Tag: kink

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She bit my ass

Oh yes, she did. She let me out of the device and then bit the fuck out of my ass. Hard. And it was good. She had me naked and on my stomach – unrestrained as she was all flummoxed from packing, etc., for the trip and just wanted a quickie – and started going to town with her teeth on my exposed, white ass. Oh, sweet mother of god, I love the biting. It is the best. And did I mention I wasn’t allowed to talk or make noise? Guess what. I did make noise. There’s no way not to. It was just so crazy painful wonderful amazing. I’d start to rise off the bed and my newly liberated balls and hard cock would hang under me in a way I had almost forgotten they could and she’d reach in there and squeeze those little melons like she as trying to make them pop. *deep breath*

She wouldn’t take anything in return. Just some kissing. My reptilian sex monster had risen (the one that eats little subbie rabbits for breakfast) and every cell in my body wanted to take her and fuck her into a quivering orgasmic puddle and – oh yes – I wanted to come all over her. I wanted to spew forth in the most manly of manly ways and demonstrate to the whole world exactly how manly those ways were…but she said no. No, I wouldn’t. She drowned Godzilla in a pool of cool feminine control and then shoved him into his cave and rolled the boulder back to seal him in. And now he’s sitting in there – inside the deepest pit of my pits – glowering at her. Plotting.

At one point, before she chewed me up, she said I was like a race horse who could see the track in front of him and wanted to run…but who she wouldn’t let out of the gate. The cock I gave her was so hard, so ready, and so badly in need of attention and she barely touched it. Never stroked it. It’s as if it wasn’t even there. All that existed were her teeth in my ass and her absolute control over my reptilian sex monster.

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Personal Jesus, the second coming

Wow, how many people have I insulted in how many ways with that title?

There were some really great comments in Personal Jesus that I wanted to address, so I’m moving them out here so I can do so more publicly.

First up was Dev who said:

I think the suffering thing is one of the hardest for the dominant partner to deal with, even if the dominant partner happens to be a sadist (like me). Because to really push the suffering can mean really taking the partner somewhere that they really do not want (in the moment) to go, but are deeply thrilled by. It takes a lot of trust to know that this is really all right. It takes a lot of times of them coming back later and telling you how awesome it was for them.

I have seen a change in Belle’s behavior regarding the suffering as we’ve gone along. Before any of my sexual oddities became clearly known, she always knew I liked a little pain in my sex. She’d twist my nipples or scratch my back and it was all good, but it never really hurt. She was holding back because I’m sure she didn’t know how much pain I really wanted or could take. Now, she’s freaking medieval with both her use of nails and when she abuses my nipples. After each event, I have been careful to tell her exactly how much I liked what she had done and, as best I could, describe how much pain she had inflicted. She’s become quite adept at making my nipples scream and knows the tender places into which she should dig her nails. She has, on several occasions, really hurt me which, of course, I adore. A newer thing for us now is CBT. With that, we’re about where we were with the nipples three months ago. Each time, she hurts me a little more, but she hasn’t yet crossed my limit. And don’t even get me started with the biting. I get positively weak in the knees, the way she bites me.

Then Tom Allen said:

[I]f you want to suffer, then how can you really call it suffering? And if Belle doesn’t care one way or the other about it, then you’re going to feel that she’s doing it simply to satisfy you.

I can’t really answer that first question. It’s a conundrum. As I said above, I’ve always enjoyed a little pain in my sex, but to truly suffer – to be taken to the edge and beyond – I think that’s different. I can’t say why exactly, but I want to suffer for her. I want something above a dash of painful spice. And it’s reciprocal. I want to feel it from her and for her. This is altogether different than anything I’ve expressed or desired before.

And as far as figuring out what to do if she never really enjoys it and is only doing it for me, I guess I’d respond that everyone in a relationship does things like that (or should). It’s a give and take and while I need to be prepared to do for her things I know she likes that I don’t particularly care for, I expect she’ll do the same for me. And I need to get over the fact that she’s not enjoying it as much as me. My Belle is the personification of the good, giving, and game partner, as I also try to be for her.

Tom went on to say:

Ms. Rika has an interesting take on this – she writes (her website has been hijacked) that it’s more important for her to find what she wants, and to dominate from that perspective. Later, when she’s more comfortable, she can “reward” you by doing things that make you feel good, simply because one acknowledges that partners should make a point in pleasing each other a little bit, as long as it’s not too far out of their comfort zones.

I think that’s a very sensible approach and one I think we should work on. I want Belle to find the vector into this that rings her bell. I will endeavor to be patient while we find that path.

You need to stop feeling disappointed that she doesn’t “get” what you get; and start supporting what she does get. Remember, you’ve had years and years to develop your twisted, perverted fantasies; she needs time to catch up.

Maybe I sound disappointed on the blog, but I’m really not. I appreciate so much what Belle’s been willing to try and how much she has given me in a relatively short time. I do get impatient but it’s because I’m so damned horny all the time. I’m not a patient person to begin with. Mix in some hormones and it’s even worse. Nevertheless, I know I’m a very lucky man to have such a mate.

Then Dev came back and said:

One thing I’d recommend – and since I don’t know either of you, this could be totally horrible advice, but that’s what you go to the Internet for, right? – is that you be really, really open to hearing from Belle the truth about her own personal experiences. Use your very best encouragement and just handle whatever you hear back. And do this often, like all the time.

I’m doing this. At least, I think I’m doing this. At least, I’m trying to do this. I’ll ask her to make sure I’m doing this.

I remember pretty early in my relationship with Jos, we were lying in bed and he asked me what I wanted to do. I couldn’t figure out the answer, because the question I was actually asking myself was, “What would be [from an outside or ‘objective’ perspective] sexy to do next?” And then suddenly I realized that, no, I can just do what I actually want to, and it will be all right.

That must sound really basic and messed-up not to “get” but it actually took trust for me to promote my own wishes in bed rather than thinking of it from some overview perspective about what is sexy or right or good to do, etc. Having a partner who encouraged honesty was a big deal in that process.

Who am I to criticize someone for not getting something obvious? This whole blog has been an exploration of me figuring out otherwise obvious things.

So did Jos do anything to help you come to that realization or did you get there all on your own? I agree that women are socialized to consider the needs of others before theirs, even in bed, but I really want Belle to do what she wants first and primarily. This is very hard for her. She’s been brought up in an environment that was about putting others first. When it comes to our sex, I want it to be about her first, second, and third.

I read what I just wrote and realize I need to fight the urge within me to want to be treated unfairly and to suffer. I need sexual gratification. I need it to be about me every once in a while. I know that. I’m not saying I want to live some kind of malesub porn fantasy where she brings me out to worship her pussy every night and then kicks me to the floor when she’s done. No, not that or anything like it. I do, though, want our sex to be about her mostly and for most of the time.

It’s one thing to try (for instance) beating someone. It’s another thing to know that you’re going to have to claim that you liked it, or that you insist on it, or that it wasn’t for them at all but for yourself. You (the dom) should be able to actually just do it, and then reflect on how it was for you, and be honest if it didn’t work.

I agree. But what’s my role as the sub? Am I allowed to ask for things that she doesn’t like? Or should I just accept what works for her and move on? This is the tricky bit for me because I’ve never been submissive before in anything. I have no idea what the rules are. I said above that I assumed we should continue to do for each other things we know the other likes, even those things we may not be individually thrilled with. Does that continue to apply in a D/s dynamic? Should she do things she’s OK with mostly because I like them?

I don’t know. This is getting to be a ridiculously long comment.

And that’s turned into a rediculously long post in response to your rediculously long comment! Regardless, thank you both so much for your thoughts. I really appreciate them.

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A good scene

Last night went a long way towards defrosting the prolonged funk I’ve been in. It started with Belle making a nice little orange roughy dinner (they’re ugly, but they taste good). After the kids ran off in all directions, she told me what was in store for me later if I did a good job cleaning up the kitchen and dishes.

I’ve mentioned previously that the whole domestic side of D/s hasn’t really manifested for us, but as she was sitting on the couch in front of the fire reading the paper and watching me clear the settings and wash the dishes, etc., she told me that she could see how some women get turned on by making their men work for sex. She also said that she was sure I’d rather she get turned on by making me do things in the bedroom, but really, I found that her getting turned on turned me on. She was relating how it got her going watching me work for the privilege of being sexually tortured by her and I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel the cock start to plump in my pants. Needless to say, with that as my encouragement, I took to my labors with greater vigor. Occasionally, I’d look up to see her watching me, a sly smile on her face. I remained plump while the kitchen looked better with every passing moment.

Laying in bed later, she instructed me to check to make sure the kids were out. They were, so she further instructed me to close the bedroom door and take off my clothes. Five milliseconds later, I was beside her, stripped, in our enclosed environment. She started to touch me and I whimpered. It was all very sweet and gentle, but it’s been ten days so a little was going a long way, if you know what I mean.

She then laid out the evening’s activities. First, I was to lay on my back. Then, she was going to affix plastic clothespins to my nipples (where they would remain for the duration or what would follow). Then, she was going to torture me with small baggies filled with ice cubes. After that, I was to give her a back and neck massage before bringing her to orgasm with my fingers. Finally, through it all, after I said my phrase of subservience, I would not be allowed to make any sounds whatsoever (except for those sounds made by breathing). I would not speak again until the next morning. That was the worst. Being quiet is really hard for me.

Now, if you get around the blogosphere, the preceding might sound familiar. In fact, Dev just posted about a similar scene between she and Jos. I recognized the similarities, but wasn’t complaining. This was exactly the kind of thing I wanted her to do, so who gives a shit where the idea came from? As Picasso once said, great artists steal. Yay for stealing! I said my phrase and laid on my back.

Emotionally, I felt myself descending into subspace. I realized I hadn’t been there much since my little freak-out and its warm envelopment was like salve for my psyche. I was placing myself under her control and it felt good.

She started by attaching the plastic clothespins. We’ve got a couple of nipple torture devices and these clothespins have the lowest level of intensity. I was somewhat disappointed that she was using these since, a minute after she put them on me, I stopped feeling them. It was like they weren’t there. After those were on, she started touching the cock and balls and stroking my inner thighs and stomach. It was all very soothing as I laid there, eyes partially closed, hands unsecured but holding onto the headboard above me.

Suddenly, she grabbed, squeezed, and pulled on my scrotum. Not allowed to make noise, all I could do was suck in my breath and hold it while she crushed my balls. She let go and let me lay there for a few moments before placing the first sack of ice on my scrotum. The shock of the feeling was intense. SO COLD. She just let it lay there and I could feel the cold sensation start to turn into a burning one as my balls tried to crawl up into my torso to escape the ice. I started to ache from the cold. Finally, she removed the ice and traced lines up and across my body with it. She let both of them rest on my nipples while she started to stroke the cock. Slowly at first, but with greater speed and intensity. Normally, it’s difficult to make me come this way, but I could feel semen start to boil in me. She backed off and removed the ice.

I laid there slowly writhing as the various sensations faded. My balls were still very cold and I closed my legs to help them warm. I shifted my closed legs away from Belle, but she grabbed the one closest and roughly pulled it back to her, forcing my legs back open. I wanted to moan, but bit my lip and tried to steady my breathing.

She started to run her hands over my legs and across the cock and balls again. It felt nice, but I was wary and knew the pain would be coming again. At one point, she made a motion with her hand that made me flinch and I realized I was scared of what was about to happen. I laughed at the thought. She didn’t really seem to have a plan, but I was nonetheless dangling at the end of her string. It was wonderful.

After a little while of this kind of treatment, she eventually ended up with both bags of ice on either side of the scrotum and the base of the still-hard cock as she treated it to long, insistent stroking. I again felt the orgasm building within me. I also felt the ring in the PA piercing start to hurt with the abuse, but I couldn’t talk. I moved my hand in to try to give her the message that it hurt, but she slapped it away. Now what? It hurt, but not so bad that I couldn’t take it. I felt that saying something would break the magic of the moment, but wasn’t I supposed to make any serious discomfort known? As I debated all this in my head, the growing realization of my impending orgasm loomed large. I was confused. Did she want me to come? She sure was putting her all into it and I was making it quite clear though body language of where we were heading. I started to actively fight the orgasm, bearing down on it and trying, through force of will, to keep it in me. The ice on my aching scrotum seared while the cock was hard and it took everything in me to keep from coming all over both of us.

Suddenly, she stopped. I was left panting, reeling from how close she took me. She took one bag of ice and placed it over the throbbing erection and ran the other all over my body before slapping it against my balls. Eventually, she removed the bags and ran her hands all over me in a soothing way. She was bringing me calmly back to earth. There was the matter of the clothespins to deal with, but they were so gentle I barely knew they were there. She brought her hand up to my right nipple and ripped the fucking pin off. Oh. My. God. Then she did the same to the left nipple. Holy fuck. That hurt. Then, as the blood rushed back in, they started to fucking throb. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing, but that was bloody brilliant.

After a brief transition period where I cupped my poor, abused nipples it was time for the massage. I straddled her ass and rubbed the oil into her neck and shoulders. The cock was hard again and nestled between her ass cheeks, pointing up her spine. I gyrated my hips and ground my balls into her. I desperately wanted to fuck her at that moment and had to stop and place my head on her back. After regaining my composure, I poured my desire into her neck with my hands. Eventually, I went too far and she used her safeword (“ouch”), so I backed down.

Her orgasm was of the manual variety, but I so badly wanted to bury my face in her pussy. She came as usual and then, after letting me lay my head on her stomach for a minute or two, she rolled over and went to sleep. I was mute through the entire event.

I laid there, hard and horny, yet also drowsy and satisfied. She had taken me very deeply into my subspace. Maybe deeper than ever before. She had really tortured me, made me truly uncomfortable, and pushed me to the edge of composure. It was a terrific experience. Yes, it would have been nice to have been bound and wearing my collar, but I loved all of it. This morning, I awoke and still felt the submissiveness lingering within me.

Yep, all in all, a good scene. A really, really good scene.

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Emotional vomit

It’s been too long since my last post. One reason for this is that we were up at the cabin for the long weekend and, as I’ve said before, there’s no internet up there. The other reason is that I’ve been kind of in a funk and didn’t really know what to write, even if I could.

It started over week ago. Belle and I were laying on the bed and she said something that caused me to ask her why I was locked up. Funny that I can’t remember how I came to be asking her that, but it’s been so long that the details are getting kind of fuzzy. In any event, she said it was because I wanted to be denied. Yes, that’s technically true, but in fact, I would have rather heard it was because she wanted me to be locked up. The moment passed, but it kind of gnawed at me for the rest of the evening until later that night when she said, innocently enough, that she didn’t want all this stuff about denial and chastity and yada yada to be all that we ever talked about. She wanted some balance.

A couple of things. One, I was trying to give her balance before she said that. I know that I think about it and want to talk about it more than she does. I think that’s natural. For one, I’m a male and think about sex, like, all the time. For another, being a sexually frustrated and an “orgasmically challenged” male makes me think about it all the fucking time. But really, what most struck me about her comment wasn’t that. It was that this whole new twist to our sex life isn’t really about us as much as it was about me. That is, I feel as though I’m “coming out” to both her and myself regarding this side of my sexuality that’s been bottled up for so long. Yes, it’s also about us and our relationship, but not entirely. So, when she said she wanted balance and not to have to talk to me about all this sex stuff so much, it sounded like she didn’t want to deal with me and everything I was discovering and exploring about myself. No, that’s not what she meant, but it’s what I heard. It played perfectly into my own self-doubts. I lost it.

For a couple of days, I was a total disaster. Every time we talked about it, I cried. Not just a little. I fucking sobbed. Inconsolable. I really don’t know where all that was coming from, but I can still feel it within me. It’s as if all my insecurities fused together to form some kind of emotional shark that never stops swimming just beneath the surface of my psyche. It’s unnerving enough to be unearthing all kinds of new urges and desires, but to do it along side your wife of eleven years who, it turns out, doesn’t have any of the same proclivities is really, really hard. At least it is for me. Nothing she said was meant to reject or marginalize me or my feelings, but it all felt that way. As someone who is typically quite confident and who approaches life accordingly, this has been a difficult set of feelings to come to terms with.

At the end of our conversations, we decided that maybe limiting me to three orgasms this year was way, way too aggressive. Not only would that make it very hard for me to give her the balance she was looking for, it would also place a lot of responsibility on her shoulders in dealing with me and my constantly needy and sexually charged state. To be able to successfully take that on would require that she actually enjoy it and I just don’t think she does. Not enough, anyway. I’ve asked that we target ten more orgasms and see how that goes. If, as we go along, we want to take that number down, I’m all for it, but to jump right to three seems crazy for both of us.

So then, since I was such an emotional wreck, she took me out of the CB-6000. Not only that, she allowed me to have sex with her and I came. The actual orgasm was intense – almost too intense to be pleasurable. I found afterward that I wasn’t very happy about having come. I almost felt a sense of mourning for the period of denial I had achieved and let slip by. As if the coming was just a punctuation on my failure and bizarre fetishes.

ARGH. I hate this post. I hate how it shows how much doubt and insecurity I carry around and how uncertain I am about who I am and how to make that work in my marriage. I have a wonderful, supportive wife and yet I’m still kind of a wreck about all this. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. Not for the first or last time, I wish I could just be fucking normal. Whatever normal is.

I should not even post this. I should delete it. But I feel like I need to emotionally vomit before I can start blogging again and I guess that’s what this post is: my projectile vomiting of all my inner demons upon you, my unknown reader. God, I fucking hate feeling like I’m not even sure I am what I think I am. I’ve been here before. Back when I was struggling with my bisexuality and not thinking you could be such a thing. But that was primarily a private struggle. Now I’m married with kids and a house and a dog and an expensive car and everything. Back in the day, I could withdraw. But not now. Now, I have to deal with it.

Someone please slap me across my face and tell me to snap the fuck out of it.

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Three times

Saturday afternoon, we successfully extracted Belle Fille from the regional airport. She’d spent the better part of a full day coming back from the other side of the world and felt like it. We whisked her home and shortly had her soaking in a hot, sudsy bath.

One of my favorite non-sexual ways to service her is to wash her hair. I don’t do it like they do at the salon. For me, getting her hair clean is secondary to the main event which is to massage her scalp, neck and shoulders and spend as much time as possible just touching her. I sit behind so I have full access, but I have to be careful since I have strong hands and she prefers a firm yet gentle touch. In any event, after I had washed and rinsed and had just finished applying the conditioner, I was cradling her head by holding her along the jawline just under her ears. I was experiencing the greatest urge to reach down and touch her naked body. My fingers remembered the feel of her pussy and I knew I could be there in seconds. There was a time when I would have done just that, but I resisted. I resisted even reaching down and touching her breasts which were bobbing there, half covered in bubbles and water. I just sat there, holding her, my head down, and let all these desires resonate within me. I wanted her badly, and she knew it.

“I used Pink three times while I was gone,” she said quietly.

That got my attention. My head snapped up. “What?”

“Three times,” she repeated. “I used Pink three times.”

I had several opportunities to talk to her over the course of her trip and she never said anything about this. She told me how busy and tired and stressed she was so I assumed she never got around to it. Assumed and not surprised. But no! She did. Three times. The realization of this flooded through me. She, of course, has no restrictions against sexual pleasure of any kind. I suffered while she was gone, unable to sleep or think about anything but her, while she was half a world away with a vibe sticking out of her pussy. The searing inequity of our predicaments burned and delighted me.

—

Saturday night, she was finally next to me in bed. Finally, I could turn over and see her there. My former self, feeling what I was feeling, would have been nothing but hard-charging hands, but this new me just laid there, smiling, and taking the occasional kiss.

Her lips. Oh, god, her lips. Knowing as I did that I was not going to archive orgasm that night – indeed, that I wouldn’t even come out of the CB-6000 – everything else about her was amplified in my mind. The touch of her lips on mine was exquisite. The smell of her breath, the taste of her mouth…all of these details that might normally be missed or minimized on the way towards the inevitability conclusion of the past became my entire reason for being there. Her. All of her. And whatever she wanted or needed.

It’s cliche, of course, but life with orgasm denial is about the journey, not the destination. It’s about driving the slower, scenic route instead of the highway or deciding to cross the country via rail instead of jet plane. Slower travel means greater anticipation for the arrival, but it also means taking the time to absorb the dozens of little details from along the way and letting them – the small pleasures – accumulate and outweigh the one that’s big, simple, and selfish. So I smelled her, felt her, tasted her, and loved every fiber of her – all through my lips.

Eventually, she told me to get naked. I did and embraced her fully, feeling her body against mine – finally! – and pressed into her the hard plastic that had become my manhood. We kissed even more passionately and I felt pressure build in the tube. She started to claw me. Driving her nails into the flesh around my groin, raking them across my back, ribs, and ass. Twisting, pulling, and stretching my nipples. Heavenly. Finally, she took firm hold of my trapped scrotum and began to squeeze it hard while chewing on my neck. The flood of sensory input quickly overloaded me and I actually screamed blissful agony into her pillow. She stopped and I collapsed, panting, glowing, warm with her abuse.

After I collected myself, I said, “Funny, I imagined something sweet and gentle on your first night back.”

“Starting now, it will be,” and she pulled up her top.

Cutting to the chase, I don’t think I’ve ever felt her wetter. Using my hands (and wishing they were my mouth), she started to make sounds like she was coming. They went on and on. Minutes ticked by. Eventually, it ended with a flushed, exhausted crescendo.

Hang it from an aircraft carrier, boys: Mission accomplished.

—

Sunday night and I’m making dinner while she sips her wine and reads Denying Thumper at the bar. She hasn’t spent much time looking at all the thousands of words I wrote for her while she was gone. Too busy, she says. Fine, I think. Not that it would have taken much time, but I guess I’d rather be here with her when she sees first sees them. Nervously, I watch her for reaction. Whenever she give little laugh, I ask, “What?” I walk behind her to see where she is. The waiting is killing me.

When she gets the end of the last entry, she’s crying. I’ve moved her. I come around and hold her and kiss her and thank her for being with me, even though I’m annoyingly complicated and high maintenance. She says I’m her favorite person in the word and she isn’t a big fan of simplicity, anyway.

After dinner, I ask to be released for hygiene purposes. We’re in the bathroom and I’ve got my encased unit exposed, waiting for the key, when she pulls my head down by the hair and just looks into my eyes. She’s waiting for something. Ouch. What is it? Oh! I tell her my phrase, the one that reaffirms my purpose and position. She releases my hair and unlocks the device.

“Tonight, you’re going to rub my back and massage my feet and then I’m going to sleep, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After the cleaning, I bring the lock back to her. She likes to be the one to make it click. We’re in our room and she’s got me by the hair again. Quicker on the on uptake this time, I say the magic phrase and she locks me up. Without warning, she has me by the balls. Really, she’s got my poor, stretched balls in her grip and she’s pulling HARD.

“How was the shower?”

I’m processing the question and the pain at the same time. I don’t really answer as much as I utter an incoherent sound.

“How. Was. The. Shower?” SQUEEZE.

“GOOD! It was good, thanks,” and she releases me.

“That’s nice,” as she leaves the room.

Finally, later that evening, after the massaging is over and she’s smelling of scented oil and is all rubbery and relaxed, I ask her about my release schedule. Was she serious about three times in 2009? No, not exactly. Three more times is what she meant.

I will get to come three more times this year.

I shudder at the thought. The chastity tube instantly starts to throb painfully. Three times. For real. I will only have three more orgasms all fucking year. I’m turned on and terrified. Can I do this? I’m babbling and fumbling and scared as hell while trying to process that yes, for real, she’s serious. She will come and come and I will…wait.

“I know you’re always trying to be an over-achiever,” she says, not incorrectly. “This’ll give you something to blog about, won’t it?”

Fucking christ. What have I done?

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Milkshake

Over on FetLife, a member called tiger posted this in a thread about milking:

How do you feel different before and after you’ve been milked? How much is enough? What are the objectives exactly? I’m not even clear on that. Is it just to reduce the volume of stored fluid for the sake of prostatic health? It’s also a very dominant, very beautiful act of removing a man’s control over such a quintessentially male thing. I imagine it would make me feel more submissive. What more is it supposed to do?

I think his questions get to the heart of why this is something I want Belle to do to me. I have milked myself a few times now and understand the physiological impact, but it’s allure is more than that.

Physically, I do feel a lessening of pressure when the semen is released. It’s not a pressure I can even say I was cognizant of before it was gone. Maybe it’s more a feeling of the absence of something. In no way does milking make me less aroused. Quite the contrary. The last time I did it, I couldn’t get enough and was much hornier afterward. And that, even though Belle has never said I couldn’t milk myself, is why I feel I need to ask that it be something we share. I felt like I was receiving too much pleasure from it. No, I wasn’t having an orgasm, but the pleasure I received felt like a violation of the spirit of our arrangement.

Tiger absolutely hits on the psychological trigger for me. It’s the “act of removing a man’s control over such a quintessentially male thing”. To be denied even the fleeting satisfaction of a ruined orgasm. To reduce the passage of semen from my body to an almost clinical act that I have no control over after she’s denied me and teased me and stoked within me such a bonfire of desire. So unfair. So unsatisfying. Especially when you layer on how doing it increases my frustration. On the list of things she can do to me that embody the domination I wish for her to embrace, there are few more powerful.

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Dominate me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, and bondage so far. This time, domination.

—

Belle,

Of all the topics I’ve covered so far, this one is the hardest for me to express what I want. Hard because I’m still trying to get my head around exactly how dominated I want to be (or how far you’re willing to go). Hard also because some of the things I’m going to suggest below are embarrassing for me to say out loud, let along in public (even in this anonymous forum). Regardless, you told me I had to write these things down, so here they are.

  • Domestics. I’ve already discussed how domestic domination isn’t really my cup of tea. I’d make a terrible housemaid and, truth be told, being treated like one doesn’t do much for me. That being said, I think tying the prospect of sexual activity – especially activity that’s centered on my pleasure – to household tasks is fair game. Such as, accomplish everything on this list and maybe I’ll get tied up and flogged later. Or, you’ll ruin an orgasm for me later if I just let you sit there and enjoy your wine by the fire while I put the kids to bed. Or, if I fail to put my dirty clothes and shoes away properly just once you will deny me the right to give you an orgasm in any way for a week. That sort of thing.
  • Body service. Anything that lets me pleasure your body, even in non-sexual ways, is terrific. I love it when you let me wash your hair. I love the sensual aspect of massaging your scalp, neck and shoulders. I love how you’re right there, all naked and covered in sweet-smelling bubbles while I’m clothed and only able to grind against the side of the tub (assuming I’m not in chastity). You should make me rub your feet with lotion and give you whole-body massages more often. I know how much you like them. You can leave me clothed if you’re worried about me getting overly aroused (again, assuming I’m not in chastity). Also, we need to set up a regular schedule for maintaining your trim.
  • Subjugation. I often don’t act as though I’ve given you control over my sex. I get too pushy or come on too strong. I think it’s appropriate for me to let you know how horny I am or how badly I want to make you happy, but sometimes I cross the line. I’d like you to remind me more often what I need or want is secondary to what you want. The phrase you make me say is a good start. You could make it more effective by making me say it while you put my collar around my throat. Or, you could make me repeat it over and over while you pleasure or torture me. If I stop, you stop. Maybe I should say it each time you hit my ass with the brush. I also think you should make me bow my head or in some other way show my sexual subservience to you. Make me kneel at the bedside and/or suck your toes for an arbitrary length of time. Make me hold a submissive position for longer than is comfortable, perhaps while you pleasure yourself.
  • Humiliation. I know how much you love me and how much you enjoy what I do to you in bed, but a little humiliation wouldn’t be so bad now and then. Tell me when you feel I’m not giving you an optimal sexual experience. Harshly criticize my performance. Tell me perhaps I’m not up to it or that I don’t take my service to you seriously enough. If I don’t shape up, maybe I’ll lose access to your body for a week or stay locked and without orgasm for another month. Tell me how much bigger than me the dildo is and how much more intense the pleasure you get from Pink is. Feel free to exaggerate anything and use it against me. Or, figure out something I really don’t want to do, then make me do it. I like how it accentuates the imbalance of power and plays on my unfairness trigger.
  • Discomfort. When you want me to fuck you to orgasm, make me do so while also sucking on your nipples. If I can do it too easily, make me do it while my hands are tied behind my back or the chain between my cock ring and collar is a little too short. When I’m laying next to you paying attention to your nipples, stop putting a pillow under my head. Have no fear of telling me to hold positions that will make me uncomfortable. Straddle my mouth and tell me to lick your pussy. Grind into my face if it feels good to you. If I can’t breath, I’ll eventually let you know.
  • Collar me. Whenever we’re going to engage in a dom/sub session, collar me. However, don’t let me wear it otherwise. I should only associate it with being submissive to you.
  • Rat me out. Related to humiliation, I fantasize that you’ll one day tell someone we both know that you dominate me sexually. That you orgasm many, many times more often than me and that I’m not allowed to come without your permission (which is seldom given). That you make me wear a chastity device for weeks at a time and how eventually my frustration becomes so great that semen just leaks out of me due its excessive accumulation in my prostate. That you can make me do anything if I’ve been denied long enough. And that I love it and wouldn’t have it any other way.

As I’ve said to you before, I have hesitated to say these things so frankly to you for fear of being prescriptive. Yes, I fantasize of being dominated by you, but if you do it only because I want you to, then the fantasy falls apart. I’ve seen how the control you’ve demonstrated over my orgasms has turned you on. I know you enjoy seeing me frustrated and horny. I know that you enjoy the elevated level of attention I give you. I only hope you can see the same kind of potential for your pleasure that exists in what I’ve written above and will use it in a way you enjoy. Because if you don’t enjoy it, neither will I.

Yours in very way,
Thumper

Posted on

Bind me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial and pain so far. Today, bondage.

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Belle,

Bondage is tricky since, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a means to an end. That is, bondage in an of itself is enjoyable, but it’s usually performed in combination with another activity. For example, ruining an orgasm through overstimulation probably would require I be secured since the sensation will be difficult for me to endure otherwise. Bondage can also be employed as an added spice to something that wouldn’t normally require it. Using my cock to pleasure yourself is wonderful, but being tied down while you ride it to orgasm is even more wonderful since it makes me feel like even more of a tool.

With that in mind, here’s a list of some things related to bondage that I’m interested in:

  • Rope. So far, we’ve used cuffs and straps to bind me, but the idea of being tied up with soft, black rope is even more arousing. The straps and cuffs are very effective and efficient, but can also come off as somewhat utilitarian. Taking the time to wrap me with rope is a sensual act. Also, rope can be used to bind me in so many different ways. Yes, it’s more complicated and yes, it’ll take time to learn, but it’s so HOT.
  • Sensation. Once you have me all bound up, I’d like to feel various sensations. Not all of them need to be painful, though. Intensity is what I’m looking for. Blindfold me, then use a Wartenberg Pinwheel, feather, flogger, or clothespins on me. Tickle me, scratch me, dig your nails into my softer bits. Bite me, spank me, rub IcyHot on my cock. Lick me, kiss me, trace me with ice. Whatever you can think of, I’m game.
  • Metal. I’d like to play with handcuffs and chains. Bind my wrists and ankles with chains secured with padlocks. Use a shorter length with a padlock as a collar. We could use the chains with the straps we already have so as not to mar the finish on our beautiful bed. We could also use a length of chain to connect my cock ring to my collar. I want to feel you yank on that chain and direct my attention to various parts of your body.
  • Make me wait. I’d like you to bind me and then let me lay there while you surf the web, watch TV, or even pleasure yourself while I am made to wait helplessly. In fact, securing me and then making me watch you use the dildo or Pink on yourself while I’m stuck in the CB6K, desperate for attention and release, sounds wonderfully excruciating.

I hope this give you some ideas on how to use bondage. Truth is, I can’t think of any activity that can’t be improved with a little immobilization.

Yours in every way,
Thumper

Posted on

Hurt me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. Yesterday, it was orgasm denial. Today, pain.

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Belle,

As we’ve already established, I like it when you hurt me. So far, this has been mostly confined to pain you’ve inflicted with your hands (pinching, scratching, squeezing), and that’s been good. But I want more. Here’s a list of all the ways I can think of at the moment that I’d like to play with you:

  • Nipples. I love it when you pinch and twist my nipples. You’ve really let yourself go lately and, in fact, have left them raw and stinging all the next day. That’s good! However, I also like the little chrome clothespins we bought. They’re very strong and create a different kind of pain. A longer, burning intensity that builds over time. Also, don’t forget the little clamps attached by the chain. Put them on me and then pull on the chain. Stretch my nipples. They like that.
  • Biting. You know how I feel about this. You can bite me anywhere, any time. What you do to my neck is glorious, especially when it leaves a mark. In fact, feel free to leave marks where they’ll show. I might be ashamed by them, but that’s OK. None of your concern. When you bite my ass, it sends me over the moon. There may be nothing I like better. Bite it harder. You can also bite my earlobes, my ribs, my hips, and my inner thighs. Oh, and don’t forget the nipples again. They’re little sluts, my nipples.
  • Nuts. Recently, you’ve started squeezing my balls. I like that. You can squeeze them harder. It’s a unique pain and one I only want you to inflict on me. Squeeze them, slap them, abuse them. We should read that book you leafed through who’s pictures horrified you. There are so many ways to torture the cock and balls. Binding them with thin rope, in particular, is something I’d like you to do to me.
  • Flogging. That little flogger you bought in San Francisco turned out to be a more serious toy than I thought it would be, but I want to try something heavier. I want you to flog my ass, my chest, the insides and back of my thighs, my upper back, and even my balls. I want you to raise welts on me. I want it to sting the next day. I want you to mark me.
  • Spanking. That nice, wide, heavy wooden Aveda brush? Spank my ass with it. Spank me until my ass glows. You can also use your hands or one of my leather belts. I spanked myself once with my own belt in a hotel room. It was hard, but I managed it. Belts leave lovely marks behind and the sound of them cracking over skin is heavenly.
  • Slapping. Feel free to slap me. What is slapping, anyway, except spanking for the face? Am I accidentally being too rough on your nipples? Am I whining too much for you? Begging just a little more than you’d like? Pull me up by my collar and slap me across the face. Then kiss me.

Regarding pain of all sorts, remember that I want you to push me. When I ask for it to end, tell me you’d like to see me accept a little more. When I beg, tell me how much it would mean to you if I endured it longer still. This I will do – want to do – for you.

In every way yours,
Thumper

Posted on

Deny me

I’m going to ease my way into my task and start with the basics (and the one area we’re already doing pretty well in). In short, I want Belle to deny me my orgasms.

Last night, after all the emotional turmoil and crying and stuff, just as we were spooning in bed and starting the long slide into sleep, I asked Belle what the fewest number of orgasms was that she’d let me have over the new year. Without missing a beat, she said three. Three. Total. Not three more. So, I’ve already burned 33% of this theoretical minimum. Shit! I don’t think she was kidding. If she really does keep me to this insanely small number, then she will come fifty times more often than me. I get a little light in the head just thinking about it. As a matter of fact, moments after she said that, my cock was rock-fucking-hard. Harder than it’s been in a really long time. We’re talking, Man of Steel hard. She noted that not only was I hard, I actually dribbled a little precum from merely considering only coming three times in twelve months.

So yeah, we’re doing well here. She’s getting off on not letting me get off. She likes the control. Likes how frustrated I get. Likes how it gives her power over me. She wants to be the calmly collected one while I’m all hot and hard and struggling for composure. In fact, I have zero complaints about this intersection of my kink and our sex life. I’m not even sure it still is just a kink. There’s an almost transcendental aspect to decoupling orgasm from sex and letting the urge build within. I love how it makes me think and feel and how it changes the way I treat Belle.

There’s just one thing I’m going to work on in the new year. I’m going to truly let go of thinking about coming or not. I’ve often found myself worrying that she’s going to tell me to come when I’m not ready or perhaps not let me on a night I expect it. From now on, I won’t even consider it to be an option. The next one might be tomorrow or it might be in a year or maybe never again. If she’s in control of them, then she’s in control. I need to absolutely release authority to her.

I would ask that she give me some warning before letting me get a release. As I’ve said before, I feel as though my approach to non-orgasmic sex is different than “normal” sex. My head’s just not in the right place to come. Hopefully, she’ll keep that in mind. If not, then I’ll deal with it.

Adjunct to orgasm denial is the ruined orgasm. Since the task left to me was to give Belle actionable things I want done to me, then I’ll add this to the list. According to Wikipedia, a ruined orgasm is one that is “unsatisfactory, awkward or even painful to experience”. There are four ways I’d like to experiment with having my orgasms ruined. The first is one we’ve already done once. Immediately after I come, make me eat it. I won’t want to, but make me do it anyway. Probably the best way would be to scoop it up and put it in my mouth for me since I will be loathed to do it myself. (Afterthought: You could also try telling me I’m going to eat whatever I produce beforehand which will cause me resist the pleasure of the orgasm. Making me fight with my own body, as you do when you deny me my orgasm, turns me on.) The second method would be to jack me off to the moment just before ejaculation, and then let go and give me no further physical stimulation. Either I won’t squirt, in which case I’ll be excellently edged, or I will, but won’t feel the same orgasmic pleasure from it. The third method would be to inflict pain at the moment of ejaculation. The best way might be to have me jack off and then grab my balls and squeeze the fuck out of them right when I start to come. I like this kind of stimulation when I’m aroused, but to do it during ejaculation will most certainly take away the pleasure. The fourth method is overstimulation. This one involves jacking me off until I come but then continuing to stroke me using my own ejaculate as lubricant, preferably concentrating on the head of my cock. Honestly, this one will probably require I be strapped down since I will fight it, but if you do it for even just an extra 20 or 30 seconds, that orgasm will be thoroughly ruined.

You might ask why. Why in god’s name would anyone want this done to them? Well, you could similarly ask that question regarding everthing I want, but in this case it’s primarily about you asserting your dominant position over me and what happens to my cock. Not only can you allow me to come, but sometimes, you can ruin the event for me. That’s the level of control you have over my pleasure. Not only that, but it hits all my unfairness buttons, too. If I’m only allowed a very limited number of orgasmic events, how terrible is it that you won’t even let all of them be satisfying?

Note: As far as I can tell, many who practice BDSM and ruined orgasms wouldn’t actually consider one that is ruined to have been a real orgasm. You can use that info any way you like, especially when it comes to math.