged edges of it were smoothing out. Just as it seemed I was settling in for the long haul, she stopped.

We laid there, kissing, my eyes closed and ass on fire. She asked how I felt. I said I felt like getting hit some more. But she was tired, so it was over for the night. And seriously, I basked. In whatever chemical afterglow follows that kind of punishment, I laid there and wallowed in it. I can’t put into words how it felt. Kind of like after an orgasm, but not. Different. Higher. Warmer. I don’t know. But how I love my Belle for taking me there.

After that, it was more typical of our recent sessions. I gave her a back and shoulder massage with the scented oil while my ass kept up it’s pleasant throbbing sting. Once she had had enough rubbing, she turned over and I used Pink, the little vibe that could, to bring her to orgasm (preceded with multiple soft yet forceful exclamations of “oh god” in quick succession – that was a nice touch). Afterward, she giggled saying the residual sensation of the vibe tickled.

It wasn’t until this morning that I realized we never, not once, even touched the cock during the entire scene. It simply wasn’t a factor, yet I was more than satisfied and she had a terrific orgasm. They can’t all go down like that, of course (she’s too big a fan of her cock), but to be able to pull it off not only absent the organ at the focus of the dominant paradigm’s version of sex but without even considering it is awesome.

Maybe it’s time for a new paradigm.