Tag: orgasm control

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The new bunny

While at the the cabin a few days ago, I decided that Belle needed to step up from the basic, entry-level vibrator we got for her several months ago to something more full-featured. Don’t get wrong, Pink is a terrific little vibrator, but it’s just that. A little vibrator. As I said last time, Belle’s orgasms need to be as “frequent, spectacular, and celebrated” as possible. Therefore, I figured it was time to upgrade the hardware.

Never having needed a vibrator myself (simple slabs of latex shaped like various porn stars’ dicks were always enough for me), I used Belle’s best friend’s experience to help me pick one out. No, I didn’t call her up and ask (that’d be an interesting conversation, wouldn’t it?), but I did remember Belle relating to me that she had and was very happy with a rabbit-style vibrator. Shopping around, I found that the issue with many of these kinds of vibes is that they’re friggin’ ugly. Either they look like they were slapped together out of random parts or their design suggests they were left here by visiting space aliens (sometimes, both). I wanted Belle to have one that looked like it was made by Apple. Sleek, clean lines, well made, and pretty. Yeah, those are the expensive ones.

I settled on this model. It was pricey but well-reviewed and, of course, Belle’s worth it. Its smooth, dolphinesqe form appealed to our shared aesthetic, but the real clincher was that the clitoral stimulator looked exactly like a little pink rabbit bowing to the power of the clitoris. Sold. Unfortunately, since we weren’t home and I didn’t think a UPS guy showing up at the cabin with a plain, unmarked box that I quickly ran back to our bedroom with would look all that great in front of the in-laws (assuming UPS would even deliver that far back into the boonies), Belle was denied trying out her new toy until last night when we got back.

Upon opening the box, I was initially impressed with the thing’s heft. It’s not really big, but it’s got some density to it. I’d say it has about a half inch more insertable length than me and is maybe a quarter inch wider than me. This worried me, not because my fragile male ego wouldn’t be able to deal with her preferring it over my original equipment, but because she’s always going on and on about how she thinks I’m the perfect size for her and doesn’t want anything bigger, yada yada yada. As far as I’m concerned, this thing should be better than me since, you know, it vibrates and the head rotates and shit. It’s got R&D and modern microelectronics on its side. All I have is a few million years of evolution. In any event, I want her to dig it. If she ends up liking it over her cock, so be it.

So anyway, once the boy finally went to sleep, we broke out the new bunny. From what I’ve read (I may not have mentioned previously, but I don’t actually have a vagina of my own), rabbit-style vibes are a little trickier than others in that they stimulate multiple regions at once. While it’s possible for me to use little Pink on Belle with great affect, it would be harder for me to use the new bunny without actually seeing its successful application by Belle on herself since each pussy is unique, like beautiful snowflakes, etc. I prepared the sleek dildo with a bit of Astroglide and handed it to her.

There were a few candles lit, but the majority of light in the room was from the near-full moon streaming in through the open windows. With the cool blue light of the vibe’s controls mixing with the clean, white light of the moon on her skin, she began. At first, she fiddled with the controls and played around with the different vibe settings and head rotation speeds. She found a combo she liked and settled on the correct angle of attack before doing something I had not expected. My personal experience with artificial dongs involves their rapid, piston-like movement through well-lubricated orifices, but once she found the sweet spot, she closed her legs on it and just left it there. I guess that makes sense in retrospect since her clit was being stimulated on the outside while the head of the thing was rotating from within, but I though there’d be more athletics.

Nevertheless, she seemed to really be into it. At one point, she pulled her top up which, I’ve learned, is her way of telling me to suck her tits. Of course, I was way happy to oblige. My punishment from last week’s unauthorized orgasm was over, so I was free to play with myself, but she had neglected to give me permission to take off my clothes so I was more or less covered in all the strategic places. Skin on skin contact with her was better than anything I could do to myself.

Shortly after I started sucking and playing with her nipples, she came. It sounded good, but not the most sky-shattering orgasm I’ve ever seen her have. As soon as it was over, she removed the vibe and said, matter-of-factly, “It’s definitely bigger than you.” And I think that’s good. She made all these sounds about how it wasn’t better, only bigger, etc., but ultimately, the size was not a problem for her.

After she came, I was seriously horny. I’ve been out of the device for three weeks now and unenforced denial is very, very different from the other kind. If I had been locked-up, I’d have been feeling some discomfort from the stifled erection, but wouldn’t have had any specific urge other than to boil in my own hormones and wait for them to be internally consumed. Not being encumbered left me with a throbbing erection enhanced by a solid chrome cock ring around its root. I wanted to jack-off so bad I could taste it.

“Please, Mistress, can I jack-off?”

She said yes because she’s so very good to me. While she put her pajamas back on and got up to pee, etc., I laid there, underwear pulled down around my thighs and Astroglide poured over her cock, and beat the fuck out of it. It felt so, so wonderful as the bulbous head of the cock slid under the tightly encircling fingers and the remainder of my foreskin stretched up and over the ring through my PA on the reciprocal stroke. I came very close to shooting several times – the last when she was laying next to me rolling my nipple between her thumb and finger – before a great feeling of selfconsciousness came over me. She was sleepy. Her eyes were already closed. Instead of focusing on her and whatever post-orgasmic needs she had, I was instead selfishly stroking myself for no reason whatsoever except to indulge my animal lust (since, of course, I wasn’t going to come). My desire to continue was shed from me like a dirty t-shirt and I got up to clean off her new toy and put it in its proper place.

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Right this second

Sometimes, I start to write a post meaning to say one thing and end up saying something else entirely without even realizing it. That happened yesterday. I related the fact that we were in the hot tub but got all carried away with her furtive little kicks to my groin and forgot the Really Big Thing™ we talked about.

In my opinion, there’s always been in the back of Belle’s mind the idea that what I really want – the thing that’ll make me most happy – is to actually come like a fountain at the end of all the teasing and denial. Maybe, once upon a time, that was true. But not anymore. We both agree that when I’m in the phase I’m in right now that we’re both happiest with the D/s. The power of my sexual frustration has stripped away my self-centered mantle just enough so that I’m especially attuned to her needs. I’m not going to try to get too psychological about it or fall into any of the typical Femdom stereotypes, but there is something to the idea that a woman can harness her man’s need for sexual release and focus it on more productive (for her and the relationship) pursuits. That’s where I am now. I know I’m not the same person when I’m like this. Well, the same, but a different version perhaps. I act very differently. She’s used my desire to change my behavior, and I like it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I’m a “true” submissive or if the denial just makes me one. I still think it’s the case that I’m not a real submissive, but the truth is, I like being turned into one by her. Just the idea that my natural urges are being used to modify how I behave is a huge turn-on. Plus, I recognize that she’s happier with me and the relationship when I’m in this state. I’ve touched before on how maintaining the sweet spot between the more selfish apathetic condition of my normal self and the leg-humping horndog of me carrying way too much pent-up sexual frustration should be our goal.

So, back to what I really want. In fact, what I know now is I never want to be sexually sated ever again. I never want to be in a position where I’ve achieved so many orgasms that I’m totally uninterested in maintaining a submissive position with her. In the past, she’d give me lots of release around special occasions or, once she let me come, she’d let me come a lot. Recently, she’s moved away from that strategy and I’ve found that, yes, there is a hit to the sub energy after I’ve come, but the bounce back happens much more quickly if they’re singular events.We are both so much more happy with how things are right this second that we should make right this second the model or our relationship and not some ideal espoused by the dominant phallic-centric popular paradigm of sexual perfection.

Also, with regard to “special occasions” (such as romantic get-aways or birthdays or anniversaries or what have you), I think what they offer is a special opportunity to make the denial even more effective. Yes, the romantic anniversary trip we’re taking to Mexico in the Fall is a classic scenario where a normal, sexually equal husband should expect lots of terrific orgasmic sex. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t get any. My orgasms, as I’ve said in the past, should be the opposite of special occasions. They should be perfunctory and banal. Everything special should be focused on her. My orgasms are to be regarded as unavoidable maintenance events to be put off as long as possible while hers should be frequent, spectacular, and celebrated.

In retrospect, this may not seem like a Really Big Thing™ to anyone who’s been reading the blog for more than a week or so. The concept isn’t what’s really big. Disabusing her of the idea that my craving for sexual release means I’d be happier once I achieved it – that’s the big thing. For both of us.

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My Mistress

Belle and I spent a nice portion of yesterday in the sun, floating on two innertubes bound together with a bungie, Coronas in hand, tethered to a pontoon in the middle of a northern lake. The water was chilly but the sun was warm on our skin as we let the gentle breeze move us around. It was lovely. Afterward, back at the cabin, I found Belle in the hot tub all alone.1

After asking for and receiving permission to join her (the kids were upstairs getting their fill of Sponge Bob, the in-laws doing whatever it is they do), we soaked in the bubbly warm water. Lately, I’ve felt the need to gush endlessly about how happy she’s making me. I told her – again – but also added that I find her to be a remarkable woman. I know from reading enough guysub blogs that the majority of SOBs like me out there don’t generally find their spouses amenable to a D/s arrangement (or, just as often, they don’t have the nerve to even find out). Yet Belle has been wonderful. She and I have found a way to relate inside this headspace that makes me over the moon happy. My only fear is that I’m happier than she, but she tells me that when I’m feeling very submissive (like lately) and my urge to service her in every way is running its highest, that yes, she’s very happy, too. So I’ll just need to be happy and try to accept that she’s also as happy as she can be. Constant communication is, as usual, one of the secrets to our success.

So, back in the tub, I was down toward her feet, holding them, rubbing them, massaging her calves, when she realized our relative positions gave her feet a perfect vector into my balls. Up until this point, she’s always used her hands when hitting me there, but I’ve fantasized about her kicking me. There wasn’t enough room for a full-on kick in the balls, and the water slowed her movement somewhat, but she managed to make a few connections without me even asking (one of which that was especially painful). By the time she needed to get out, I found I was unable to do so due to the massively hard erection she had produced (and the cock ring had enhanced). I bobbed around in there all my myself for a while until I was presentable to any in-law or offspring I might have happened upon as I exited the water.

Later, in bed, I told Belle that I have been feeling the need to call her something more formal that just “Belle Fille”. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but yesterday when I wrote in my previous post that she and I didn’t have any formal honorific for me to use with her, I think I finally realized how much it meant to me. In the past, we had discussed our options, but none of them seemed to strike her fancy. This time, I said to her that I needed to call her Mistress. My Mistress. Mistress Belle Fille. Even writing it out embarrasses me, so imagine how saying it to her made me feel. In any event, I got it out and she acquiesced. From now on, I will, in the appropriate setting, address her as Mistress. *blush*

I can’t say for certain why this is suddenly so important to me. I like how it makes our power exchange more formal. I like how it elevates her. I like how, in my mind, when I think about what I should or should not be doing (either with her cock or just in general), she’s not just my Belle Fille, now she’s Mistress. The female version of Master. I am mastered by Belle Fille. And I like it.

So after that was decided, I asked my newly minted Mistress if she’d punch me once in the nuts. I know what you’re thinking. WTF is it with all the testicle pain? For the love of god, isn’t there anything else to do? My answer is twofold. First, the ROI of testicle abuse is quite high. Very little effort (and no tools or toys) can result in enormous pain. I dig that. Second, and this is the part I really can’t explain logically, I find my desire for nut torture goes up in direct proportion to how long she’s denied me an orgasm. Of course, my overall desire for pain increases as well, but in particular, testicle pain in something I find myself craving. Dreaming about. I am simply addicted to it at the moment.

In any event, I asked.

“Will you punch me in the nuts if I hold them? Just once?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly. My heart raced and my breathing became heavy. I wasn’t sure which way the answer would go.

She pulled back the covers exposing my crotch. I encircled my nutsack with my fingers, pulling the skin tight and causing my testicles to be completely exposed. They could be no more vulnerable.

“Now I’m scared,” I said, looking into her eyes. She touched the cock gently, lightly, as she ran her fingers over the engorged meat. Her calm green eyes seemed to say, “It’s OK.” I kept my gaze fixed upon them, the eyes of my Mistress, my tormentor, my love.

She has never hit me harder and caused me more pain. One strike on my right nut. The pain irradiated my whole body. Lovely, glowing pain. I fell asleep as the dull throb ebbed in my groin, clutching her tightly to my naked body.

—

1 We have it rough, don’t we? ↩

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Time out

The Thumper clan is enjoying the extended 4th weekend at the family lake-side rabbit warren (first referenced in the three part saga, Crossing the Rubicon). It’s a smaller than usual family gathering. Only me, Belle, offspring, and Belle’s parents. In the in-law lottery, I have to say I did pretty well. They’re great people.

In any event, Belle was luxuriating on the couch on the screen porch while I sat at the other end with her feet on my lap. It was just the two of us, so I started to massage her feet. After a little while, her mother came in the porch and sat down in another chair. Then her dad showed up. All four of us sitting there, and me sort of absentmindedly rubbing Belle’s feet.

“Does your husband often massage your feet?” my mother-in-law asked Belle.

“Oh, yes. Several times a week. Whenever I want.”

Now, there’s nothing especially odd about a husband rubbing his wife’s feet, but the act, for me, is connected to my submissive side. To hear my Belle discuss is so calmly, that I not only rub her feet but do so several times a week. Whenever she asks. I admit, I was feeling very self-conscious.

“In fact,” Belle continued, “he even got some special foot cream to rub my feet with. He’ll massage my feet, my neck, my back. He’s a wonderful husband.”

I changed the subject.

—

Later that night, I massaged her feet properly: With lotion and no prying eyes from the in-laws. As usual, she was fully dressed in her bedclothes while I was naked except for whatever she chose to have attached to her cock. In this case, the chrome cock ring. I was down at her feet, kneeling, with her feet in the V-shaped space created by my legs.

“I think my mom’s jealous about the whole foot massage thing,” Belle said lazily.

“Hrmmm,” I replied. I’m very fond of my mother-in-law, but any connection between her and my sex life is a non-starter.

I gave her the best massage I could. My hands, already strong, seem to be getting stronger with all the rubbing she’d been having me do. In the past, I’d be aching from the effort after 15-20 minutes, but not any more.

When I was done, I was laying next to her and feeling a great swell of sexual desire build within me. I’m still being punished so didn’t except any Thumper-centric action, though I held out hope I’d be able to watch her pleasure herself.

“Is there any thing else I can do for you?” I asked. I ask that and, I’m sure, she hears “can we have some kind of sex now?” but I really and truly do want to know if there’s anything other than sex I can do for. And, of course, I want to know if we can have some kind of sex.

“No, I’m good, Thumper. Thank you for the foot massage.”

“Thank you for letting me give it to you,” I sincerely replied. I crave contact with her. I crave the opportunity to give her any kind of pleasure, even if it’s not sexual. When I’m as deep in my headspace as I have been the past few days, brimming with roiling sexual desire and a full charge of static submissiveness, being able to touch her skin in a pleasurable (for her) way calms me.

That being said, I thought I’d try my luck at a little somethin’.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it, Thumper?”1

“Can you hit me? In the nuts?”

She took her finger and ran it over my scrotum, the cock ring making it and its contents more prominent than usual, and then down the length of the turgid cock. She took my breath away.

“Oh, no, Thumper. He’s in a time out, isn’t he? He’s been bad…”

“But,” I stammered, grappling with the sensation of her finger on my neglected flesh, “you made me come. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know, but you didn’t have permission. So no, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Whimper.

“I don’t want to hear your pathetic whining, either.”

“I’m sorry, Belle Fille.”

—

1 We really do call each other Thumper and Belle Fille, even in real life. I don’t have any other kind of honorific to use with her like “goddess” or “mistress”, so I always call her Belle Fille when I’m feeling the submissive mojo.↩

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Ramifications

In my last post, regarding my forced yet unauthorized orgasm, I said:

I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything.

What I meant was, Belle was acting nonchalantly about the orgasm she pulled out of me against my will that she had not given me permission to have. It seemed, if I needed permission to come, that there should be some kind of consequence for having come (even when she basically made me do it). I would have expected the “court” to take into consideration not just the crime, but also the circumstances surrounding it. Punishment, yes, but tempered.

Well, it turns out I’m married to a hanging judge. Here’s my punishment:

  • No sexual contact with Belle or her cock, unless otherwise and specifically directed, until Monday, July 6. I can barely touch her anywhere on her body without permission.
  • No participation in Belle’s orgasms, other than observation, until Monday, July 6.

Sounds simple, but in reality it’s tantamount to the nuclear option. Six days of not being allowed to touch her (or myself) is bad enough (especially since she still hasn’t placed me back in the device), but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh.

However, Our Covenant is clear. First and second on the list of “Punishable Offenses” is unauthorized orgasms and failure to provide Belle an orgasm when she requests one. I committed both at the same time. Not only did I come, but she had to finish herself off with the vibrator. Also, the punishment for these things leaves a lot to her discretion:

c.    Punishments
The punishment Thumper receives for violating a rule will be determined solely by Belle Fille. This can include extending periods of orgasm denial or chastity or revocation of his ability to participate in her sexual gratification or the infliction of pain beyond the threshold he finds sexually gratifying.

d.    Determination of guilt
Determination of Thumper’s guilt for any offense is made at the sole discretion of Belle Fille. Thumper is not allowed to argue Belle Fille’s determinations of guilt or sentences lest they be doubled.

So yeah, I’m screwed. And – just so we’re clear – I am not fucking arguing the sentence, OK?

Not only did I have to lay there last night while she fucked herself with Pink (which, BTW, took much longer than when I do it), but, after she came, she was so spent by the experience that she fell asleep on her back (very usual), right after telling me I was only allowed to touch her once she rolled over onto her side to go to sleep. Which she did not do. So. No participation in her orgasm and no physical contact with her afterward. The bunny was totally shut out.

We’re heading north tonight for the 4th weekend and she’s said she’s bringing Pink along for the trip. Realistically, she could have three more orgasms and leave me out of them. Three more extended periods of listening to the vibe move over and into her, the little moans that escape her lips prior to the big ones upon climax, and three more throbbing hard, no-touchy cock moments for me. All because she made me come.

I love my Belle Fille.

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Stupid penis tricks

I think this is neat, though I assume you’ll find it gross. I figured out yesterday that, if I remove my PA jewelry and pinch the head of the dick closed, I can pee just fine through my piercing. What do you think, future HNT material?

I only mentioned that because it made me think of this post’s title and I wanted to use it in the worst way.

More talking last night. We are doing so much talking lately. Mind you, I don’t have a problem with talking. Shit, I can write a 2,000 word blog post like nobody’s business, so talking certainly isn’t a problem. I over analyze and bellybutton gaze with the best of them.

Turns out Belle is still processing anger and hurt from six months ago when I was her lousy cheating husband and not her fuzzy little bunny. I respect that and want to do what I can to help her, but I simply cannot comprehend where she’s coming from. Where we are now is so much better than where we were prior to The Troubles. Personally, I have never felt more love for Belle or been happier in my marriage. In addition, I’m more sexually fulfilled now than at any time in my life. Not exactly satisfied since, you know, that kinda of goes against the paradigm and all, but my sexual relationship with Belle is more honest and open (even with myself) than any I’ve ever had (and, in my younger years, I had plenty). I am so very happy.

But Belle still has sadness. Moments of great sadness. And I can’t understand it. I can’t relate to the time travel required to revisit the hurtful, painful times in the past. Right now is wonderful for both of us (she says), so why dig up when things sucked? We know why the affair happened and what we needed to do to fix it. It’s been fixed. We’re not the same couple we were nine months ago.

I used an oyster analogy. Oysters get sand in them and it pisses them off so they do what they do and eventually what they get is a pearl. It’s a lovely, wonderful thing (at least to us humans) that all started with an annoying, painful thing. And it’s still in there, beneath all the layers. It never goes away. I get that. But it’s built upon and eventually becomes the foundation of something so much better. That’s our relationship right now. At least, that’s how I see it.

I’m not dismissive of Belle’s feelings. I try to talk her through them and do what I can to be supportive. Any time she needs to cry or talk, I’ll of course be there doing my best to understand.

Somehow, we ended the conversation with her still wanting the back rub she asked for before we went to bed. I was tired, and figured she was, too, but I had the oil and the towels and the hands, so rub away I did. I was really horny at that point. The slick oil on her naked back, the erection held securely by its chrome cock ring pressing against her ass and back…it was heaven. Again I found my hands moving against her skin and the feeling that I was masturbating in my mind. Somehow, the similarity of the motion combines with my heightened arousal and I feel like I’m jacking off. She really has become the focus of my sex. When I touch her, when I pleasure her, when I get her off, I’m touching, pleasuring and getting myself off.

When the massage was over, she again surprised me by asking for Pink, the little vibe. It was still in my drawer from the last time she used it, so I was able to get it pretty quickly. I never actually turned it on, though, because after a few moments of feeling my fingers, she announced she wanted to get off on her cock.

“I want to feel my cock in me. I want to watch you suck my tits while I ride my cock. Can you handle it, Thumper?”

“I think so,” I stammered.

“There is no think. Do or do not,” she replied, channeling Yoda.

“I can do it, Belle Fille,” I said with more confidence than I felt. To hedge my bet, I let my fingers become more insistent hoping she’s come that way and I’d avoid the risk of an unauthorized orgasm.

No dice. She really enjoyed the finger action, but nonetheless rolled me on my back for her main event. As she slid down on top of me, I tried to think about anything – anything – other than what was happening. After a little bit, I felt the familiar tingle and placed my hands on her ass to slow her down. She stopped for a moment and the urge passed, but then she started back up again.

And almost immediately, the tingle started back up again. I tried everything I had read about postponing orgasm. I bore down and applied internal pressure to the general area and that helped a little. Doing so caused my abdominal muscles to tighten, which she felt.

“What are you doing, Thumper?”

“Trying not to come.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh…OK…I guess.”

“Good, because I’m going to fuck my cock for a good long time…”

Mother.

I knew I was doomed. The tickle grew and started to coalesce. Orgasm was imminent. I placed my hands back on her ass and pressed down, trying to make her stop. She did, for a second, but then started gyrating over the fully engulfed member.

“Oh god! Oh no! I’m going to come!” I was pleading for her to stop, but she wouldn’t. I felt the wave crash over me and a half dozen thick spurts of ejaculate surged out of me. I tried to fight it, to a point, but she was still gyrating. I was helpless. It was as if she pulled the orgasm from me, totally against my will.

A few moments later, she rolled off. “Give me Pink,” she said. I ripped through the bedsheets and under pillows trying to find the damn thing. My head was spinning with the sudden release and the guilt and the feeling of disappointment. Finally, I found the vibe and made a move with it toward her pussy.

But she grabbed it out of my hand. She pressed the button and I heard the thrumming little motor sink into her semen-lubed pussy. I left my hands off her until the very end and then it was only to rub the nipple closest to me. She didn’t push my hand away and finally came in a cascade of “oh, fuck”s.

She said afterward that she didn’t care if I came. It wasn’t her concern. She was getting her pleasure and that’s all that mattered. She didn’t feel like stopping so she didn’t. Very simple. I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything. Then again, she knew what she was doing. Knew I was helpless to stop it. I don’t know. I’m confused.

In the mean time, I’m still pretty horny. And feeling guilty. I wish I had last night to do over…

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The rabbit returns

I’m back. Miss me?

So last night, the first full night of my return, was full of talking (and a little sex – I’ll get to that in a minute). Belle was somewhat put off by my lack of subbie Belle-oriented behavior. Funny, she thought, since our “arrangement” was my idea and now she’s so accustomed to it that when I’m not in the proper state of mind, she’s annoyed with me. Unfortunately, she really didn’t say anything about it until we were in bed at the end of the day. She was right, of course. I hadn’t been focused on her in that way, though I certainly was horned up and wanting her in more mundane ways. My excuse (such as it is) is that I was so far out of my headspace after a week in the woods and 18 hours on the road getting home, that I couldn’t just snap back into the groove. As I’ve said, I’m not by nature a submissive person. It’s a state of mind I need to work on in order to achieve. Had she said something about it – made it clear that I was underperforming and that she was disappointed – I think I would have fallen back into the groove (or started to, at least). She feels she shouldn’t have to say anything, though that’s difficult for me. Hearing her assert her dominance over me gives me quite the charge. She suggested that I had been out of the device for too long and I felt a combination of foreboding and excitement that always exists within me after being free for a while. I value my freedom but also crave her control. She neglected to say when she’d put me back in.

After that, we talked about my trip. The one rather important thing I neglected to mention here on my blog was that the The Other Woman was also on the hiking trip I took (along with eight other people, including her fiancee). As I’ve said previously, I met her through a group of wildlife enthusiasts – the same group I was hiking with. My participation in this trip was always kind of up in the air. Belle and I are in a very different place than we were nine months ago when I was unfaithful, but still, it was difficult. It was difficult for Belle and it was difficult for me. In any event, Belle wanted to know how it was. How I felt, etc.

What I decided once and for all on the trip – something I’ve pondered quite a bit over the past three-quarters of a year – is that the dominant paradigm of monogamous life-long relationships is not the only entree at the buffet. In fact, I do still have feelings for TOW, but they’re entirely different that those I have for Belle. As I told her last night, Belle is my mate. My other half. She completes me. I have never wanted anything other than to be with her for the rest of my life. She really is the love of my life. My feelings toward TOW are clearly inferior to those I have for Belle. They lack depth, richness, and complexity but they exist. I don’t know that I’d call it love. If love is what I feel for Belle, then it’s not exactly that. I feel like I need a new word. More than like, less than love. In any event, these feelings don’t in any way detract from my feelings for Belle. If anything, they enhance them. During those moments over the past week where I felt a resurgence of my feelings for TOW, I felt even more in love with Belle. I can’t say I fully understand how that works, but there it is. I know in my heart of hearts that TOW is no threat to what Belle and I share, even though I continue to carry these feelings around for her.

I also wanted Belle to know that I didn’t regard these feelings for TOW as representative of anything lacking in my relationship with Belle. They are separate and parallel and in no way competitive. I do not want to leave Belle and/or replace her with TOW, but the affection I feel for her is real. Is this polyamory? I don’t know. Perhaps. I can’t say I fully understand the concept enough to be able to say that’s what I’m experiencing.

What I am capable of saying, however, is that the idea of Belle having a little piece on the side seriously turns me on. Like, seriously. I told her as much. As soon as I brought it up, I felt myself stiffen considerably. Unlike Belle, who loses energy to the perceived competition TOW represents, I feel that I’d gain energy from her having a paramour. It’d make me want her even more. The competitive energy would convert to a greater desire on my part. Again, I can’t explain this. It runs entirely against what we’re all taught by society as to the model of the perfect relationship. I’m sure a part of this has a lot to do with where my head is now with regard to her sexual satisfaction. We’re not equal. My sole purpose is to ensure she’s totally sated at all times. In fact, according to Our Covenant, “Belle Fille claims the right to achieve sexual satisfaction in any way she sees fit.” When she decides she wants a vibrator over her cock, that’s a major turn-on for me since she’s sacrificing an element of my pleasure to ensure hers. It reinforces her position. If she took that several steps further and replaced the vibrator with the cock of another man…well, I get somewhat light-headed just thinking about it.

All this talk of cuckoldry had me well and truly worked up. She instructed me to close the bedroom door and remove my clothes. As she laid on her back, I was again looming over her body on all-fours. She gently rubbed and stroked the stiff flesh between my legs, my balls, and – eventually – even my exposed crack. Sweet Jesus, that felt glorious. I flexed my hips in order to fully expose myself and told her, even though I knew it more than a little squicked her out, I totally wished she could fuck me. Feeling her fingers glide smoothly over my puckering little hole sent me into a drooling stupor. I was snapped out of that when she slapped my nutsack. She didn’t hit me hard enough and in the right place to cause the level of pain I really crave, but she got a few good one’s in there.

After being reduced to a simmering pot of sexual energy, I pleaded for a chance to do something to her. Anything. Please.

She pulled up her top and I latched on to her nipple as though my life depended on it.

“Gentle,” she reminded me.

“Yes ma’am. How would you like to come?”

“I can’t decide,” she replied.

“Your cock is available,” I reminded her.

“I don’t want to hear your lobbying.”

“I’m not lobbying. Just making a statement of fact. I know how much you like it.”

“Yes, but your fingers are so sweet.” She removed her bottoms, now totally nude. “Put them in me.”

I obeyed. She was incredibly wet as I ran my fingertips up and along her slick contours. She moaned.

After a few moments, “Stop! I’m going to come too soon.”

My fingers retreated from her snatch, but continued to stroke the inside of her legs while my mouth stayed on her breasts.

“Oh god, you’re going to make me come without even touching me. STOP!”

I pulled away entirely. She was significantly turned-on. It had been more than week since her last orgasm (she neglected to use her vibrator while I was away) and her body, now that it had become accustomed to regular relief, had a lot of pent-up energy. It didn’t take much to put her on edge.

She climbed on top of me, but didn’t put the cock in. She just rubbed her outer lips against it like an animal in heat and almost immediately came (hard). My desire reverberated within me. I felt a pang of regret for not getting inside her, but also a thrill at how turned-on I could make her.

After she had a few moments to bask and glow, I asked, “Can I put it in? I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Sure.”

I grabbed what used to be my cock and positioned its head between her lips and pushed it home with my hips. Holy fuck, that felt good. Her moist heat sent the reptile brain within me into autopilot and I began to slide it in and out like a piston.

“I promise not to come.”

“Liar. You’ll come.”

“No, I won’t. I promise,” as I continued to fuck her.

“Liar.”

“I swear I won’t come without permission!”

“Good, because you don’t have permission.”

And I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. Crude, half-formed fantasies about her non-existent paramour flashed though my brain. I can’t imagine my desire could have gone any higher. I so badly wanted to come, but knew it wasn’t allowed. I had to stop once as I got close to the edge, but had plenty of time to pull back before starting the steady rhythm again. I could have gone on like that all night. At one point, I opened my eyes to see her head being propped up by one hand, a bemused and somewhat bored expression on her face.

“You’re being so kind to me,” I told her. “Thank you for humoring me…uhhhng…oh, that feels soooo good.”

I had to stop again as another orgasm approached and she decided to pull the plug.

“OK, that’s it. You’re done,” she said as she lifted off me. I felt her hot wet pussy start to slip away and I lifted my hips in order to keep it inside her as long as possible. She pulled completely clear of me and I felt her soft wetness slide its last over the head of her cock as it fell back and bobbed, so hard and so desperate for more of her, suddenly cold. It flexed on its own volition. So, so desperate.

A short while later, after she had put her pajamas back on and the majority of my desire had eaten itself, I said to her, “I bet you’d let your boyfriend come.”

“Who says it’d be a boyfriend?”

Oh, fuck!

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Wednesday night smackdown

This is quite likely my last post before leaving on my trip. I can’t imagine I’ll post again before the 29th. Belle might post while I’m gone, though I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. For the next week, I’ll be communing with nature (read: hiking, camping, fending off mountain lions and bears, crapping in little holes).

—

Last night was all about the talking. For various reasons, issues related to my infidelity to Belle were raised and had to be unpacked and repacked. I think it all went well, but I admit to feeling frustration that these areas are revisited at this point in our relationship (which, as it turns out, is a very typical point of view from the unfaithful male). I try to be understanding. I work through whatever it seems like needs to be worked-through. Last night, we left things better than we found them.

Toward the end of the conversation, I was able to relate to her something that had dawned on me earlier in the day. I was grocery shopping and listening to the Masocast (this episode) when I started to wonder what life would be like if I was a young submissive male looking for love (not unlike Axe). I know how lucky I am having my Belle who is eternally GGG and does things for me she’d probably never think of doing on her own, but just imagine how much more complicated the entire “dating” thing would be if, at a point 10-15 years ago, I had realized what kind of sex I liked and was looking, not only for a compatible mate, but a mate who was also comfortable topping me.

And you know what? I can’t imagine anyone else doing that. I don’t have any fantasies of being dominated by anyone other than Belle. I have never seen another person and thought, “Oh boy, wouldn’t it be great if they did [insert dominant act here] to me?” All the things I still want to do that I haven’t had a chance to do, I want to do with Belle. And yeah, I am the luckiest SOB in the world that I not only uncovered this side of me that I find to be extremely satisfying, but I uncovered it while married to a person I’m comfortable exposing it to. Is it possible I’d want to be submissive to other women (or even men)? Sure. But the point is, for me it’s all about her.

Which also led me to tell her all I really wanted was for her to smack my nuts around. I’m totally free and unlocked, so they’re just hanging there (lower than they used to) and begging for abuse. She was on her back and I was naked and on all fours over her, kissing her, telling her I loved her, etc., when she started to land her blows. The first one was, as always, shocking, but not really painful.

“That didn’t hurt,” I said, knowing it would goad her on.

Smack! SMACK! WHACK!

She finally landed a good one. I dropped like a sack of kumquats onto her as the pain raced up and though me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her close to me and feeling the throbbing reverberate everywhere. I started to laugh. Then she started to laugh. Hell, it was funny.

“OK, now I can’t breathe,” she said.

After a minute or two of giggling at the pain, I started to lift myself back up on all fours again. I felt the part of my brain responsible for self-preservation fire off all its alarms and try to stop me, but the other part of me – the pain slut – fought back and kept me moving. I assumed a position where my legs were well-spread and she smacked at my nuts again. Not as painful as before, so I found myself actually lifting one leg trying to give her a clearer shot.

“JESUS GOD, MAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” yelled the little safety director in my head, but I ignored him. Feeling that conflict within me – desperate for more abuse while struggling with my body’s autonomic need to protect itself – is so fucking hot.

In any event, we had talked for a long time and it was getting late. I could have gone on for hours (or, at least I think I could) but she was tired, so we stopped. I spooned into her, erection pressing stiffly against her ass, hot, buzzing, feeling the last of the testicular pain ebbing away…wishing for more.

—

P.S. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite post of Dev’s. It’s like she wrote it just for me: ball smacking, domination, biting, orgasm denial and forced orgasm…all in a nice tidy package. Yum.

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Cut me, Mick.

Belle gave me a signal on Friday that she was going to let me out on Sunday. To be honest, when I know my release is imminent, I start to lose patience with wearing the device. As long as the release date is nebulous and uncertain, I’m able to maintain an attitude that allows her to keep me locked-up indefinitely. I knew (or, at least, was fairly certain) she was going to let me out by Thursday before I left on my trip, but once I knew the actual date, I really started counting minutes.

In any event, the package was nice and tight Sunday morning when I got up to help relieve some pressure. Belle stopped me before I left the room and removed her lock from where it had hung for all but 15 minutes over the previous two weeks. In the bathroom, I slid my still-swollen member from the tube. The feeling of slithering out of the thing after a long period (and especially when more than a little erect) is hard to describe, but the sudden onrush of sensation on sensorially-deprived flesh with so many tightly-packed nerve endings is dramatic. The cock looked more than a little like Rocky Balboa in that scene when he asks Mickey to cut him. Red, shiny, puffy in odd spots (where the shaft is exposed between the ring and the tube, where it protrudes through the vents, and where the head balloons through the slot in the end), and generally somewhat disfigured from the angle of the tube and the presence of the KSD-G3. He looked a mess, but little trooper that he is, was ready for action (not unlike the Italian Stallion). After I wiped a week of tubal grime off of it, I went back into her bedroom.

“It looks so weird to me like that now,” she said after instructing me to remove my pajama bottoms. “I’m used to it being all locked up in plastic.”

“Yeah, me too,” was all I could muster in response.

Moments later, I was lapping at her nipples and fingering her and wondering when she was going to make use of her recently available toy. She rolled me over and mounted the battered yet unbeaten (literally) meat. The warmth of her took my breath away. I focused on her breasts and thought about anything other than how wonderful it felt to have her moving over her cock. Apparently, it felt good to her, too.

“This is what I wanted,” she whispered in my ear, “to feel my cock…”

It’s the talking that always does it to me. I can stay in my little zone, but once she starts talking, I lose my concentration.

She started to chant, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” as she approached orgasm.

That did it. I was so close, too.

“Oh no. Oh no, I’m going to come!” I warned, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to…”

“Come with me,” she said, finishing my sentence, “Come (thrust)…with (thrust)…me…”

And I did. And it was glorious. My first really enjoyable orgasm in two months. I didn’t even try to stop it. I just let the feeling wash over and out of me and into her. I emptied myself in a half dozen fat, juicy squirts.

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Funny bunny

I looked into Belle’s eyes knowing I radiated abject horniness. I didn’t ask with words since that’s not allowed, but looking up at her, my eyes were pleading for…something. Anything. Contact. Attention, for her or me. Any outlet for my weeks of accumulated desire.

Her beautiful green eyes could not have been more different. Cool. Clear. Calm. She fingered the hair over my forehead and I could see her debating my fate. I was dangling at the end of her string and it was apparent she wasn’t sure in which way she wanted me to jump. What was so important to me appeared to be nothing more than a trifling whimsy to her.

God, I loved that. Everything we’ve worked for crystallized into that perfect moment. Me craving, aching, desperate. Her, unmoved by my desperation. No hint of my fate. No hurry to release me from my anticipation. Deciding what she wanted, in absolute and total control.

The 45mm ring of the device bit into the root of my surging erection while it’s cage and the extra plastic it contained to ensure my entrapment clamped like a vice. The meat fought back the best it could and pushed the prison up and away with all its might. My scrotum was pulled painfully tight, its contents crushed from behind by the thick plastic ring. I groaned. She laughed.

“You’re funny when you’re pathetic,” she said, laughing some more.

I groaned again.