Tag: orgasm denial

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Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.

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Fishing for offense

Belle read my previous post about the penis problems from the other day and, while liking it in general, thought I was being defensive in the comments. Mostly because she was on the same page as the other women who left their thoughts. Essentially, women are conditioned/assume that if a man can’t get it up it’s somehow a reflection upon them, the woman he’s with, and not something else going on with the guy. The male commenters who indicated an opinion on the matter seemed to back me up. That erections were not as simple as showing a guy something sexually stimulating and waiting for the spongy tissue to fill up.

As the conversation went on, I realized that perhaps I was being a bit defensive, but I honestly don’t think it was underserved defensiveness. Usually, when I feel that way, it’s because the basic point of whatever post is being commented on has been missed. While that post didn’t have a salient point (some do, some don’t), I did try to establish as a man with a penis attached to his body that the simple stimulation = hard-on idea was incorrect. Yes, even men in all their supposedly binary simplistic ways, have a bit of nuance in how their sex works.

The notion that men’s sexual stimulation is as simple as a flicking a switch and that any issues he has, assuming they’re not physiological, are the responsibility of his partner seems to me sexist all the way around. As if men are simple bits with on and off settings and nothing in between and no psychological dimension to their arousal and, similarly, if he can’t get it up, it’s her problem, not his. That’s all kinds of fucked up.

I try not to go out of my way to find offense in things like this and I’m not trying assign the label of “sexist” on anyone in the conversation (and I’m fairly surprised to feel as though I’m on the other side of a sexist notion, to be honest about it). It could even be argued I’m overreacting. But it’s how I feel and, I think, the root of my “defensiveness.”

Of course, I didn’t need to write a post about erectile dysfunction issues. I could have glossed right over it. I don’t write about everything, after all. But I did and part of why I did was to hash out the difference between not getting it up because I wasn’t turned-on and not getting it up even though I was. Plus, I very specifically wanted to disabuse Belle of any idea that she was responsible. She may own the penis but she can’t control its function with such granularity. I became annoyed because the comments immediately went to where I specifically tried to redirect the issue. It’s fair to say women are conditioned to think their partner’s erections are their problems, but it’s frustrating to see that notion defended by women. I don’t think it’s fair nor anywhere near as simple.

I’ve written many times here that chastity and denial have rewritten some of the basic penis programming. It gets hard significantly less often due to stimulation while locked up than it does when unlocked. Additionally, once she comes, my body reacts in many ways as if I’ve come, though with less intensity than if I actually had. I also don’t think it gets quite as hard as it used to in similar situations nor does it stay as hard for as long. It’s very much a different organ than it was when we started (this even extends to the physical — there’s a permanent dent in the shaft now right where the Steelheart’s tube would hit during an erection). Plus, of course, chastity, denial, and D/s make me think about it and its role a lot more than a vanilla guy would. So it’s not really surprising to me at all that it would, on occasion, develop a hiccup. Even if only once in a while.

I can’t say to what extent Drew factors into any of this except to make the point as delicately as possible that the penis is usually not hard with him except when I’m under very specific stimulation. I have some theories as to why I seem to have had an issue resetting to being with Belle, but none of them are scary or menacing or anything at all anyone needs to worry about. It’s just how it is. A temporary blip.

For the record, the Sunday morning the penis worked exactly as designed. She told me I could fuck her and, as soon as I felt her wet pussy, it was ready for the task. No delay. It stayed that way the entire time until I came. The orgasm was intense, even painful, but not unpleasant. Clearly, whatever the cause of the previous day’s issues, they were resolved. I’d prefer not to think of it as a “problem” and it’s certainly not Belle’s to worry about. I really wish she wouldn’t, regardless of conditioning.

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Correlation vs. causality

This morning, the stupid penis refused to work again. This happened a few weeks ago, too. Just like then, I was really ready to go beforehand. Due to Belle being sick since last year (literally), we haven’t had sex in like two weeks and maybe that’s no big deal for guys who can take matters into their own hands, but it’s a real problem for those of us who can’t. It led me to feeling very irritable and grumpy and all-around not nice. But I digress.

We started with the kissing and petting and then her clothes came off and I felt her snatch for the first time this year (OK, I’ll stop) and the familiar THUMP in my chest when my finger parts her lips and finds the delicious hot wetness. I know for a fact I had a hard-on at that point. Then I got her off and she came really well and I pressed myself against her as she writhed from the intensity of it. Again, hard enough to fuck. As her basking began, though, things started to peter out. That’s not without precedent as I’ve been trained to see her coming as an end to sex, but I started to freak out just the same. The idea of not being able to keep it up (more of a fear, really) is, itself, not unlike a baggie full of ice on one’s junk. It’s a self-perpetuating condition.

Belle asked me if I thought it had to do with Drew. He was here this week and, last time I failed to pressurize, he had been here just before, too. I suppose it’s possible the reluctant hard-on is a symptom of adjusting from one kind of sexual experience into another. It’s been a really (really) long time since I was swapping back and forth between boys and girls in the same week. If, in fact, there is a connection, it’s subconscious. It’s not that I don’t want to be having sex or am fixated on something not right in front of me. But I can’t really say. Is it just a correlation or is there causality?

Thinking back on it, the last time I can recall this happening was right after I had the affair and before I told Belle about it. It also happened with The Other Woman (which, I’ll tell you right now, is not the best way to maximize your extramarital action). I suppose there may be a part of my brain that has difficulty transferring control of the hydraulics or something. This time around, I feel no guilt. Only gratitude. So it’s a mystery.

Unlike the last failure to initiate, we didn’t stop until I was able to chill out and get it up. Usually, if she tells me about how long I’ll be denied or locked up or whatever, that’ll get me hard (even when in a device) so I asked about that.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be until I get to come?”

“I was thinking about letting you do it this morning.”

Oh. Go on…

“Why today?” I asked. Not that there has to be a reason. I suppose any day is the same as any other.

“I don’t know. Maybe as a way to mark what’s mine.” As in, a way to reassert her control following Drew’s visit.

The night before, I said to her that I was very grateful to her for sharing me. That that exact phrase popped into my head when we were laying together watching TV earlier in the week and she was playing with the little hairy patch at the base of my back and I was feeling all warm and happy and secure. I’m so happy she shares me.

“I’m not sharing you,” she said, “I’m loaning you out.”

I didn’t see a lot of difference between “sharing” and “loaning,” but she did. If you share something with someone, you are giving some of it to them to have. You and they are equal owners of part of whatever it is. If you are loaning it to them, it’s still yours. You’re only allowing them use of it. No exchange of ownership implied.

“OK,” I said, “Thank you for loaning me out. I do appreciate it.”

So, making me come right after he was here would be a way to drive home who’s in charge. Not only of my orgasm, but of me and my sex. My entire being. Fucking hot, right? Things began to stir.

I knew that if she made me clean my seed from her after I came, that would get me good and hard because, of course, semen prior to ejacualtion is the sexiest fucking thing but .056 milliseconds after, it’s demon vomit. The idea of eating it prior is remarkably intoxicating. Of forcing me to eat it, whoa boy! Instant hard-on. So I got all up inside her.

Now, I thought I was going to come. I fucked with that goal in mind. It’s a different kind of fucking (not on the outside, but on the inside). And I got really close. Really really. Then I had the thought that she had only said she was going to let me. Not that I could. So I asked.

“No,” she said.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Of course, I didn’t. But did I want to. For real. Ooooooh man, did I want to.

I said to her I could have just gone ahead and done it. That her previous statement on the matter would been sufficient to establish intent on her part. But, of course, it doesn’t work that way and she knows me better. It’s not my orgasm. Not my penis. Not my sex. It’s all hers. Forever and always.

All the best things in my life are directly attributable to her.

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Moist mishap

This past holiday week was not unlike having two and a half weekends all mushed together. And, as such, we had a fair bit of sex. Belle wouldn’t let me out of the Steelheart on any of the occasions I was allowed to get her off, though, and even though I’m still kinda getting over the two orgasms she let me have a week ago, that cranked me up pretty good.

I had that “orgasms aren’t that bad, maybe we should let me have more of them” thing going on but that’s since receded. What didn’t is the crazy intense urge to be inside her, especially after being given the chance to play with her pussy as much as I did. Serious teeth-grating kind of intensity. But she wasn’t having any of it.

Sunday morning it was unclear anything would happen since so much already had. Turns out, she was willing to let me have a fuck. And only a fuck. She didn’t even take her top off. It was very transactional. Like she was rolling her eyes and enduring what I wanted as a treat for good behavior. There was a time when that might have bothered me, but I was so horny and needing to get the penis wet, I dove right in anyway.

And it was pretty fucking great, to be honest. She didn’t let me do anything to get her juiced up so it was a tight, dry fit at first and normally I’d be worried about her but, you know, she told me to so I let myself get off on the feeling. I was doing really well and enjoying the lack of impending orgasm that sometimes happens when I know we’re not trying to make her come. I can just fuck and fuck and never get very close and that’s what it was like…until it very suddenly wasn’t.

I don’t know what happened. I think I got so into it and the feeling of it and how wonderful it was and how I wasn’t thinking about coming at all that when I realized it was all of a sudden and quite freakishly right fucking there that I froze. And just in the nick of time, too, because while I spewed forth all the seed that had been frustratingly collected over the past week and through all the sex, etc., I didn’t have any of the other orgasmic symptoms. I didn’t feel like I had come. Except in one particular way: The penis immediately and completely went limp.

“The worst thing in the world for you,” Belle said immediately after, “Something you can’t categorize.”

Funny. But it was kinda true. Such a weird thing. In retrospect, I’ve labelled it a ruined orgasm. The rapid depressurization of the penis tissue was, I think, caused by being freaked out by getting so close to coming and not having been able to feel it approach until the very last moment. But I was still pretty damned horny. Horny enough to drool over the Tumblr and feel more of that molar-grinding kind of frustration later in the day while the free penis meat moved around distractingly inside my pants.

And I’m still out. Belle said she was feeling lazy and left me free until we arrive in NYC tomorrow. Don’t know which she wants me in, but I’d vote Trainer 2.0 only because the plastic will make the various metal detectors tourists sometimes find in New York less annoying. And, since I’m basically on my own for the first several days we’re there as she does work stuff, I don’t know why she’d care. But it’s her choice, not mine. I can work around the steel if that’s what she prefers.

Finally, I want to wrap this by clarifying something that I think a significant number of you (though not a majority) appear to think is the case regarding Belle and me and the openness in our marriage she’s allowed. Namely, some of you are apparently of the opinion she’s being victimized or taken advantage of by me, her sex-crazed maybe-homosexual and apparently insensitive lout of a husband. Or something like that. Trust me, nothing could be further from the truth. I have been very careful to check in with her and get a sense of her well-being through this entire experiment. I continue to do it even now. She doesn’t post here so you have to accept I’m telling the truth and haven’t left her tied and gagged in the closet (which is my thing anyway), but it’s true. She’s perfectly OK with what’s happening as long as it happens within the bounds she’s set up. Really. And having those boundaries is a very normal part of open relationships. Look it up.

Second finally, it’s honestly shocking to me the comments I continue to receive here (let alone those on Drew’s blog) from those who have a problem with men having sex with other men. Or, even more unsettling, men falling in love with and marrying other men (as is the case with Drew and Axel). Please, if you feel that homosexuals should not marry or, if they have already done so, are not really married because they’re gay, get the fuck out of here and never return. I honestly hate you and it pains me to think you would gather any value from my blog. People like you are part of why this world sucks for people like me who are not part of the standard of normal, let alone for the millions of loving gay people who are just trying to have a fucking life. You are the worst.

And with that, I shall bid you adieu. If you’re a cool cat who lives or works in NYC and wants to hang out, eat something, or imbibe a beer or two, let me know. I’m pretty much a lone spirit until Thursday afternoon. I have some stuff I want to do, but my schedule is pretty open. Also, know that as an avowed introvert, placing myself out there like that makes me really freaked out. But I’ll try and be normal anyway. As long as you are. And aren’t planning on trying to kill me or something.

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Love her two times

Saturday morning was our usual sexy funtime I usually start looking forward to at about 3:26 on Wednesday afternoons. ‘Cept this time, unlike many of the recent occurrences, Belle let me out of the Steelheart beforehand.

It’s like firing a starting pistol at a dog race. As soon as the steel comes off, a nagging buzzing feeling starts whirring someplace right behind the penis. It knows. This feeling is totally different when I’m still locked up. How much of it is in my head and how much is in my crotch I can’t say, but that’s where I feel it.

Regardless, I know what getting unlocked under those circumstances means. It’s not for me that I get out. This is not Thumper time. She wants to be fucked. I, then, assume the role she desires. Sure, I want to fuck her, too, but there’s a particular kind of manly fucking she craves and when I get out on a Saturday for no apparent reason, that’s my job. No doubt I’m going to like it, but I need to keep myself from liking it so much that I can’t perform long enough.

On this particular Saturday morning, I gave her just enough foreplay to get the juices going (they already were, turns out) before mounting her like I own the joint. I think she really liked this based on the aforementioned juices, a compliment attitude, and the moaning. Oh man, the moaning. It’s what gets me every time. She wants to be vocal during sex and I absolutely love hearing her be that way, but it’s raw meat to the subby bunny’s alter ego. Once the moaning and groaning start, that nagging buzzing I talked about flares up into a breeding imperative I struggle to keep in check. Even the baseball distractions didn’t help (mostly because there’s no such thing as baseball right now).

I started to slow down and she said, “Why are you stopping?” as if it wasn’t perfectly clear why I was stopping so soldiered on. “BASEBALL,” is what I was trying to think but the lizard in my head was all, “I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOANING SHIT!” I tried so hard, but couldn’t keep it back. I came while I fucked and kept on fucking even through the intensity of the post-orgamsic nerve olympics. Her pussy went from nicely worked up and wet to ridiculously slippery and messy in about three squirts. I think because of that change in viscosity, she only came a little (which is kind of a female thing, right? Coming just a little?) while I was left panting and gasping and dealing with the fiery penile tissue. She finished herself off with Pink right after. So, I came, but didn’t really enjoy it. A few hours later, I was feeling really horny as if it never happened.

She didn’t have me relock myself after so I was free as a penis-shaped bird when, the next morning, things started to get going again. This time she told me straight up that I was going to get to come and enjoy it. Of course, first I had to get her off so I did.

There was zero angst about having another orgasm whatsoever. It is her choice when I come and she chose to let me. Period. I was able to enjoy it, the fucking that led up to it, all of it.

She told me before that I had to promise to stay in the right frame of mind and be a good bunny and all that so I did. I promised. I even meant it. Though later that day, when she told me it was time to go in, I waffled. And not a little. With whip cream and peach preserves and a side of bacon. She said fine, but Monday morning I had to be in with the key in her hand before she left for work. I pancaked, but she had none of it. So, as soon as the offspring were both off on their daily endeavors, I was handing her the key.

“You know this is what you want,” She said to me. No, I didn’t know that right in the moment, but yes, I do know that in the big picture I want it. Just…you know…not exactly then.

So that’s three orgasms in about six weeks. Far too many, she thinks. Says the next will be a while. “A long time,” is all I can get out of her. No idea what that means since she probably doesn’t either, but I’m thinking that’s it for 2014. As it should be, of course.

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A boy and his best friend

There’s a saying about a dog being a boy’s first best friend but, in reality, the first best friend a boy has is his penis. It’s always there for him (and has been from the very start), is always ready to play, and, with a penis, a boy will never be bored for too long.

I suppose, kinda like a dog, when the boy finds a significant other that person can come between the boy and his penis except that the penis, unlike the dog, enjoys the other as much as the boy does so maybe the metaphor breaks down here, but the boy can always depend on the penis to be there for him even when the significant other loses their significance (and/or the dog dies). I can’t say if a woman’s relationship with her pussy is the same, but I don’t think it is. I suspect this is due to cultural indoctrination about what good girls do and don’t and what boys are allowed or even expected to do combined with the universal common knowledge that permeates our society as to how a boy can use his penis for pleasure by himself with no open discussion as to how a girl would do the same with her parts. Plus, I think penises are just simpler. Plus plus, women and their sexual needs are, I assume, fundamentally different in their psychology and mechanics than men’s. But I don’t have a pussy and, even though I know what they like, I won’t pretend to know how they are.

I say all this because I was thinking the other day as I lay next to Belle who had told me I wasn’t going to be unlocked at all and would therefore not feel any pleasure with the penis (regardless of how badly I was craving it) that boys (and the men they turn into) have nothing to prepare them for the kind of delayed and redirected gratification that comes with chastity and denial. We are physically and socially conditioned to expect on-demand gratification either from our partner or, lacking that, ourselves. In the forty-some years of my existence prior to having Belle control the penis, that was my life. If I was horny and she was unresponsive to my needs, I would jack off. QED.

But then chastity came along and I couldn’t do that. Plus, I was a lot hornier than ever before (excepting, perhaps, those years between my 16th and 23rd birthdays). And now, of course, I am specifically not allowed any such indulgence. What I did was take that sense of immediate need and simply make it Belle’s responsibility. I distinctly remember thinking she didn’t take my desires seriously enough considering the great gift of my chastity that I had given her. Double frustration. Not only was I horny as fuck, she didn’t seem to think it was her job to help me channel my frustrations.

I think this is a trap a lot of guys find themselves in.

Chastity and denial are, indeed, great at bringing couples closer together. But that can also do the opposite if the guy takes his perceived birthright of easy sexual gratification and pushes it over onto his partner. That is not the point of chastity. And it didn’t become the force for good that it is for us until I figured that out.

The only way to really quench my sexual thirst is to have an orgasm. But I only want that physically, not mentally or emotionally. She doesn’t want that either, most of the time. So I had to realize that my frustration and the constant need for sexual contact was mine to deal with, not hers. Yes, it often gnaws at me and flutters around in my chest and makes my balls ache and the penis hard and drippy, but that energy is what powers the beneficial aspects of chastity and denial. It is chastity and denial, not a side-effect.

I remember people telling me in comments on the blog early on that I wasn’t seeing the big picture. That I wanted her to control my sex, right? And wasn’t this what that meant? That I wouldn’t get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it? But I didn’t see it. In short, I was a spoiled boy who missed his best friend. I struggled to adapt. But yes, I did want her to control my sex and living with not always getting what I want is the point. And, strangely, being totally estranged from my first best friend and completely removed from instant (or any) gratification has made me significantly happier than I was before. I can’t explain why, but it’s true. I don’t know how it works, but it does.

So now, when she tells me I’m not getting unlocked or even that we are not going to have sex, instead of feeling angry or resentful or petulant, I feel warm and grateful. Grateful that she has accepted the true meaning of her control without guilt or excessive consideration of what I’m feeling. Yes, she does recognize that what I go though can be hard, but she and I both know it’s for the best. We both know it makes me a better person and partner to her and it’s what we both want. So she appreciates it, but what I crave is not a primary consideration when she decides what she wants to do. And holy shit, does that turn me on.

If you read this blog because you hope one day to have your partner keep you locked up and/or deny you your orgasm, you need to know that doing it the way we do it means more than just a stifled erection. It means truly subjugating your sex to theirs. It means finding a way to capture and use that pent-up sexual desire for productive purposes and not letting it leak all over them in destructive and selfish ways. That is fucking hard. Maybe the hardest thing you’ll ever do for your partner. But, if you can pull it off, maybe the best thing you’ll ever do for them and for yourself.

I mentioned up there the “great gift of my chastity” that I had given Belle. Yes, it is a kind of gift, but I know now that the gift of her control is at least as great. Maybe greater in that it wasn’t something she ever wanted to do with her husband or thought she’d need to deal with. Never forget that. Your chastity is not bigger or more important than what they give you in return as the one controlling you. Submission is not greater than domination. It is not harder than domination. They are equal yet opposite things.

I don’t want anyone to read all this and think chastity means less sex. That’s not what it means. For us, it’s meant more and so much better sex. What it means is fewer orgasms for you, that’s it. The trap is trying to get her to have sex with you every time you would have otherwise gone off to yank one out. That’s unrealistic and unfair. You need to find a way to get off on their being in control and telling you no. You have to get off on being controlled. I know, that sounds obvious, but it’s a lot easier to think than to do. If you can do it and also channel that energy into making them realize how good the extra hassle of being in control of you can be for them, you’ll wake up one day to find them as much or more invested in that control than you are.

You might miss your first best friend, but…you can always get a dog.

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Morning exchange

“Again with the feet.”
“I’m really horny this morning.”
“You’re horny because you looked at porn.”
“No, I looked at porn because I’m horny. I’m horny because you don’t let me come.”
“And that’s for the best, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.”
“Thank you.”
“OK, you can make me come now.”

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That moment

Laying next to her, soaking in her smell and her smooth softness. Kissing her face and her chin and her nose. Feeling the fat, sticky member pressed between us — still wet from being inside her. My arms wrapped strongly around her, binding her to me. Legs still sweaty and intertwined. The throbbing desire to be buried within her, to still feel the hard meat moving in her soft, hot wetness. To still be connected to her power. All that beating and crashing inside my chest but being held in check by her calm, cool control.

And then she turns her face away just a little. And at that moment, I know. She’s through. She’s moved on. She’s done with me.

But I will always be right there, waiting for her to return.

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Quality time

It’s always nice when the various orbits of family life occasionally align so that parents can find some good old fashioned quality time for themselves. Saturday was one of those days for us.

The second child was going to be at a friend’s house at a sleep-over birthday party and the first child is more than able to take care of himself so Belle bought tickets to a movie and made dinner reservations for us. Dinner and a movie. I mean, crazy. Just like the young people do it. Never mind the movie started at 4:30 in the afternoon and the dinner reservations were at 6:30. Not quite senior special hour at Denny’s, but close. What matters is we had a real fucking date.

Earlier in the day, Belle had rewarded me with a nice long list of things to do for the weekend. They were all mundane domestic-type things, but they weren’t things we needed to do, they were things I needed to do. And that makes a big difference. Also, since I was doing them, Belle was free to go for a run and otherwise just focus on things she wanted to do for herself. That kind of thing feels like warm honey poured on my soul.

So I was able to get most of my tasks finished in time for the movie (we saw The Skeleton Twins which was good but often felt too much like a couple of well-known comedians trying very hard to show they have serious actor chops). We had dinner at a nice upscale casual spot on a city park. Belle commented that it wasn’t as crowded as she would have thought and I reminded her city folk don’t do dinner at 6:30 PM. They’re barely breaking out the cocktails at that time. Sure enough, by the time we were finished eating, the place had filled up dramatically with young and beautiful people (some of whom were veritably spilling from their bodices).

During the meal, I got a text from the first child asking if it was OK with us if he went and spent the night at a friends house and we were more than OK with it. That meant our afternoon and evening alone would be capped off by an entire night alone. What kind of decadent fantasy world had we entered?

I had already arranged with Belle that I’d give her a massage when we got home but having the house empty meant we didn’t have to be creepy parents with the door closed and romantic music playing behind and got to leave the door open. I lit up all the candles and turned on an old k. d. lang album we used to have on tight rotation when we first started our relationship and we both got naked. And I mean naked since she gave me the key to the Steelheart beforehand.

Not that she wanted the penis. Maybe she thought she was being nice or maybe she just didn’t want to mess with it in the morning, but once the meat was free, I had lost my interest in the massage and was singularly focused on getting it wet. She redirected my attention and that’s how I found myself sitting on her ass rubbing lemon verbena scented oil into her skin.

The penis didn’t get totally hard, but it laid on the small of her back pointing up her spine and plumped out to about 70%. I could feel the end of it hypersensitized from being in the tube for a week brushing against her skin as I rose to get better leverage against her shoulder muscles. I felt stupidly horny but she said I just had to “be strong” and wait until morning. As usual, such a demonstration would be good for me. So I was good and, even after she was fast asleep and I was Tumbling through the porn, I very specifically did not play with the erection.

I woke up several times as the end of the erection was fired by simple contact with the sheets. That would invariably cause my chest to fill with the old familiar carnivorous butterflies fluttering around and feeding on my previously contained sexual energy. But still, I was good. No playing. Nary a squeeze. All this was made more difficult by the fact that she was uncharacteristically sleeping nude like I almost always do. Every time I touched her, I felt her hot skin and the butterflies roared.

I was awake hours before her. I checked my phone and looked at Facebook and more Tumblr and all kinds of things. I managed to fall back into a light doze just before she woke up for good. Again, like good modern adults, we were quickly back on our respective glowing screens and I took the opportunity to tweet:

Since the house was empty, she was able to come as loudly as she wanted and she usually wants to come pretty loudly. Her orgasms are such a big deal to me that I nearly shot my load myself just hearing her climax. Fucking hell, but feeling her come is the greatest thing ever. I’m so much more aware of how it impacts her whole body now. It’s just glorious.

After her basking period, she told me climb aboard. As soon as the penis slipped into its warm and wet home, she said in my ear, “You will come.”

Called it.

How did I know? No clue. I could just feel it, though. It was right there. As obvious as the boner between my legs. She was kinda miffed later that I knew it was coming.

So I started to fuck her and was pretty pleased with myself that I didn’t shoot immediately. But not too long into it, when I felt the orgasm coalescing in that familiar way I’m usually really good at fending off, I lost control. I had wanted to edge several times in the hopes that the eventual orgasm would be plentiful and enjoyable, but at the first edge I felt as though a third party stepped in and took over. My old friend the lizard pushed the fuzzy bunny out of the way and forced me to keep fucking. It’s an odd sensation to feel one’s primal forces take control from the higher brain, but that’s what happened. I even remember thinking, “No!” But it was too late.

The orgasm wasn’t pleasurable. Not at all. I was also noisy because I could be, but I cried out in such a way that Belle asked me near the end if I was OK. No, I wasn’t. I felt like I passed a marble through my prostate while someone simultaneously slammed me in the small of my back with the flat side of a shovel. The intensity removed any pleasure. I came too hard.

The dopey glowy part after was kinda nice, but didn’t make up for the fact that I felt somehow violated by my own psyche.

In the hours that followed, whatever salutary benefits my denial creates evaporated leaving behind only the gritty residue of pent-up frustration. I fucking wanted to come again. NOW. But she wanted me back in the Steelheart. She’s no dummy. She knows how this works by now. So, only a couple hours later, I was felt the cold tube envelope the needy penis just as she wanted.

I finished my remaining tasks, but without enthusiasm. I forced myself to let the subby rabbit come forward and be good even though my temper was very short and I felt pretty irritable. I did all I could to shield Belle from that. As the day wore on, I could feel a slow steady drip start to refill my sub reservoir, but the dominant feelings I had were far from subby.

The new thing for me this time around was Drew lurking in the background. I wondered how coming would change my enthusiasm for having a guy on the side. Not only that, but a guy I was supposedly subbing to. I will admit (as I already did to him), that enthusiasm took a big hit. Had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have volunteered for any contact with him and would have retreated into myself. That’s my default behavior with regard to men and sexual release which is why I could never have a romantic relationship with one. After I come, I’m just not into them and actually actively avoid them.

But I wasn’t rude and I soldiered through my default inclination. I felt bad for him because he’s been away from home for a while now on the other side of the world for business and has been feeling the isolation. So I was nice. I admit I had to work at it, but I didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. In any event, I was honest with him and he understood. It’s all new and weird, and not only for me. For him, for Belle. For all involved.

I feel like I’m a better sub now than I was in the past. Before, this one orgasm would have sent me spinning. I had no leverage against the changes it causes in my chemistry and no way to shield anyone around me. I’d spiral down and get depressed and angry at wanting more and not being where I wanted to be. I’d resist going back in the device and conveniently forget to put it on even though I knew that’s what she wanted. But now I feel much stronger. I feel like I know how to deal with it and know it’s not the end of the world. A lot of this is because I’ve really and truly let go of resisting her control over my orgasm even (and especially) when it involves giving me one I’d rather not have. There’s freedom in that and, surprisingly, strength.

Also, Belle’s more confident in her role. She’s not feeling sorry for me and is less willing to accept my backsliding. She has a better handle on how my chemistry works and has no qualms manipulating it to both of our advantages.

I can’t say I’m back in the groove this morning. Not even 70% there. But I know I will get there and I’m choosing to focus on the glimmers of my subby groove I can feel out there and not on the shards of willful lizard thinking. In my forty-seventh year, I feel more confident in who I am sexually than at any time in my life. And more accepting of it. I’m very lucky that the light of my life is right there with me.

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The other side’s POV

I found a description of an average day living in long term orgasm denial (without chastity) as a female over on Tumblr. It was written by a woman calling herself unixslut.

I’ll [play with myself] for an hour, sometimes more. My goal is always to reach one edge, not the quickest way possible, but the slowest, with the most build up, the most sexual tension. I don’t aim for orgasm then stop short anymore… I don’t even aim for the hairy edge, most of the time. I aim for reaching a place where I’m panting out loud, frigging myself desperately, mewling or moaning, and not really thinking. When I get there, it’s time to shower. Often, showering will take a while, because I can’t resist soaping up my tits extra well, and “rinsing” my clit to be extra certain there’s no soap down there…

If I were not locked up all the time and was plumbed with a pussy rather than a penis, this is exactly like how I’d live. Not just the diddling with myself parts. All of it. It sounds a lot like how I was before Belle told me I couldn’t play with myself when unlocked.

In any event, really hot read. I love a literate sub. Check it out.