Tag: malesub

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I’m fat

No, I’m not. But I feel fat. I am on the fatter side of what’s acceptable for me. I’m in the far suburbs of Fatsville. I can see the glow of it on the horizon. I am unhappy about that.

I’m six feet tall and weigh something like 215 pounds. If you saw me, you wouldn’t think I was too bad, but I’d much, much rather be at least 25 pounds lighter. Why am I telling you this? Because now it’s out there. I have to do something about it. I mean, I tell you guys everything, right? I can’t just pretend I’m a Brad Pitt look-alike and tell you all about how the wax splatters on my hard, rippling abs now, can I? Nope. I’m telling you because by doing so I’m keeping myself honest. It’s out there. I am going to lose 25 pounds.

OK, that’s out of the way.

I have been wearing the CB-6000 since the 19th of February. Twelve days. I’m pretty sure my record is thirteen, so yay for me. The thing is, the device is unbelievably comfortable now. It hasn’t woken me up in days. In fact, it feels so normal and natural that it’s starting to feel like an extension of me. I’ve totally adapted it to my life. Yes, it’s still a bit of a pain depending on what clothes I’m wearing, but there’s nothing I used to do that I can’t still do except pee standing up. Oh, and beat-off. Oh, and fuck. But besides that, the poly and I are living very well together at the moment.

So of course, it’s time to screw it up! I’ve been on the fence regarding what ring size to wear and have been in the 1.875″ ring this time around. My comfort is getting so ridiculously high that I’ve decided to finish this stint in the 1.75″ ring. Why? It’s not a lot more secure than the 1.875″ ring. It won’t be more comfortable (at least at first). I guess the best answer I have is the same mountain climbers use: because it’s there. Stay tuned for whiny missives on sleeping issues.

Belle and I tried to ruin my orgasm on Sunday morning so I could fuck her better with her cock. It all started OK, but she decided she wanted me to work on her a while before we got to me. Mistake number one. My Belle’s orgasms are not unlike freight trains. Once they get going, it’s hard to stop them or change tracks. In this case, I started working on her with my fingers. Once she was on her way, she decided I wasn’t going to stop. She wanted to come. But, she wanted me to make her come with my mouth. Super! But, after it was all said and done, the starting and stopping and thinking about it left her with a fair to middling orgasm. Not nearly as good as it could have been. Plus, there was the little issue of me, out of the device for the duration. She wanted to know if I could ruin an orgasm by fucking her. I thought I could, but really, why? She already had her go. I was just the redundant horny guy in the room who needed to put the plastic back on. Nope, she wanted me to ruin an orgasm inside her. Okey-doke, I’m on it.

Since I had such a focused purpose, hadn’t come in ten days, and knew she had already had her O, it took a remarkably short time for me to get to the place where I could spurt. I started to come, but never stopped fucking her. It was intense. The sensation coming off my head of the cock was almost off the charts, and not in a good way. I kept on going until the little soldier plopped out, all squishy and soft. I was panting and tired, but did not feel as though I came. One orgasm, perfectly ruined.

Lessons learned:

  • If she wants the cock to make her come, we need to deal with the ruined orgasm prior to touching her.
  • I would have been left with a higher level of frustration if, after the ruined O, I had to get hard again and fuck her to her orgasm.
  • I think not getting aroused again did leave me slightly less frustrated than before the ruined O. It wasn’t nearly as good as a real orgasm, but for the remainder of the day and most of the next, I could feel the difference. I got a lot of enjoyment from the quick fuck and we didn’t do anything to re-frustrate me afterward.

Of course, the other way to ruin an orgasm is to abandon it. Next time, I’d like us to experiment with that.

Reading this blog recently, you may get the idea that I don’t think we ever get anything right. Well, the past weekend was filled with mistakes and missed opportunity. That’s OK though. We need to figure this stuff out, right? Trying and failing is a far better prospect than not trying at all.

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The nipple meat follies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Icy hotness

I was massaging her feet when she asked in a drowsy, lazy voice, “What would happen if I put Icy Hot on your balls?”

Gulp. “Um…it’d burn.”

Pause.

“OK,” she said, “I’ll put Icy Hot on your balls when you’re done massaging my feet. Then I’m going to sleep.”

She’s never done that before. What a peach.

—

Here’s what she taught me about Icy Hot:

  1. A little tiny bit goes a really long way. She applied a small, pea-sized dollop of Icy Hot on my ball sack and it burned really bad for about 15 minutes.
  2. At first, I didn’t feel a thing. I thought maybe the scrotal skin was not so sensitive to Icy Hot mojo. Then, about 20-30 seconds later, it started to kick in. Cold then shifting over to hot (really hot). Total time from first application to really being able to feel it was about a minute.
  3. At its most intense, it felt like a hot poker being jammed into my nuts. Fucking hurt.
  4. The heat/pain came in waves. It’d intensify then begin to subside, then crest again. It did that about four or five times in 15 minutes.
  5. With each crest of heat/pain, I could feel myself fill the CB6K’s tube. Yeah, I liked it.
  6. It was almost more than I could take. I remember one particularly hot wave of pain where I nearly used my safeword. I got a little scared because I wasn’t even sure what to do if that happened. Would water get rid of it? Gee, isn’t a guy hobbling off to the bathroom to splash cold water on his nuts ssssexy? In retrospect, I should have known what my escape plan was before letting her put it on me. Kids at home, take note.
  7. Fifteen minutes or so later, the heat wore off and it turned cold and the pain stopped.
  8. Next morning, no marks or other lingering affects. The perfect stealth torture implement.
  9. She liked it because it caused me intense discomfort while she could just lay there and watch me squirm. For her, a good way to inflict pain with minimum effort required.
  10. Next experiment may include applying the Icy Hot directly to the cock, sliding a condom over it, then making me fuck her.
  11. If she ever really wanted to punish me, she’d use Icy Hot in larger quantities or in successive applications.
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The third dimension of denial

My brain is fucking with me. It keeps firing off the little signals that, in the past, would precipitate a masturbation session. “Hey, wouldn’t it feel nice to jerk off? Let’s go have an orgasm!” And I, being a dense male, say, “Sure, sounds great!” followed half a second later with, “D’OH!” Ever show a dog a ball and make like you’re tossing it but really don’t? Know how the dog runs after the ball anyway? That’s me whenever my brains tells me to beat off.

I was getting kind of down this week. The last time I was able to touch Belle was on Saturday. Sunday she wasn’t interested (and we stayed up late watching the Oscars), Monday she was tired from staying up late on Sunday, Tuesday she was at a work thing, got home late and was just not in the mood, and Wednesday I was out late at a work thing. Four solid days where I never even touched my wife in a sexual way, let alone got to lick her nipples or nuzzle into her pussy. I asked her Wednesday before I left for my thing if she liked not letting me grope or otherwise come on to her. Because, of course, as a servile husband, if she likes what I don’t, it works, but if she doesn’t like what I don’t like, it’s poison.

Turns out, yeah, she does like controlling when I touch her. In fact, the conversation led her to ask me just how badly I wanted to touch her. Was I feeling deprived? I said yes, I was, and then let tumble out how much I wanted to put my hands on her and exactly what I wanted to do with my hands…along with other parts of my body. She gently reprimanded me and said that’s not what she asked. I revised and simplified my answer. Yes, I felt deprived. That’s good, she said, because that was how it needed to be. And that made it all OK.

Finally, last night, the stars aligned. We were in bed, she was in the mood, and the atmosphere (candles, iPod, etc.) was all set. But, she still wouldn’t let me touch her. I had to lay there for 15 minutes just talking. When she decided it was time, I felt like a trained Doberman being told to attack. She likes it gentle, though, and I did my best to restrain myself. Nothing for me, of course. She barely touched me. Her orgasm, though, was remarkable.

I was taken aback at how it felt to finally touch her breasts, to have my hand between her legs, her nipple in my mouth. The wave of relief that went through me was palpable. So you can add this extra dimension of denial to my collection. No orgasms, no stimulation of the cock, no sexual contact at all with my wife’s body. She controls all those things now. All I have left is what happens in my imagination. And that, absent any path to physical sensation or relief, increases the density of her control over me and sends my frustration into the clouds. I’m very happy to be wearing the CB6K as not having it would severely test my will.

Speaking of the device, I had to take the KSD-G3 off the other day. I use the one wil the shallowest rib more to keep the cock positioned well than for security, but the other morning I woke up with the acute sensation of it biting into the top of the shaft. Sure enough, there was an angry red line where it had made contact with the skin. This is not unusual, but the intensity of the bite that morning was atypical. No idea why.

The past few days have had me in grown-up clothes (dress pants) which have necessitated me wearing my most stealthy underwear. I have several pairs of tight, low-cut briefs that push the plastic down between my legs and back into my pelvis. This is very effective at hiding the package, but when combined with lots of sitting (four hour meeting yesterday, for example), it can leave me feeling pretty raw and sore. The ring, only on the right side for some reason, cuts into my flesh and that problematic spot behind the right post gets red and irritated. Luckily, today, I’m in some very forgiving boxer-briefs and am wearing my most baggy, chastity-friendly pants. Everything gets to swing a little more freely.

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Random tidbits

Just a couple of unrelated things…

First, I’ve been locked up again since last Thursday and have found it to be significantly more comfortable than previous stints. I’ve moved back to the 1.875″ ring (second largest) but down to the smallest spacer. Typically, I get some irritation from the backside of the right-hand post rubbing against the spot where my scrotum bunches up, but not this time. I figured the smaller spacer would make this worse, but in fact it’s entirely disappeared. For me, it’s usually taken a week or so in the device for things to settle down and feel good, but I seem to have skipped that part this time. Maybe it’s because I was just in for two weeks with only a week off in between? Dunno, but I’m not complaining.

Second, I received in the mail yesterday a 6g segment ring (like this one). I was hoping to be able to sneak it into my 8ga PA hole, but no dice. (In case you’re wondering, she let me out for a few minutes to try it out.) It’s really beautiful. Heavy, chunky. When I finally get it in, it’s going to be pretty hot.

I had to use needle-nose pliers to pop it open (wrapped in tissue so as not to scratch it), and getting it closed again was pretty hard. If the PA security cable didn’t bother me so much, this ring would provide absolute security for me. Oh well. Now I’m looking at stretching tapers and opening/closing tools.

Finally, Belle has started to expand her authority. Now, she calls what used to be our bed her bed. She’s allowing me to sleep with her in her bed, but I must sleep naked. Yes, I find this incredibly hot. She was dead tired last night, so we had a chance to talk a lot about that and other things. I told her that for the bed thing to work (and it’s surprising how quickly I felt I was in her bed once she started calling it that), I need to feel that I can’t take sleeping in it for granted. Some nights, she’s going to have to make me sleep elsewhere, either because of some displeasure I give her or just because. This might be tricky with two kids in the house, but we’re thinking about it. I didn’t say this to her, but I think it’d also be hot if  I wasn’t allowed in without her permission and only after demonstrating my subservience in some way. I should bring that up. In any event, I dig it and love that it was all her idea.

I feel as though the D/s aspect of our relationship is really starting to take root. Having the Covenant signed is a huge psychological hurdle, but I’m feeling more and more comfortable showing that part of me to Belle and she’s gaining confidence as she starts to get a feel for her role. I’ve never been happier. Now, if I can only remain patient and let it unfold at its own pace.

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Making it official

Today, Belle and I signed our Covenant. It’s changed somewhat from the original document. I had to add the bit about me not being allowed to touch her in a way that suggests I get to decide when we have sex, but plus or minus a few other things, it’s pretty much the same as it was when we first started working on it.

I know some people don’t like contracts or feel they’re unnecessary. Maybe they’re just happier to go with the flow or don’t like the idea of being locked into one way to play. Personally, I’ve always been the kind of guy who feels more comfortable living life accompanied by some structure and routine. Also, I like that we’ve been able to put on paper exactly what’s expected of me by both of us. It’s like having a map with a “You are here” pin sticking in it. I like knowing what the rules are.

Before, I had always thought there’d be some kind of little ceremony surrounding the signing, but we did it simply and without fanfare on the couch while she was reading the paper this morning. It was simple, but I could feel the significance of it radiating from every little submissive cell in my body. Now I’m equal parts nervous and excited. I can’t wait to see how things will develop now that we’ve formalized this new layer of our relationship.

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Things that are hard

You know what’s hard? Well, besides that. What’s hard is not being Mr. Gropesalot in the morning with Belle. Based on the most current version of our still-evolving Covenant, I’m not allowed to make sexual advances, including random grabs at her tasty bits. The past two mornings I’ve had to grapple with myself and not do what I’ve always been able to do in the past. I could almost see the little angle and devil on my shoulders. “Go ahead, squeeze her tit,” says the little red me with the horns and sexy tail. “No, no! You really shouldn’t!” says Jiminy Cricket on the other shoulder.

Most other married men (assuming they have decent relations with their spouses) can take for granted the open access to their wife’s body they enjoy. He can roll over in the morning, slide his hand under her shirt, play with her nipple. No, she may not let him get much farther (and she may not be thrilled with the advance), but he can do that. Not me. She’s drawn a line. I cannot make any assumptions as to her availability to me. I cannot initiate sex through my actions. There are places I cannot put my hands. I have to ask. And I only get to ask once.

From what I can tell, she loves this arrangement. Yesterday, because I listened to Jiminy, I left her alone and she was able to sleep in until 9:00. For a woman with two young kids, that’s close to an act of god. This morning, I told her I wanted her to know that just because I wasn’t coming after her didn’t mean I wasn’t interested. That’s my sly way of saying, if you want a little something, I am so ready to give it to you (pretty cleaver, huh?). She said she was totally aware of what I was interested in, but that I wasn’t going to get it. She just came last night and didn’t want another one yet. So, we cuddled. I wanted to nibble her nipple through her shirt and shove my hand down her pants, but instead we hugged. It was all very…sweet. Totally non-sexual, but sweet. The entire time, the plastic tub between my legs was filled to capacity.

So yeah, I guess that was hard, too.

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The big pathetic mess of a post

I cleared my schedule so I could pick Belle up at the airport Thursday afternoon. It’d been three days since I had seen her and wanted some one-on-one time with her before the kids came home, etc. I was hoping for a little action but wasn’t positive I’d get any (nor did I expect to).

We unpacked from the trip and she was off doing something in the back of the house while I started writing the post of going gay. Eventually, I realized all the busy noises had ceased and that she was probably back there answering email, so I went back and nuzzled into leg while she clickity-clacked on the computer.

Even though I had been without orgasm for 19 days, I wasn’t feeling especially submissive. Hot and bothered, yes, but submissive no. It seemed as though the trip had drained all those feelings from me since we had basically zero personal time. Whatever it is that triggers that frame of mind within me, time from last emission isn’t the only factor.

In any event, I asked her if she wanted to mess up the bed a little. All the planets had aligned: I was unlocked and free, she was awake, and the kids were at school. She decided it was a good time and told me to get naked. After a little kissing, groping, etc., she said she wanted me to fuck her to orgasm. It may have been a shadow of insecurity that passed over my face, but I definitely wasn’t exude confidence. I’ve only been able to get her off that way without coming myself once this year. She had previously told me I wasn’t coming again in February (a goal I was completely committed to achieving), but I felt the odds of me being able to successfully restrain myself were low. Then, she dropped the bomb.

In fact, she did want me to come. She didn’t want me all worked up over not coming and she really wanted to get her orgasm from penetrative penile pounding. In retrospect, I should have stopped and talked this through. I was confused and a more than a little let-down that the previously stated goal of one month had been swept away so suddenly. Also, I should have pointed out that it wasn’t my concern that I couldn’t get her off with the cock, but that I couldn’t keep myself from erupting before she got her O. Seeing all this behind my eyes, she told me to suck it up and get going. This is what she wanted and she decides when I get to come, not me.

So I got to work. Again, in retrospect, I should have spent more time warming her up with my fingers before jumping right in (though in my defense, I was a little off balance with this surprise orgasm being sprung on me). With a minimum of foreplay, I climbed up and started to fuck her. It was my intention to resist my orgasm, even though she had given me permission. If by some small miracle, I got her off without coming, I was going to stop and see what she wanted me to do next. However, as expected, I lost control and came in a huge torrent. I fought it every step of the way until it happened. I maybe enjoyed three or four strokes, but kept right on going even as the head of my dick felt like it was going to implode from over stimulation. After a bit, she figured out what I was doing and told me to stop.

In short, I had failed. Again. I came (with permission) but had failed to give her the orgasm she wanted in the way she wanted it. Worse, once I stopped, my erection started to deflate rapidly so my ability to perform was basically nil. I felt terrible. Again, she told me to snap out of it and accept the fact that I did exactly what she wanted me to do, but all I could do was hide how I felt, not change it.

It’s pretty clear to me now that I’ve lost my ability to enjoy having a spontaneous orgasm. It seems I’m only able to enjoy those I know are coming and can prepare for. I’m not sure if she felt like she was doing me a favor by letting me come or if she really thought it would allow her to get what she wanted more easily, but in any event, I was left feeling stressed, unsatisfied, and ultimately a little depressed that I hadn’t achieved the one month goal. After scolding me to snap out of it, she told me to get Pink so I could finish her off. She had a pretty good ride at the end of the little vibe (at least, a really loud one).

Following this event and the last, I no longer think her goal for me of 12 orgasms in 2009 is achievable. She likes it best when I make her come with the cock. I can’t do that reliably. Desensitizing gel might help, but since it would require using a condom, I’ve never been able to find out since she hates them. And, she has thus far refused to let me experiment with a strap-on stand-in. She seems to have zero interest in that.

I feel as though our journey down this road of orgasm control has progressed so far that I really don’t ever want to go back. I can’t imagine coming every time we have sex. The weird and somewhat scary truth is, I’m not sure I even want to come. Or, more accurately, I don’t want to stop not coming. Does that make sense?

—

I wrote the above yesterday but didn’t get a chance to finish it before I talked to Belle last night. I told her what I told you – that I was unhappy with what happened on Thursday and that by saying so I wasn’t complaining or trying to assign blame or anything. It’s just what it was. She didn’t accept any blame and didn’t apologize for how it all went down (which is good – I wouldn’t have wanted her to). I told her I was worried about the 12 in ’09 goal and wasn’t sure it was achievable (at least not in a way that would allow her to experience pleasure in the way she preferred). She told me we’d figure it out. In the mean time, she’s not going to let me come until April. That’ll be a nice round 40 days from the last time I came to my next earliest opportunity.

While the prospect of not achieving orgasm for more than a month excites me, I’m still going to obsess over the fact that while she’s denying me orgasm, she’s also denying herself the pleasure of being fucked. I will continue to try as often as she’ll let me, though. I’m assuming that, with practice, I’ll get better at putting off my own climax. At least, I hope so.

Now to finish the post I started yesterday. She told me on the way home from the airport that she was going to lock me up that day. The usual mix of being excited and somewhat dissapointed that my freedom was about to end passed through me. If I had a choice, I would not have gone in, but it wasn’t my decision to make. Later that evening, I showered and trimmed and put on the device with the lock in place, but not closed since she likes to be the one to make it click. However, as I got out of the bathroom, I found her dead asleep. The long days had caught up with her. I closed the lock for her. Funny thing is, she didn’t even know I was in the thing for the first 24 hours. It wasn’t until last night that she found out I had put it on. I could have bought myself a whole extra day of freedom.

After our talk last night and her decision to keep me denied through March, I found the warm and fuzzy submissive veil fall over me. This active expression of her control combined with the physical restraint of the CB6K seemed to be enough to send me over the edge, even though I had just had an orgasm. In fact, it now seems as though orgasmic release isn’t a huge factor in how I feel with regard to being horny or submissive. There just aren’t enough of them and they’re not of high enough quality to absorb all the desire I carry around with me.

In rereading this, I realize this post has been all over the place and is probably too long. Why anyone would want to read me kvetch about all this is beyond me, but it’s nice to have a place where I can do it.

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Rambling

I feel the need to write, but I don’t really have much to say. I’ve spent the better part of the day on a plane with two kids (Belle doesn’t get home until tomorrow), so I’m tired. Nevertheless, writing nearly every day for three and a half months has left me craving the act. I suppose that’s a good thing.

So, with nothing better to say, let’s talk stats and body functions!

We’re getting dangerously close to three weeks now. No emission whatsoever except for some minor leakage back on the seventh (when Belle made me use her cock to make her come). Not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but there are times when I think I can almost feel my swollen prostate sitting down there like a little lead slug. I always thought it was hyperbole when others said it, but I can also report that my balls do feel plumper and more swollen than usual.

What I’d like to do right now is edge myself. My hormones are pushing for release while my brain is holding on to her control. Based on the most recent version of our Covenant, I’m not even allowed to play with myself without permission (basically, I can only derive pleasure from the cock when I’m using it on her). I don’t have permission, so I’m trying to ignore the swelling flesh and lonely urges that always arise when she’s not here. God, I want to jack off. Not orgasm, but bring myself to the precipice again and again. But…it ain’t gonna happen.

Minor confession. I have never in my life had a nocturnal emission. All that talk in sex ed about wet dreams only left me wondering if I was normal as I never, ever had one. I wonder how long it will take to have one if she never lets me release a little pressure. In the recent past, I’ve leaked precum (or something) pretty easily over the course of the day. Maybe that’s how it works for me. No big event in the middle of the night, just a bunch of little ones all day long. In any event, nothing’s happened so far during this cycle.

All right, enough of that. I’ll be back when I have something interesting to say…

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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.