Libéré en étant enfermé
Attached, please find photographic evidence that, following a brief recuperative period, I have reestablished the secured state required by my Belle Fille prior to her leaving for the other side of the world.
Security was reestablished at approximately 7:00 PM CST, November 20, 2009.
That is all.
Reader BT left the following thoughtful comment to my last post:
The malaise is a normal part of the progression of a real Female Dominated relationship. We males are always “on” when it comes to sex. Always the reaction is “Why not?” when the possibility of sexual activity comes along. Women are generally “off.” Their reaction is generally “Why now?” when faced with sexual possibility. By handing over the control of the sexual activity in your relationship to your wife you are naturally going to find yourself subjected to periods of “drought.” It’s a female thing.
But as it turns out that you can find that you actually can enjoy some aspects of it. It is during the times when the focus isn’t on the sexual in your relationship that it can be on deeper personal attachments between the two of you. More on your devotion and trust and caring and mutual support of one another. And that can be very fulfilling and satisfying. That probably doesn’t seem like crazy-talk to the gals reading this comment, but it might seem like it to the guys.
In addition, after having your wife in control of sex for awhile your body learns to react in new ways. There will be times when your “big” brain is saying “Man is she looking hot. I really want to have some sort of sexual contact with her!” while your other “brain” seems to know that there is no possibility of that occurring and so doesn’t bother to rise to the occasion.
Don’t sweat it. (the malaise and the slight ED) It is all part of the process and a good sign that you are happily progressing along this path together. At times like these concentrate on trying to do considerate and thoughtful and romantic things for the one you love. You don’t realize it yet, but you have been emancipated from the chains of always seeing everything through the lense of sexuality, and because of that you are free to enjoy pure romance and love in ways you probably never have experienced before.
Go Thumper, GO!
While formulating my response, I realized it might go on for a while and figured a full-blown post would be more appropriate (because maybe everyone doesn’t read comments). Also, Belle told me in an email from Hong Kong that she “really liked” what BT said, so it’s relative importance has been elevated.
First, I will pick a nit with something BT said regarding how I’ve given Belle control over sexual activity in our relationship. In fact, she always had control over sexual activity in our relationship, from the first time we did it straight on through to the wedding night until today. The only real change in the last year is that I can no longer guilt her into giving me some. She pretty much does exactly what she wants when she wants, as is her right as outlined in our Covenant.
What I’ve actually given over to her is the cock. She now controls what I do with it at all times, not just when we’re having sex. When I can touch it, when I can see it, and of course when it gets to come. The net result of this is that our sexualities have melded – mine into hers. I no longer have the ability to achieve any kind of sexual release on my own. Everything has to go through her.
I’ve struggled with that because I feel as though my sexual identity disappeared into her somewhere. We still inhabit two bodies, but sexually we are one – and not the one who wants to do it all the time. Maybe I’m mourning the end of my separate, distinctly male sexuality. Maybe I’m having a hard time fitting her female sexual motor onto my male engine mounts. Maybe, as she’s suggested, I’m just feeling sorry for myself.
The upshot of this, though, is that a great deal of the tension between what I want and what I get went away. That tension powers all the other stuff, to a certain extent. I agree with BT that I should focus on being considerate and romantic during these slow periods, but at least for the past month or so, I only felt the wind flutter out of my sails. I lost my sexual North and she didn’t really give me a new one to replace it – a point to sail towards.
The bright spot in all this is I don’t feel any resentment or anger. I did feel that when we started down this path (a hang-over from feeling it for the better part of the last ten years), but not recently. Not really at all. Angst, sure. But that’s very different than stewing over her perceived neglect. I completely accept her control over my sex and really don’t want things to be any other way (and neither does she). So maybe BT’s right and this is all just “part of the process”. If so, I’d like to move on to the next part, please.
And maybe I already have. I don’t feel at all like I did before she left. I’m actually kind of horny again and feeling the familiar tremulous anticipation of something I’m not going to get. I can’t say I understand all the levers or that living as the s to her D has been easy, but I can say we’re both in this for the long haul. We’re going to make it work.
Practice makes perfect.
While I can’t say the malaise has been shaken off, it has been given a good kick. Yesterday, the last full day before Belle went away for a week to Asia, I asked for an orgasm. It’s not that I especially wanted one, but I was at a loss with regard to my continued apathy and saw her impending departure as yet another seven days of sexual vacuum.
As I requested it, I imagined doing myself since she’s on the rag, but as the evening came alone, her fingers found the opening in my pajama bottoms and started to caress the flaccid cock. She did this for quite some time and the damned thing barely twitched. It’d been 23 days since the last orgasm and there she was paying it the most attention it’d seen in two weeks and all it did was lay there. I told her I was worried that I had somehow broken it.
I eventually closed my eyes and really concentrated on the feeling of her fingers on my skin. After a good ten minutes of this, there was life. A few minutes after that, there was a firm plumpness. Then, an honest to god hard-on. Finally.
Her grip was an odd one with most of the stroking being applied to the sides of the erection. She worked on it for what seemed like quite a while and I wondered if she’d ever get me off that way or if all she’d do was get me really, really turned on (and then if that wasn’t just as good as getting off) when I felt the tell-tale tingling and gurgling of the plumbing, deep down inside, rattling and clanging to life. Shortly thereafter, I was coming into her hand in great squirts. My entire consciousness had become that orgasm and as I felt the crest of it wash over me and the spasms start to subside I willed them to continue. Now that I was doing it – finally – I wanted it to go on and on and on. I never wanted to stop.
Today, as she busied herself around the house, I half hoped (OK, more than half) that she’d forget to tell me to get back into the device. She left me out on Friday which was why the meat was so readily available the night before. But, less than a half hour before she left, she told me to get it on. I actually begged to be left out, but she was firm. I was to be locked up. And so I am. I will have been locked into one device or another for all but two days of the previous month by the time she comes back from Asia. At least, as she clicked the lock shut, she thanked me for giving her control over it.
The truth is, I wish it was off. I wish I could be stroking myself right now and I wish I could come. I have a great desire to come. Had she left me out, I’m not sure what I’d have done. Part of me rationalizes that what I need to get my mojo back is a lot of coming. Lots and lots. I need a reset. A reminder of what I’ve been missing. Proof that I still can and still want to. Then again, as I sit and type this, it occurs to me that this desire, the thing I’ve been missing for weeks and weeks, may be my absent mojo after all. Perhaps wanting to come but not being able to marks the beginning of the end of my funk.
Maybe. I suppose only time will tell.
I’ve been trying to write something for a few days but each time the WordPress editor comes up, all blank and intimidating, I wither and slink off. I’m wandering around in a bit of a funk and I can’t say what it’s really about and if I can’t do that I certainly can’t write about it. I suppose I could do a chastity nerdery post and compare and contrast the CB6K and the Steelheart (and mention that I’m currently in the CB6K instead of the Steelheart because we’ve decided it needs to go back to Germany and get a smaller ring), but that wouldn’t feel right. I certainly will get around to writing all that, but to do so now would be like describing the ballpark when I really should be calling the game.
So yeah, malaise. I’ve been denied for 19 days today and locked up for just over two weeks. In the past, this’d mean something, but at the moment I’m not feeling it. I’m feeling something, I just don’t know what it is. Belle’s aware of it, of course, and we’ve bandied about the “taking a break” thing, but I don’t know what that would mean and don’t want to be any way other than I am now. I don’t want to come by myself. I don’t want to be unlocked. I don’t want my orgasm back. And that’s really the issue. I don’t want it, period. While I haven’t come in nearly three weeks or felt a free erection in over two, I’m kinda not missing them. And that bothers me. A lot.
It could be that we’re not being intimate right now. We’ve had a few moments. We shared her orgasm this weekend, but then I ruined it by letting myself get too carried away and not leaving her alone in the bask and glow stage. I felt very bad about that. Then the other night she slapped my balls around a little and I really liked that (so much so that it caused me to excrete a thick slug of precum afterward), but in between these events I’m not feeling what I used to feel. I’m not feeling horny, at least not a flavor of horny I’m familiar with. If she made a move toward sex, I’d do it happily and enthusiastically, but I’m not feeling compelled to push the issue. She doesn’t seem to want it, anyway.
It’s not just Belle. Porn, my old standby and the thing that’s in the past helped me get my motor running, hasn’t been very compelling. I used to be able to appreciate it even when locked up but now, while I might get a momentarily tight tube when looking at it, I don’t feel much interest in doing so and the residual affects are fleeting. I don’t recall there ever being a time in my life when I felt so apathetic towards arousal.
I wonder if this is the point I’ve been trying to get to. Have I lost my independent sexuality? Is it entirely about her now and, absent her motivation, do I not have a sex drive? And if so, am I OK with that? I really don’t know. I feel like there should be more. That I should be feeling more. I miss the subbie vibe and the drive to do things for her. Now, instead of feeling the need to demonstrate my submission, I just do it. There’s no charge around it. So, is this right? Is this where you get when the newness rubs off?
I don’t really know the answer to that. All know is I’m not horny, but I’m not not horny, either. I’m not happy, but I’m not unhappy. I don’t feel subbie, but I am acting that way (or trying to). I feel like I’m floating in a void, neither light nor dark, cold nor hot, no up and no down. I don’t want things to be different, but I don’t want them to be exactly like this, either.
Laying in bed this morning, with the bright Fall sun streaming through the window and illuminating the scattered pages of The New York Times, another perk of prolonged orgasm denial presented itself. Belle was reading the paper while I was watching TV shows that had piled up on our DVR. I had my head up near her shoulder and was enjoying the lazy, familiar contact with my mate when she put her arm around my neck, her hand down the front of my t-shirt, and started to run her fingers though my chest hair.
These simple, absentminded touches can totally consume someone in my condition. It’s only been ten days since the last orgasm, but that’s long enough to be ramping up into the first strong pangs of desire. As she ran her hand from one nipple to the other, I felt the new metal tube start to tighten and my ass grind down into the bed just a bit. A strange purring moan came softly from my throat. I felt very content. Happy.
Of course, I would have thought that was pretty swell even if I wasn’t soaking in my own androgens. But little things like that are kicked up by a significant factor through denial and are one of the happy little side-effects of not being allowed release.
To that end, I was lobbying Belle this morning not to let me come when my first date comes up. She says it’s soon, but it’s only been a week and a half since my unintended orgasm (let alone the two she let me have in Mexico). I suggested making me wait until next year. That’s just a little longer than I went last time. I also suggested she tack on a month each time I get to come. Two months would lead to three months would lead to four months, etc. I know I’m not supposed to be thinking about that, but anyone who’s read this blog for a little while knows I’m more than a little obsessive about things.
Yesterday, I said to her in passing that it had been nine days since I came. Why, she asked, in the face of asking not to come for the rest of 2009 would I feel the need to reminder her of a mere nine days? Good question. I know I wasn’t lobbing for release. I think I was just fishing for some recognition. A pat on the head. Pathetic, I know. In any event, she reassured me she did recognize my commitment to her control. She said she knew it was hard.
Which leaves me with conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, I am committed to her control. I’ll come when she tells me to and I won’t whine or fret. Promise. On the other hand, I want to do hard things for her. I want to be pushed over ever-more difficult challenges to demonstrate I will do anything she asks. Hard things have value. Easy things don’t. If you think about it, that just about sums up the entire practice of long-term orgasm denial.
As I said yesterday, the new Steelheart is only a little less secure than my CB6K. However, it is less secure, a fact only compounded by the total failure of the PA fixing that came with it. This reality has led me to rethink a few things regarding the entire purpose of the device.
Some guys look down their noses (or boners, as the case may be) at those of us who remain chaste though the use of devices. They say the only true way to demonstrate commitment to their partner is to always have access to their dicks but to never use them for anything their partners haven’t authorized, let alone ejaculation. I truly do appreciate this point of view and admire men who are able to muster the self-control necessary to keep their hands off in the face of incredible frustration. But I guess that assumes they are, in fact, keeping their hands off.
Personally, I don’t need the device to keep from having an unauthorized orgasm. The last thing I want is to orgasm (though I desperately want to always feel like I want to – paradox!). What I crave is lots and lots of stimulation. I love playing with myself up to the moment of orgasm, cooling off for a few seconds, and then doing it again. I adore the feeling of a stiff one in my hand, heavy PA ring flopping to and fro. Even with it’s not hard, I find I can’t keep my hands off the cock. It’s like a magnet to me. So, based on all that, what the device represents is Belle’s desire to limit my ability to pleasure myself. She knows I will not come on purpose. But she also knows, from experience, that allowing me to play with the cock is a recipe for disaster.
So, the device isn’t about orgasm control. It’s a masturbation and self-pleasure control mechanism. When she puts me in it, she’s saying she wants me to focus on her and her needs. Jacking off in the shower, even if I don’t come, is distracting and indulgent. Stroking in bed after she’s fallen asleep does not leave me in the same frame of mind as when I’m just left to stew in my juices. Those guys who liken my device to a crutch are right, I guess. It’s a deterrent. A reminder of what she wants. And I need it.
My quest for the undefeatable device is more about nerdery and kink than anything else. I want to feel totally powerless against the device, but don’t actually need to be powerless. For me, it’s more like a “keep off the grass” sign or little wrought iron fence around a flowerbed. A reminder that there are rules and I’m expected to play by them.
I had kind of a crappy day yesterday at work. Lots of negative energy and stress and, by the time I got home, I wanted to connect to Belle physically, but wasn’t exactly horny. It was one of those times where, had I still been able to, I would have gone and jerked off to relieve the stress. In any event, I told her I really wanted to do stuff that night and I think she understood it wasn’t the usual whiny horny Thumper speaking but her mate who needed some special attention.
“Special attention”, of course, takes on a whole new definition when one’s manparts are locked under stainless steel. As we were waiting for the offspring to fall asleep, we watched Stephen Fry in America and I showed her how the lock works on the Steelheart. After an appropriate amount of time, she told me to turn off the light and strip. When I started to strip while the light was still on, she chided me for not following directions.
Once I got the order figured out and asked permission to enter her bed, I assumed my preferred position – head down, ass in the air, face burrowing into her. With my legs spread, I felt the unfamiliar heft of the new device suspended between my legs. She ran her hands over my back and I moved up to get closer. She was on her back, I was on all fours above, kissing her and letting the device rub back and forth over her thigh.
“It’s so smooth,” she said. I think Belle really likes it. She’s the one who said it looked so natural the first time she saw it. I suppose she’s right. It does hang and curve like a real cock, albeit a big fat one made of warm steel.
I asked for and was allowed to touch her all over. Not being allowed to touch her breasts or between her legs makes those moments when I can all the more special. Soon, I was lapping and sucking on her nipples and feeling the new sensation of a curved, yet restrained erection in the steel tube. I held off on going anywhere else other than her breasts since I wanted to extend as much as possible the salutatory effects feeling her writhe to my touch was having on my grumpiness. Eventually, I got into a position where my mouth was on one nipple, my hand on the other, and the elbow of that arm pressed gently into her mons. She started to grind against it and moan. As she got hotter, I got hotter and the pressure in the tube got higher.
What I really wanted was to go down on her. As soon as I had her pajama bottoms off, I shifted my position first by crossing over to her other nipple and then pivoting down so I could plant my face on her snatch. I had to move quickly since she was very close to coming through nothing more than grinding against me so my time between her legs was all too brief. As she came, she squeezed my head hard with her thighs – so hard it hurt.
Afterward, I was pretty worked up. I spooned against her, hard tube nestled between her ass cheeks, and tried to allow sleep to overtake me.
“You can’t even tell when I’m hard,” I said, suggesting that the hard tube never changed regardless of what was going on inside it.
“No,” she replied, “Not that it matters.”
*whimper*
It took a while before sleep caught up with me.
Heard back from Deitmar. He did indeed ship the device on the 16th. I can only assume he used 214th class parcel post or something (the one where the mail carriers pass the box off as they happen upon one another while walking their routes). I’m told by Belle and Dev that Germany is a long way away and I should be more patient. Seems ironic that a guy who can skip coming for two months get’s all wadded up over how quickly his new orgasm denial mechanism will arrive. Anyway, the payment didn’t show up for Belle since PayPal, for some reason, sent the charge through to my PayPal credit card (which I’ve hardly ever used) and not our checking account as usual. They must have jinked with the default settings or something since that’s never happened before. So yeah, all is well on the Steelheart front. It’s just a waiting game now.
UPDATE: It has arrived. At least, at my local post office. I found a little registered mail notice in my mailbox when I got home. I’ll be picking it up in the morning! I may wet myself. OK, back to the post already in progress…
Belle locked me up again this morning. She told me last night as we were going to bed that I had been very good to her over the weekend. She was really relaxed and apparently quite pleased with my performance. Therefore, I was to be locked up first thing Monday morning. Not sure if that’s my reward or what, but I didn’t question her. I’m now wearing the chrome CB6K and thinking of its stainless brother bobbing aimlessly across the Atlantic in an empty peanut butter jar.
Something Steve said in one of his posts I linked to yesterday has me thinking:
If chastity were a commercial product I’d be one of those people on TV advertisements giving gushing unsolicited endorsements, where you can’t quite believe they didn’t get paid to say it.
Over on A Captivated Man (a well-written new chastity blog, BTW), I said in a comment:
I sometimes feel like I’m carrying around a secret only a few are allowed to know. I only wish I could tell my friends because the way orgasm denial has improved my relationship and overall sexual well-being is remarkable. It’s not unlike religion. I want to tell everyone to do it…
And it is a bit like religion, I suppose. One of those mind-expanding, life-altering practices that has such a huge and welcome impact on your existence that you just want to stand around in airports handing out pamphlets. In a way, I’m glad I don’t have any friends to which I can talk about this because I’m sure I’d be insufferable telling them how wonderful it is all the time. Yes, there are bumps and setbacks along the way, but when it’s working, it’s fucking spectacular.
There are few things men cherish more than their ability to experience sexual pleasure. Sure, women cherish that too, obviously, but men are conditioned by our culture to be especially tuned in with their own pleasure in a way women, unfortunately, aren’t. Perhaps not coincidentally, a man’s sexual organs are external and easily manipulated when aroused. Some guys, you can just see, are little more than extensions of their dicks. Most guys, I’d say, are, to a lesser degree, the same. I mean, men come a lot. More than you think. It’s easy and it’s fun and it sometimes seems as though the entire world is designed to celebrate that.
I’m speaking mostly from my own experience, of course, but there are few things I could offer Belle of higher value to me as a man than my ability to do that which defines my malehood. Not only that, but doing so has been a revelation to our relationship. My orgasm now has value. It has significance. Before, greater than 90% of them disappeared down a drain or clinging to a tissue in a trashcan, forgotten minutes after they came into being. Now, their bottled energy serves to power a whole new relationship dynamic that’s far richer and more fulfilling for us both. What I’ve sacrificed in quantity I’ve more than made up for in vastly higher quality. Orgasms now, to me, are no longer the objective, they are the path to the mountaintop. The act of making love no longer leads to them, it is made more profound by their absence.
This way of thinking flies in the face of everything we’ve been conditioned to think as men. Even when married, it’s clear that the male’s orgasm is meant first and always to be his, to do with what he likes. In my opinion, that way of thinking only serves to drive a couple apart. It may not create a divide in their relationship, but it certainly can aggravate it. Irrespective of a couple’s interest in overlaying D/s or any other BDSM component, allowing her to control his release ensures and enhances intimacy between them (when done right, of course). It maintains all the positive aspects of the very beginning of a relationship. At least, that’s what it does for us…
I’m not so far gone as to think what works for Belle and I would work for everyone. But I wish more people thought about orgasm control as a viable alternative to the dominant paradigm of heteronormal interaction. I’m not quite to the point where I’m likely to stand in an airport and recruit converts, but I am feeling more and more that there needs to be examples of this alternate existence openly and unashamedly out there. I have no idea how and in what form this would take were I so inclined to attempt it myself, but this works. It’s right. For us, it’s better than the “normal”.
People need to know.
Thursday, Belle was at a work dinner and got home late. Apparently, their waiter was a hot young thing Belle found entirely satisfactory. At one point, she texted me telling me about him and how she wanted me ready when she got home since she got wet just looking at this guy.
Arriving home, she chose her still-unlocked cock to be her instrument of pleasure. At first, I thought I could hold back but it became clear, as she approached her orgasm, that I wasn’t going to make it. I started out by reciprocally stroking and stopped too late as the idea of her getting turned on looking at this younger guy took root in my imagination. As I sensed my impending failure, I tried to slow her down but only succeeded in causing her to miss a beat. As she rode me, fucking her cock deeply, I started to come inside her. Third time in a week. She continued to slide up and down – sending electricity though the cock, up my spine and bursting into my brain – as she eventually came to a quiet, satisfying orgasm. Afterward, she continued to slowly fuck the cock, making little exclamatory sounds. She was obviously enjoying herself while the extra sensory stimulation made the end of the cock feel like it was going to pop off.
That, more or less, explains my lack of blogging recently. Too many orgasms, not enough mojo. I was just starting to get back into the zone following the extravagance of my double-orgasm vacation when Thursday’s erupted. Today’s the first day I’ve felt anything like a return of my denied headspace since getting back from Mexico.
While away, I missed some very fine posts on the subject of prolonged orgasm denial over at The Glow Inside. I’m sure if you’re a regular reader of this blog you’re familiar with Steve’s, but if not, I wholeheartedly recommend three posts in particular: A Bowl of Wine, Five Minutes of Doubt, and especially Carried Along. He’s captured so well many of the things I felt as the days and weeks ticked by before Belle granted me a release in Mexico. If you’re interested in exploring the why of male orgasm denial, these posts are required reading.
In Steelheart news, Belle told me last night she never saw the Steelworxx charge come through. That, combined with the nine days that have passed since I received the email saying the device was about to ship, make me wonder if something’s up. I sent Deitmar an email today asking if he’s been paid yet. I’ve never been an especially patient person when it’s come to things like this, so I hope nothing’s wrong. Belle’s left me unlocked since we’ve expected the new device to arrive any day. Now I’m starting to worry. We’ll see what Deitmar says.
Back!
First things first. While in Mexico, I received an email from Dietmar at Steelworxx saying our new Steelheart had been shipped. That was on Friday and I’m not sure how he shipped it so don’t know when it will arrive, but that was much faster than I thought it’d be. I expect by the end of the week, it’ll be here.
Mexico was a lot of fun. As my previous post said, it offered me several chances to frolic au naturel, first on Wednesday before the couple we rented the house with arrived, and then again on Saturday while they were out and we stayed behind. There are few sensations more wonderful then that of the heat of the sun across all your skin and the warm breeze running though every hair on your body. The nearly-tropical sun is a force to be reckoned with, however, and even with ample SPF 70 on Belle’s cock, the effect of the sun’s radiation could be felt. I took measures to protect it and am happy to say it suffered no damage (though the rest of me is nicely tanned).
I had mentioned to Belle that I thought she might be on her period when we were in Mexico, but she said she wouldn’t. However, at the end of our second full day, the monthly visitor arrived. Since we typically don’t have sex when she’s on it and all my sexual energy is directed at her, I’ve become much more in tune with it’s ebbs and flows. Never underestimate the power of a man’s sex drive to focus his mind. In any event, she usually locks me up during her period, but we didn’t bring a device, so I lucked-out.
Before she got all bleedly, we did have a chance at some good, old fashioned fucking. The first time was in bed Thursday morning and was pretty tame and typical except for the fact that she let me come. Srsly! Unlike in the past, I was totally up for it and very excited. No second thoughts or any of that bullshit subbie remorse for me. I got her off, then she rolled over and I got busy for myself. The build-up was amazing. I felt the orgasm charging at me from the depths, flooding me with sensory overload all up and down my body, but, when it finally arrived, it didn’t really live up to the anticipation. I suspect that’s just a side-effect of waiting so long between shots, but when I was actually ejaculating, it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t even sure anything came out, though Belle assures me it did.
Later that day, we had two masseure at the house. They set up their tables out on our patio deck. The sun was coming though filtered clouds, so it was warm and wonderful and very, very sensual. My masseur was a young man named Gabriel and, had I been 20 years younger and unmarried, would have sold my fucking soul to stay under his dreamy hands (and maybe a few other things). A. Maze. Ing. Best massage I’ve ever had, easily.
Once we were done, Belle and I retired to the upstairs Jacuzzi (the view from which is seen in the above picture) while the other couple got rubbed. I was feeling pretty frisky following Gabriel’s ministrations and had ample residual sexual need even after my morning’s orgasm. Soon enough, I was fucking Belle underwater (doing my best to keep the water from sloshing too noisily). She came, I did not. It was very nice. I guess you can add that to my outdoor naked activity list, too.
The morning of our last day in Mexico, Belle put the butterfly clamps on me and hit my nuts with the crop. It wasn’t a serious scene or anything, just a little sensation play, but enough to get me pretty riled up again. I asked if she’d allow me to masturbate and was soon laying back, feeling the length of the erection and the heavy PA ring flopping back and forth at the head of the cock. I was only going to edge myself, but she once again gave me permission to come and I didn’t look back. This time, the build-up was more normal and the actual shooting was fantastic. I felt each surge of fluid as it came out and found it satisfyingly copious.
I’ve said this before, but there’s something about the smell of semen now that’s just as novel and unusual as the act that produces it. It’s much more jarring as it hits my nostrils than it used to be. I just don’t smell it all that often, I guess.
So, there you have it. A brief recap of our Mexican adventure. After two orgasms, my subbie reservoir was pretty much empty. It’s been three days since I came and I can start to feel thin tendrils of it starting to wrap themselves around my brain again, but just barely. She implied yesterday that perhaps my attitude needed adjustment though locking up the cock again, but she didn’t have me do it. I think she’s waiting for the Steelheart to arrive.
I’ll be checking the mailbox regularly.