Tag: malesub

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Service update

I can hear you asking yourselves, “I wonder how that whole service sub thing’s going over there at Maison de Belle Fille?” You are, right? You’re totally asking yourself that. I can hear you.

OK, well, even if you’re not, here’s the list of things I said I’d do back when I introduced the idea a little over a month ago along with a note as to how I’m doing:

  • I will make all the beds every day.
    With the exception of the days I was traveling recently and one day where I just ran out of time in the morning, I’ve done this every day. I’ve made my 11-year-old son make his own, but that’s more about turning him into a productive member of society than it is anything else.
  • I will make her coffee every day.
    This I do. I’m supposed to set it up the night before and I’m getting pretty good at that (especially lately), but there have been days when I forget. In those cases, I get up with her alarm and make it then. I think once or twice in the past month (excluding days I wasn’t home), she made it herself, but in general I’m pretty good at making sure she’s got her coffee when she wants it.
  • I will feed the kids breakfast every day.
    This one’s fallen by the wayside, for the most part. Belle gets out of bed before me as does my daughter who, as soon as her foot hits the floor, wants food. Belle makes it for her. Then, she usually makes the boy’s food, too. I don’t know if she’d rather me make it, but at this point it’s almost always her.
  • I will take the dog out every morning.
    Like the coffee and the beds, I’m pretty good with this one. She’s occasionally offered to do it for me, but I don’t recall her doing it for me because I hadn’t done it yet more than once or twice.
  • I will do all of the laundry, including folding and putting away.
    This is my biggest issue. I get around to the laundry, but not as often as she’d like. Also, I’m pretty bad at putting it away once I’m done folding it (like right now – there’s a basket of it staring at me from the corner of her bedroom). Of all my expected service tasks, this is the one in which she’s most often had to involve herself by either starting loads or even folding them for me. I find it really hard to stay focused on it and, with four people in the house, it’s a never-ending task.
  • I will pick up both kids from school at least twice a week.
    Nailed it. I get them Tuesday’s and Thursday’s and usually at least one other day in the week. I think this makes her life easier in that she can finish up things at work and not have to bring them home with her. In any event, I’m lucky I can pretty much set my own hours and leaving right at 5:00 is hardly ever a problem for me.
  • I will prepare a majority of the dinners and be primarily responsible for all the dishes.
    I do this, too. I did notice, though, the day after my last orgasm that I didn’t hop to it quickly enough and she ended up making dinner that night. She still makes dinners on the weekend sometimes when they’re more of a special event and will volunteer to help me clean up during the week, but I feel this is essentially my responsibility. I own it and immediately start thinking about what we’re going to eat as soon as I leave work. In the old days, this was never the case. I hope this opens up a lot of time in the evening for Belle to do whatever she wants.
  • I will take out the trash and recyclables and make sure they get to the curb on time.
    This one’s also kind of fuzzy. Last weekend, she did it herself early Sunday afternoon for Monday’s pick-up. She didn’t need to, but did because the garage door was open and everything was just there. This one’s tricky in that there is no exact time it needs to happen as long as it’s out by Monday morning. If she wants me to do it, she should let me.

I’ve discovered a couple things after this month. One (which I already knew), Belle just isn’t all that good with receiving service. It goes against her natural disposition. Mind you, she’s gotten a lot better and let’s me do most of what I’m supposed to, but she’s just as inclined to do something herself than to remember that it’s my job (or to just tell me to do it). Sometimes, this bothers me because it feels like she’s not accepting my gift of service, but I also know she’s trying and getting better. Truth is, a lot of my service tasks have just become part of the household routine now. Nothing wrong with that.

The other thing I’ve learned is how much I really like having her boss me around. Rika says I should do all these things in anticipation of her needs, but when she tells me to do something it puts me in a warm and fuzzy headspace. This weekend she said she liked ordering me around, so hopefully she’ll use that technique more for anything she wants above and beyond the default list of tasks she wants me to do.

I still find myself recoiling when she asks me to do something (ie, “Would you mind…”, or “Could you…”) and when she thanks me for doing it. I don’t want her to ask. Or course, I will always do whatever she says. I’d rather she just say “I want you to…” or even just “Do it.” And instead of thanking, I’d rather she tell me how good a job I’ve done (or not). We’ve talked about this and she knows my preference. Sometimes, she does it my way, sometimes not. I’m working on accepting it in whatever way says it since, like everything else, it’s entirely up to her. There’s a lot more good going on here than otherwise for me to get all hung up on semantics.

So anyway, we were hanging out in bed the other night and Belle told me, when considering my performance to date, that she wouldn’t give me better than 70%. That’s a C, right? Not so good. And it’s all because of the fucking laundry.

I need to try harder.

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48 hours of freedom

Wednesday morning, I flew out of town on business. Obviously, one cannot simply stroll by the crack staff of TSA agents at the airport, with their specialized training and advanced technology, with about a pound of hard steel swinging between one’s legs. Even though Belle threatened to make we wear the device on my trip, she took it off me Tuesday night (since I had to get up at the ridiculous hour of 4:00 AM).

I suggested she could put me in the CB-6000 since it’s passed through airport security a couple of times now, at least once when she made me wear it on a business trip last year (upon which, this happened). She said she wouldn’t do that, though, since she’s such a big fan of the Steelheart now and thinks the CB-6000 is ugly. So I was released on my own recognizance. And, for the most part, I was good.

In fact, I was really good on the trip since I was dog tired by the time I hit the sack. One of the more boring hotel nights I’ve had. Next day, I was up fairly early getting ready to leave, but still managed a little wanking. When I promised to be good, I said I would never have an orgasm without her being present, but she didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to fiddle with the merchandise. And I didn’t come. Not even close.

So anyway, the thing I found kinda interesting was Tuesday night, before I left but after she unlocked me, I woke up to find myself jacking off under the covers. I think I was doing it in a dream, or maybe I was dreaming it because I was doing it, but whatever the case, there I was jacking away on my totally free and very hard meat. Similarly, I woke up in the middle of the night in the hotel room grasping it, though not jerking it. It’s like my lizard brain wants any opportunity to reunite with the most important thing in its universe, with or without the cooperation of my conscious mind.

When we met up last night, she told me I was going right back in (especially since she already suspected I had my hand in the cookie jar), so I asked her to put it on me (typically, she tells me to put it on and I go do it – she’s only involved when she locks it, and even then not every time). It’s been kind of a thing I’ve been thinking about lately. She agreed, though in practice I had to put the ring on and, once she got involved, the cock swelled up until it was too big to put in the tube. There was a baggie full of ice on hand to deal with that totally predictable event, but it was still a tight squeeze and I needed to align the pins on the device and seat the tube properly for locking. Had she tried it, I would have been bleeding before she got the key anywhere near it. Lots of skin bulging out to get caught.

So now I’m back in. To be truthful, I’ve been in so much lately that being unlocked makes me feel incomplete. I’m not at all surprised to have been so focused on the cock since it’s unencumbered presence is such a rarity nowadays. She told me over the weekend that my next release date is February 27 (almost a month since last time) and I have every reason to believe that I’ll be locked pretty much continually until then.

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All in one night

Based on a true story. 😉

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

—

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

—

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

—

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”

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Questions from a reader IV

Parts una, duo, and tres.

We’ve hit the half-way point! It’s all downhill from here.

In respect of your comments as to whether you are submissive or “submissively inclined”, from what I have read, you don’t strike me as what I think of as submissive.  You enjoy sexual submission, but that seems to be as far as it goes.  While you do perform domestic services, you do it as part of sexual conduct and to satisfy sexual needs.  But you retain a significant amount of control and power both outside your relationship and within it, or at least that is how your blog reads to me.

Well, your guess is as good as mine. I’m just starting to figure out this whole submissive thang, to be honest.

It’s true I have a great deal of power and control at my work. That’s because I own the place and pretty much run it. However, this isn’t contradictory to being submissive in my relationship. From what I understand, it’s actually common.

With regard to having power in my relationship, it’s not that simple. I have influence. Just because I’m her sub doesn’t mean I don’t want things. We’ve established a nice system whereby I’m able to communicate my wants without making her feel obligated to give them too me (this’ll come up again in a later question). If I have real power in our dynamic, it’s based on the fact that I know she love me and wants me to be happy. It’s a power I could use, but choose not to since I like her being in control. I’m not saying I don’t struggle with the whole “topping from the bottom” thing from time to time, but I think it’s a lot clearer now than it used to be. I’m much more patient, for one thing. I’m able to let go of my need to steer and let her establish the path we’ll take more or less based on her speed. Yes, I’ll occasionally nudge or suggest, but it’s always with the understanding that it’s all up to her, not me.

You might read all that and think I sound like I have it all figured out, but I don’t. I admit to having some insecurities around my submissiveness (And I really a sub? Like, all the time?). Also, like any other human relationship dynamic, I know that our D/s will have its up, down and sideways moments. I guess the bottom line is I’ve decided to just roll with it and see what happens.

As an adjunct to that, how would you respond if Belle Fille said she wanted you to submit financially to her?  To give her full and complete control over every cent you earn and the family finances?

I’ve already asked her to do this. After reading Steve’s deal, I forwarded it to Belle and suggested we do the same. I’m all for it, but so far she hasn’t established the parameters.

Also, would the ultimate exercise of Belle Fille’s control over you be for her to deny you what you want – to deny you your denial?  What would happen if she insisted that you have full orgasms every day for a week?  Not “ruined” ones, but full on, ear popping, feet scrabbling, locomotives of sperm.  If you were really submissive, you would submit and do as she ordered.  But is that the submissive paradox – being made to do what you don’t want to do is really what you want to do ….?

Mykey had a situation once (described in posts I can’t find at the moment) where his wife Sandy made him come and then consume his own spunk every day for a week. That was fucking hot. Totally. Fucking. Hot. So yeah, if it was in the context of Belle exercising her control over me and my sexual release, I’d be game for whatever.

One aspect of your relationship that I would find very difficult to emulate if it were required of me is that one person does all the heavy lifting in terms of sexual decision making.  I love being in charge of my own sexuality, but I don’t know if I have the energy to also make all the decisions for someone else.  It’s a bit like having to decide what to cook for dinner every night – you might be a fussy eater and a good cook, but every now and then you want someone else to come up with an idea!   Does Belle Fille find it a burden? Do you think it is an unfairness that works in your favour, that you are no longer required make the hard calls?  (God, this message has so many double entendres that I can’t be bothered trying to avoid them anymore!)

This gets back to my having influence over the course of events, but not outright control over them. Belle’s Rule says I can come on to her all I want in any way I want 72 hours after her orgasm, so it’s not as one-sided as your question sounds. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to make any move on her without permission, but that didn’t really work for either of us. For her, it was pretty much as you describe. Lots of pressure on her. Too much control, not enough spontaneity. Sometimes a girl likes to know how much her boy wants to fuck her senseless, even if she’s going to shut him down. Also, we found that waiting for her to want it so bad that she’d allow me to start working on her led to a lot more infrequent sex. That usually ended up making me feel depressed (and her more stressed as a result). Letting me get physical with her, even if nothing comes of it, gives me an outlet to demonstrate my frustration (which makes me feel better).

Your question also misses out that sometimes she’ll tell me we will have sex, but that I have to drive and get to do whatever I want (absent orgasm, of course, or actual fucking if I’m in the device). Her control over our sex includes having the prerogative to delegate that control to me, if only temporarily.

Having said that, I know that the reason it would not work for me it that I like partners who are sexually confident and sexually persuasive – which I distinguish from being sexually aggressive, which can be damned annoying!  I like a partner who does more than just respond – who can seduce me, who can get me going from a standing start.  I know that you now have limited permission to initiate sexual conduct, but does Belle Fille, and do you, not miss your more significant input (another one…) into getting the fire lit?  Do you not miss those opportunities to seduce your partner, or do you see your submission as seduction?

I think I answered this one with the last one. As far as I know, Belle’s Rule allows me to do whatever I want until either a) she tells me to stop, or b) she comes. I am sexually confident and can be very persuasive. “Submissive” does not equal “passive” (unless that’s what the dominant wants). I am not a passive person.

What you seem to crave from Belle Fille is a lack of compassion – you want her to see your suffering and be unmoved by it.  That seems to get you very hot.  Do you find that you are starting to see compassion as something undesirable, or as a weakness?  Or are you able to keep that dynamic solely within your relationship?

You’re correct that I want her to see my suffering, but not that I want her to be unmoved. Rather the opposite, I want her to be deeply moved. On the denial side, it’s a continuous demonstration of my willingness to be controlled by her. I gave her my cock. That’s a big deal and I “suffer” because of it every day. On the masochism side, it’s a little different. If you’re not a masochist, I’m not sure how to explain it and I don’t know you’ll ever understand, but I want her to hurt me a lot. To the point at which I can no longer take it, and just a little bit more. I want her to push me and I want to show her how willing I am to be pushed. I want to suffer and squirm and writhe and do it all because it is from her hand. But far from being unmoved, I want her to know that I do it for her because she’s my love and to understand that I know she does it to me because I am hers.

Of course, the two things feed on each other. The more I’m denied, the more I crave the pain and the more pain I can take. There are times when I want the hurt more than anything else. Axe just went though a week of beatings (here, here, and here). Just the idea of being beaten every day for a whole week makes me light headed. Imagine Homer Simpson and how his jaw drops and gets all drooly when he’s around donuts. That’s me thinking about what happened to Axe.

All that aside, you’re right that I’d rather not see compassion from her. I don’t want her to ever seem like she’s sorry for me, or if she is, to do it in a way that makes me feel smaller and more inferior. Case in point. She loves her vibrator Pink. Loves. It. I know she does. But she very often makes a point of telling me she likes her cock (that is, the one on me) more than any toy. This might be true, but honestly, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to hear it. I’m not threatened. Quite the contrary, I can think of nothing hotter than her finding something other than me to be the most sexually satisfying. Besides, the last thing I want to hear is that she’s not being fully satisfied since her favorite “toy” is locked in the device (and can’t be trusted anyway since I find it so hard to control my orgasm when I’m using it).

And (on a lighter note) do you ever worry about having a car accident and being taken to hospital and having to explain why you have that attached to your cock??  Like the “always wear clean underwear because you might be hit by a bus” argument??

In short, no, I don’t worry about it. Ever. Maybe at the beginning when, ironically, I was wearing a device I could have conceivably removed bare-handed, but not anymore. Maybe that’s just sexually charged bravado or plain old stupidity, but it’s just not a factor.

And there you go. Thirteen questions, 13 answers. It helped that these came in right when Belle started her period since there wasn’t much else to do anyway. 😉

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Questions from a reader III

Part one and two.

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

Here’s the next one:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to start the day. More to come later!

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Questions from a reader

I received a email this morning chock full o’ questions from a reader of the blog. I suspect they picked it up in the middle somewhere and then went back and reread the whole thing, though they don’t actually say that in their email. In any event, they’ve taken the time to ask thirteen (!) questions, some of which have been covered previously in one form or another, but many deal with topics I may not have addressed directly or at all. All of them are thoughtfully written. I plan on answering them over several posts since to do them all justice at once would take a great deal of time and many, many words.

And with that, let’s start!

Are you and Belle Fille concerned about your children either finding out about your current dynamic, or of them sensing that you are a submissive?  Do you find it has affected your relationship with them at all?

I don’t think I “present” as submissive at all. This will come up again in other answers, but I doubt anyone who knows me socially would peg me as a sexual submissive (double entendre and all). I say that because I don’t think either of our children, at ages 7 and 11, would pick up on any signs other than I tend to (but not always) defer to Belle’s wishes around the house and have recently started doing a much larger share of the household tasks than I used to. I’m not one of those subs who demure around their domme or otherwise act subservient and servile. In bed, yes. Around the house and socially, not so much. I’m willful and talk back. An uppity sort of sub.

I have no problem with my kids eventually finding this out about me (well, no more problems than anyone has with regard to their sex lives and how it should or should not be shared with close family). Even though I’ve struggled with certain aspects, I am not ashamed of what I am or what we do or what I like her to do to me. I don’t worry about them thinking less of me as a man or that I’m being less of a role model to my son. Quite the contrary, I’d like to present an acceptable alternative to him with regard to how men are “supposed” to be, especially with regard to how they interact with their mates. I don’t intend to somehow try to make him like me. My goal would be demonstrating to him that he can be exactly who he is without regard to cultural norms or expectations.

All that being said, the one thing I try to keep from them at all costs is the chastity device. They’re simply not prepared to understand or deal with that at this point in their lives (nor, I’m sure, would they ever want to know about it). Also, I’m not sure they’d understand the various implements she uses to hurt me. All the accoutrement of our sex life should remain firmly in the privacy of Belle’s bedroom/my pants.

With regard to affecting my relationship with them, I find myself being somewhat more deferential to my daughter (or, at least being more aware of it). I don’t know what to make of this. It could just as well be the well-documented way daddies are easily manipulated by their little girls. I also find that when I’ve been denied for a longish period of time and haven’t had access to Belle that I’m much more abrupt and have less patience with them (and the world in general). I start to resent their presence around us as I want to have Belle all to myself. This is totally unfair and unacceptable, of course, and I try to temper myself with reason when I see myself being that way, but it happens just the same. I feel as though the denial and dependency on her sets up a very primally competitive attitude. Since they’re around us more than anyone else, it attaches to them fairly easily.

Do you feel that you have changed in your other relationships such as with your friends, family and workmates?  You seem to be so focused on your sexuality and on Belle Fille, that I wonder if other relationships have altered?

Yes, I have greatly curtailed my involvement in certain extracurricular activities over the past year. There are many reasons for this, but the primary one is that I’m far more interested in what’s happening in my relationship and sex life than I am in other things that used to take up a lot of my time. In fact, I need that time to properly interact with Belle according to our D/s dynamic. I don’t in any way resent this change. I have enough time to pursue my interests and have maintained those friendships that matter.

My relationships with other family members outside our house have not changed in any appreciable way. Neither have my friendships except that I wish I had more friends I could talk to about my marriage and how it’s changed. When I was having my affair and afterward, there were many people I could have talked to about it, but ironically, now that my marriage is better than ever, I don’t feel comfortable getting into it with anyone because of how it’s been transformed. I guess this blog is an outlet for my need to share and verbally process everything. I guess these questions of yours are, too.

Two down, eleven to go!

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Top five

First off, I just have to say UGH! Vikings. Jesus. UGH!!

There. That’s off my chest.

Going into this weekend, I had been given guidance by Belle that I’d be locked up on Friday. She left me unlocked for almost a week, though due to various nighttime work-related activities for both of us, we never connected over the course of the week (where “connected” means “fucked”). Friday night came and went and I was still free as a bird.

That caused me to cop a bit of an attitude. In our brief conversation the next day, she told me she didn’t want to lock me up until she had chance to take advantage of the unencumbered member. I told her I figured as much, but it would have been nice to hear what she was thinking. Friday morning, she had made a point of reminding me what her plans were that night, but when the night came, she snuggled up in bed and went right to sleep. Nothing happened. That, of course, is her prerogative, but it left me feeling somewhat miffed. Absence of action along with an absence of communication is difficult to deal with. All I need to hear is that she’s changing her plans and I’m cool. That little bit of communication helps assure me she still takes all this seriously. Anyway, it wasn’t that big of a deal. And we talked, so it’s all good.

Saturday night, I hustled the kids off to bed as early as reasonable (though clearly unreasonably early, according to the eleven-year-old). Once they were down for the count, Belle told me she wanted us to have good old-fashioned vanilla sex. Well, maybe vanilla with a few kinky sprinkles on top since, naturally, I wasn’t allowed to come.

I went into it not feeling too insecure with regard to coming accidentally. However, after several minutes of slow fucking, I started to feel myself get drawn in to the action. I try to keep my mind on other things (like her nipples, work, the political ramifications of recent special elections), but I was quickly running out of distractions and she was obviously enjoying what I was doing to her. With remarkably little warning, I found myself past the point of no return. I told her I was coming, but I could tell she was still a little ways off.

“Keep fucking,” she said.

So I did. I fucked right through the orgasm. It felt really good for about one and a half seconds before the head of the cock started to burn and all the muscles I had been contorting so I could keep my mouth on her nipple, one hand on the other nipple, and the cock in her pussy all at the same time started to complain. The joy of the orgasm was swept away by the psychic energy necessary to keep my rhythm. The load of spunk I shot into her completely changed the viscosity of her lubrication and once it got good and sloppy, she started to arch her back and breath heavier.

“Keep….fucking,” she ordered me, “KEEP…FUCKING…”

She reached up with both hands and grabbed onto the headboard while I did as I was told and humped her harder and faster. I hadn’t lost the erection, but the sensations coming up from it were no longer at all pleasurable. She finally came extraordinarily hard and it was all I could do to keep myself from collapsing onto her.

After I rolled off, she gasped, “Top five. That was one of the top five of all time.”

So on the one hand, I’m really happy she had such a tremendous orgasm. On the other hand, I’m upset with myself that I came. But on the third hand (work with me here), at least it wasn’t pleasurable. Totally ruined.

Sunday, I put on the device.

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Alien flesh

Penises are spatially variable things. They get bigger, they get smaller, they’re hard then soft, they twirl around and get squished and squashed. Their friends, the testicles, are the same way. They move around all on their own and, like octopi, have the strange ability to fit into the narrowest spaces. Sometimes, the scrotum splays out like a jellyfish that swallowed a couple soft-boiled eggs, while other times it’s like a tight, wrinkly little meatball. Frankly, it’s all very weird and random.

This is top of mind as I’m still out of the device and have only just reacclimated to all the ways this strange appendage behaves. When you’re in a chastity device, everything is more or less static. Yes, things tighten up and feel different from time to time, but by and large, they don’t actually look any different (unless, of course, your device is see-through). When your cock is in a big steel tube, it’s the big steel tube you have to deal with all the time. The cock eventually fades into the background, especially since it’s out of site. And while the balls are still out there, the A-ring tends to shepherd them into very reliable configurations. The phrase “a place for everything and everything in it’s place” comes to mind.

To be honest, being out is a big distraction. I was locked up for almost a month and dealing with that condition became second nature. While I appreciate the flexibility a free cock has (both physically and in application), trapping it in a device makes it a known, fixed variable. And of course, temptation stays at bay.

It’s like when your best friend across the street from when you were a kid went away for half the summer. You missed him at first and learned to have fun without him and of course always looked forward to his return. But when he did get back, you had to readjust all the things you figured out how to do when he was gone. The dynamic between you and your other non-best friends had to shift around to make room for him again. That’s how it is now with free meat. Suddenly, it’s back and demands attention. I’m not supposed to play with it, but it’s very insistent.

There’s a part of me that really misses the confinement, even though it’s only been five days of freedom. I like the controlled feeling of device. I like feeling her control. I’ve been wearing the A-ring off and on as a reminder and think I’ll leave it on permanently now. It simply feels too weird not having something down there, even if it leaves the cock free to be a strange alien thing.

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He comes laughing

I woke up Saturday morning at our family compound in the North Woods at 5:28. That’s within 5 minutes of when I woke up every day for the previous week or so. Usually I get up and pee since, as any guy knows, peeing helps alleviate morning wood and some days the wood’s so woody that the ring of the device is biting harder than a snapping turtle chomping on a guy’s tit. Not every day, but most days. I guess you could say that beside all the other reasons chastity is good for us, it’s also convenient having a reliable alarm clock with you wherever you go.

The night before, after rolling in moderately late and getting the kids settled down and asleep, Belle and I were laying in bed sipping Bailey’s, me naked at her direction, talking about the Steelheart again. I had been wearing it for 25 days and, while maybe not a record, it was pushing it. You leave something like that on yourself for so long and you start to lose physical memory of what it was like before it came along. We have both come to think of it as the cock and not just something over it. I told her how happy it made me to be wearing something she liked so much.

“Oh no”, she corrected me, “I don’t just like it. I love it.” Whimper.

The next afternoon, she unlocked it so I could prepare myself for that night. I was happy to see no surprises lurking under the steel. It all seemed perfectly normal (though I imagined it blinking and covering it’s eyes after so long in the dark). I cleaned both it and myself and shaved the spots I can’t normally get to. For the remainder of the day, I was commando in my pajama bottoms.

As the fabric rubbed against the head of the cock, I found the skin more and more sensitive to it. I don’t know if it’s something to do with the material of the device or if the PA fixing holds it such that it doesn’t come in contact with anything when it’s in there, but by the time we went to bed, it was really kind of driving me nuts. There’s nothing apparently wrong with it (maybe a little red), but it remains extraordinarily sensitive, even today.

The evening’s sexual activities were pretty standard fare. She let me give her an pretty great orgasm using my fingers and mouth (while she gently abused my balls) before I entered her. Once it was in the friendly confines of the warm and wet, any discomfort I felt on the head of the cock disappeared. The now thoroughly defeated sex lizard stirred just enough for me to lose myself in the act of fucking her, but not so much that I forgot to do as Ms. Rika suggests and ask to stop just before I came. I knew Belle wanted me to, and I figured I was going to, but Belle also liked Rika’s tactic of always having the man ask to stop before he comes (to ask if he can’t as opposed to asking if he can). In any event, the question surprised Belle and by the time she answered that she did want me to come, it was too late anyway. Nothing in the world was going to stop it.

I felt between four and five fat, healthy squirts followed by a large number of post-orgasmic flexes and throbs. It felt. So. Good. Seriously, top 10% of all orgasms. I even laughed. I once had a boyfriend who laughed when he came and I never really understood it since I’ve always felt orgasms were deadly serious business, but there I was, laughing. It was wonderful. Belle later commented on the prolific nature of the orgasm’s payload and I reminded her that it was 28 days worth with no relief (no milking and very little ancillary leakage).

Sleep reached up and forcibly pulled me down into its grasp. I slept incredibly hard and can remember no dreams. Just deep, deep sleep. And I didn’t wake up until Belle did at 7:30.

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High as a kite

I haven’t had a fitful night due to pent up sexual frustration in a while, but I did last night. Belle got home pretty late due to a work thing and, even though she was tired and went pretty much right to bed, I tried my best to get into her pants.

“Fine,” she said, “Get Pink. Make it snappy, though, because I have a busy day tomorrow.”

I have a proven ability to get her off in less than 10 minutes, and while I’d prefer a longer session, I’m too fucking horny pass up even a quickie. I grabbed the little pink vibe and got to work. By the time she came, I was fucking her with it and fingering her clit all at the same time using the same hand. It’s good to have long fingers and lots of practice getting her off.

It nicely stoked my subbie fire because her entire attitude was “make me come and make it fast” and she didn’t even touch me. It was reward enough to have her nipple in my mouth and a hand wet from her juices, though of course I was five time more frustrated afterward than before. At the very beginning of this adventure, I’d have laid awake for hours with all those hormones surging around, but I’ve developed the ability to actually fall asleep that way now. In fact, her orgasms make me sleepy in a way not unlike mine used to.

So anyway, yeah, I can fall asleep, but it’s a light, fitful sleep. All kinds of graphic mental images flashed though my mind as I drifted off, pleasantly full tube pressed into the bed. I dreamed the same way. Short sexual scenarios, none of which I can remember now, jumbled together like an Xtube montage. Belle, too, was tossing and turning and reaching out to me so that her touches mixed with what was in my head and I couldn’t really tell the difference between the dreams and the reality, wakefulness and sleep. Every little touch drove the tubal pressure up several notches, though it seemed like I had a boner all night long. At one point, she had her bare legs up against my naked ass. That odd, unexpected skin-on-skin contact was like jet fuel on a campfire.

Today, I’m still feeling it. The repressed sexual electricity is everywhere in my body and permeates my every thought and conversation. I feel simultaneously energized and powerful yet hopelessly distracted and nervous. To feel the spark and arc of abject desire with no outlet is almost like the perfect goal state for someone like me. Bathing in the hormonal high. I’m a total junkie.

And that makes me approach this weekend with a bit of apprehension. On the one hand, I want to come. It’s all I think about. I dream of having a real, free erection and the kick of ejaculation. On the other, I hate losing this. The energy, the excitement, feeling of being vibrant and alive. Regardless, I’m comfortable with whatever happens. I’ve given myself over her and I’ll either come like crazy or keep riding the wave. Honestly, they both sound great to me.