Tag: orgasm denial

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Stress balls

So I have a bunch of stress about stuff right now totally not related to my sex life (and really, it’s not life and death stuff, just really bugging me) and it’s so bad that last night, with the kids away at camp and Belle offering up some “personal time” in the bedroom, I was unable to keep my shit together enough to let it happen.

First thing we did was talk about the stressful shit. Then we talked about my orgasm. Not a specific orgasm. Like, my entire ability to do it. Since the unexpected release earlier in the month, I’ve been wondering what’s up with the previously established schedule that indicated I needed to wait until July, 2014 to come. So, after the stressful shit discussion, I asked her what her plans were. I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal, I was just trying to change the subject to something a little sexier. And I failed.

I am not, as Belle suggested, upset over the last time I came and it hasn’t been bothering me. It was enjoyable and it’s over and I don’t regret it. She says it happened because she has to be able to decide when that happens. I don’t challenge that. I want her to control it and so does she. But, if the deal is I have to wait until a certain date but then she makes me go ahead of schedule, then we’re not waiting for the date. I cannot count on not being able to come before then as it may happen at any time. She seems to be thinking that if there are any limits on her control over me coming (even limits she herself has imposed) then she’s not in total control. There is a certain logic to that, but, as I said, that means the date thing is out the window.

At this point, I honestly don’t care. Experience suggests I’m a better little rabbit when we’re using a schedule. It allows me to more freely want the orgasm if I know she’ll deny me because of where we are on the calendar. When we’re not using a schedule, I end up doing other things she doesn’t like (like keeping track of how long its been). Also, I get all angsty wondering if now’s the time or if I have to wait. That said, I’m fine if she wants to go back to trying it that way. It’s been more than a year since that was how it worked. In something like 15 months, I only came three or four times. Perhaps it’ll work differently now. I don’t know and I’m not trying to tell her how to do it. I must be willing to do whatever she wants. That’s how this shit works.

So the conversation got tense. She got defensive, I got defensive. It wasn’t an argument, but I still ended up feeling very down and exactly like a fucked up, overly complicated, pain in the ass, needy sub. I haven’t felt that way in a long time. And we didn’t have sex.

I suggested that perhaps, with all the stress, we just take a break from the whole denial thing. Or scale it back. Maybe I only come when I’m with her but otherwise I’m not being denied. Just controlled. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that she rejected that out of hand. She has no interest whatsoever is being “normal.” Not ever again, she said.

A complicating factor in this is that she let me out two days ago and let me play with myself all I wanted the night before last. It was a lot of fun and I had a hell of a time falling asleep, but it left me with achy, full balls and, as we “discussed” the current state of affairs, I really, really wanted to come. Not in a sexy way, per se, more in a “fucking hell, my balls are blue and they hurt and they feel all swolleny and ow” kind of way. There’s always that hormonal overlay for the denied part of the equation, I suppose.

I wonder if I didn’t have an unintended hand (so to speak) in Belle’s experimental release. I have recently got in the habit of telling her how badly I wanted to come when she let me fuck her and even asking if I could knowing she’d say no. Telling her that I wanted it, letting myself want it, and hearing her say no is, really, the pinnacle for me. But I think that may have swayed her somehow. That hearing me say it meant she had pushed my denial too far or something. When really, it was the opposite.

So anyway, I await word on how we move forward. And maybe if we can have make up sex tonight. Not “make-up” as in after a fight, but make up as in the game got rained out and now we need to schedule a double header. A double header. That would be cool, actually…

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Devil fruit and other news

I broke a rule the other day. I had just finished a book on my Kindle and I went and bought another. For $15. Except, I’m not allowed to spend any money without Belle’s approval, am I? I even need permission to spend two bucks on the App Store. This is supremely annoying, but I guess I shouldn’t like all the rules.

I admitted I did it, at least. Belle said I’d have to be punished and ruminated on that for a few days. In the end, she decided that I’d have to eat some banana. I loathe bananas. I don’t like how they smell, I especially don’t like their slimy texture. I don’t understand why anyone eats them. I offered to pay the $15 back (how, I don’t know, though my ATM withdrawals seem to be a bit of a loophole in the “don’t spend money” thing). But she didn’t want money. She wanted me to be punished.

It wasn’t a lot of banana. Just a few slices. She was about to leave the house yesterday morning when it went down. It was left-overs from my daughter’s breakfast and, having seen them in advance (I should have tossed them out, in retrospect), I feared this would happen. Belle didn’t specify how I had to eat them, just that they had to eaten, so I cut them into halves and swallowed them each whole with a swig of Diet Coke (my morning caffeine delivery beverage of choice). Gagged twice, once pretty seriously. She was there, all dressed in her work clothes, impatiently waiting for me to finish. Almost literally tapping her foot. It was awful. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me ill.

Belle was gleeful over the whole thing. Like, ridiculously pleased. Later in the day, in remembering the event, she actually giggled and clapped her hands like a little girl. She really got into her role as the punisher and was quite pleased with herself for devising something so unpleasant. She said to me it had to be bad so I wouldn’t break her rules again. It was pretty bad.

In other news, I’m feeling somewhat recovered from the unexpected orgasm Belle pulled out of me. We haven’t talked about what my expectations should be going forward. It’s been interesting having just one after such a long period without. I don’t think this has happened before. It’s usually at least two, but there’s zero sign another is forthcoming (so to speak). In any event, I still feel different than usual. More horny, more locked up, less happy about it all. Not that I’m unhappy, mind you. Not at all.

In other other news, I’m considering moving my blog from WordPress.com to DreamHost (their DreamPress product, specifically) because of this. Freaks me the fuck out. Frustration that we live in a time where a serious discussion of the kinds of topics I cover here (and the accompanying imagery) could be considered so outrageous and beyond that pale that a company like WordPress would make it all cease to exist without warning or reprieve in a blink of an eye maybe if they fucking feel like it (and they apparently don’t always and it’s hard to know if and when the whim will ever strike them). Terrified that it all could, as I said, cease to exist in the blink of an eye! This site is so personal to me. It is me. I think it’s the manifestation of what blogging is all about. I hate hate hate that I even have to dick around with the idea of moving.

I didn’t choose WordPress.com because it was free, I picked WordPress as a platform because it had all the features I wanted. I chose WordPress.com so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of taking care of my own install. Over the years, we’ve paid WordPress not an insubstantial amount to add video and remove ads and have a custom domain, etc. This isn’t a money issue, it’s a convenience and functionality one. But, I’m either left to, as Ferns said, “be prepared and wait” for the day where my site resolves to a page that says my blog has been deleted or take things into my own hands and get ahead of the issue. I’ve already signed up with DreamHost (with Belle’s permission, of course, since it required I spend money) but I’ve run into a problem. Because I’m picky and particular, I want to prepare the blog on DreamHost first then switch the DNS so that to you, the reader of my blog, it all looks rather seamless. But I can’t seem to do that. And it’s bugging the crap out of me.

OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

DreamHost wants the blog’s URL to set it up under DreamPress but, as you can see, I’m kinda using the URL for something else right now. I thought about setting up a subdomain for the specific purpose of preparing the blog and then swapping it out for the proper domain when the time came, but GoDaddy (my registrar) won’t let me do that with a URL hosted elsewhere (and mine’s at WordPress — you’re soaking in it). WordPress doesn’t seem to offer this service, either, so I am stymied. I could always use a different URL altogether, I suppose, until it’s time to swap or I could change the domain to be registered with DreamHost (since GoDaddy is, I think, a horrible company anyway) but that’s kind of a pain. I’m not doing anything right now because the simplest path forward is blocked and, have I mentioned, I HATE HATE HATE that I have to dick around with this bullshit.

Any advice or other ideas would be welcomed in the comments.

/ OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

Finally, I’ve been meaning to mention Steelwerks Extreme’s new site for a bit. I don’t know how long it’s been like it is now, but I became aware of it about three weeks ago, I guess. For those unaware (and I’m sure that’s not many of you considering where you are), Steelwerks makes some of the most amazingly beautiful chastity devices on the planet. Their construction techniques and materials are absolute top-notch and the fit and finish of the final product appears to be impeccably gorgeous. I’ve always admired their products, but never considered asking Belle to acquire one since it seemed like the only limit to what you could get was your imagination. I found that a little overwhelming. Now, they’ve done a great job “productizing” their devices so, for me anyway, it’s easier to shop and choose and then customize. More like how Mature Metal and Steelworxx merchandise their wares.

classic-pa-chastity-device03So while perusing their new site, I found a model they call The Classic PA. This is kinda of like a cross between the Steelheart and the Looker 02. Simple and lovely and shiny. Like the Steelheart, it’d be completely secure via my PA piercing and, like the Looker, it can have a PA insert. Unlike anything from Steelworxx or Mature Metal, the Steelwerks device is expensive (remember what I said about impeccable, top-notch, and gorgeous?). I asked for a quote for essentially what you see here and they promptly informed me it’d be $2,875 CDN (today, that’s just under $2,800 USD). I knew it would be a lot…but wow. Don’t get me wrong. I think these things are worth every bit of what they charge. But damn.

In any event, I showed the site and the device to Belle and told her how much it was. She was immediately drawn to the beauty of the device but didn’t seemed too intrigued until we watched the promotional video and she saw the key. Again, for the unaware, Steelwerks devices are “locked” with a proprietary screw with an S-shaped screwhead. It can only be opened or closed with a matching S-screwdriver. That screwdriver can be hidden in a wide variety of custom made objects, but Belle liked the lovely necklace option. It’s clean and sleek and totally appropriate for any woman to wear. Currently, Belle keeps the key to me in her purse since the Steelworxx keys are kind of ugly (as are most). Seeing it always on her and nestled between her breasts would be, simply put, awesome.

Short story long, I think it’s entirely possible she’ll be ordering one of these someday. Not right now as we’re in the middle of some other expensive projects around the house, but I know my Belle. This is on her radar. It’s just a matter of time.

Now excuse me while I back-up my blog…

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She kept pumping

The festive July 4th weekend was a time of reflection for me since it was exactly a year ago that Belle let me have what turned out to be the last orgasms of the year and was the kick-off to my longest orgasmless period yet. I didn’t come again until January of this year and that was supposed to be the last time until July of next year. But it didn’t turn out that way.

I’ll back up.

I had been ruminating on how I’d mark this personally significant date (kinda like my independence from orgasms or something), but I never found the time over the busy holiday to sit down and do it. At Belle’s instruction, I brought the condoms and lidocaine with us to the northern retreat so she could enjoy the penis freely and I expected to be let out for that purpose at some point. She did let me out, but we didn’t do anything other than the usual stuff, though she did let me fuck her one morning and it was grand. We fucked like teenagers. Wildly and energetically and the whole time I was enjoying wanting so badly to come but being refused the right. I begged and cajoled. I bargained and justified. But no. It was good. It was how things are supposed to be. I was totally under her control.

I didn’t pressure Belle to use the lidocaine so as the last morning away from home dawned, I figured she just never wanted to give it a shot. As we laid there in bed, Belle started to run her finger along the length of the penis and around my inner thighs and around my nuts. It felt great. The erectile tissue did it’s thing and she wrapped her hand all the way around the hard shaft and started to pump. I splayed out, back arched, and lost myself in the feeling of her pleasuring me. I didn’t think she’d keep going for very long so I didn’t do any of my internal stuff to hold back the inevitable. She was really pumping and I was getting closer but I still didn’t try and stop anything since she wasn’t going to let me come (I thought). Suddenly, I realized I was very close and I said something to her about it. I made it quite clear where I was. She kept pumping.

Inside, the rabbit was appalled. Horrified. This was not supposed to happen. But the lizard, remembering the 17-year-old style fucking from the previous morning and the short leash and tight collar it’s been made to suffer though, was triumphant. He knocked my higher brain offline and rode the crest of the orgasm up and over the explosion of chemicals that seemed to hit every part of my sensory system simultaneously.

It hurt, I came so hard. I can’t say it was enjoyable. It was too intense. But the bubble had been burst. A real fucking orgasm, dreamy dopey hangover and all. Belle commented on how little ejaculate there was, but she hadn’t really been stroking me that long. This wasn’t as much a shot as it was an implosion. I laid there, stunned into paralysis, and felt the great billowing sail of my denial deflate inside my chest. Not sorrowfully. I refused to let myself think of it that way. Belle whispered something about how that was a demonstration of how I wasn’t in control of anything. When I could move again, I snuggled into her and wrapped my arms and legs around as much of her as possible.

Did I want to come? Of course. Desperately. Would I have chosen to come if she had asked my preference? Maybe. Am I glad I did now? Um…I dunno. Like I said, I’m trying not to think of it as a good or bad thing. I’m trying to think of it as analogous to when she hits my balls. Sometimes, I don’t like it. It’s not what I want at that moment. But I take it because it’s a symbol of my lack of control. That’s what this was, I suppose. What does this mean to the previously expressed July 2014 date? No idea.

Typically, I find I need two orgasms after a long denial to feel really sated. The first one is horribly intense and over the top. The second on is fanfuckingtastic. Then I’m totally out of the game for a week or more. This time, she locked me back up within 24 hours. I didn’t want the device. I wanted to stay out. The other shoe hadn’t been dropped. I wasn’t really in the zone, but I could feel the lizard sitting expectantly on the rabbit’s head. Last night, as Belle slept, I was laying there with my hand on my balls and hard, hard tube and yearning to be out. The device felt especially cruel. I wasn’t in subspace at all. I was in horny needy male space. That’s a different thing. She sensed my different attitude before dinner and asked where my usual subbie persona was. “Wiped off my stomach and into a dirty sock,” I said.

Today, I still feel like I’m in kind of a nether zone. Not what I usually feel. Not bad, just different. I am really horny. I mean, horny. Crudely so. My balls tingle and ache a little. I am not a fan of the steel between my legs. It’s a weird combination of things. Regardless of how it feels or how much I like it, it is an excellent demonstration of what Belle said she wanted it to be. I am not in control of my own sex in any way.

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Lido-can

Thumper's sex kitI’ve experimented with Lidocaine before with some success (that is, if you define “success” as having an erection you can’t feel and won’t come), but never with Belle. It was fun to play with it while masturbating, but I’m not allowed to do that anymore so it was just basically sitting around in the bathroom drawer. Since I haven’t been able to satisfy Belle with the penis in the way she wants lately (and have been feeling guilt commensurate with that failure), I thought it was time to try it with her.

This post contains an NSFW image, so keep clicking if you want to hear the rest of the story…

Continue reading “Lido-can”

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Torture

My Belle is getting very good at torturing me. Not in the tied up with rope and dripping hot wax kind of torture, the making me so horny my vision clouds and the device feels like it’s chewing the penis off kind of torture.

The other night started innocently enough. She wanted to sit on my face and come and I really wanted her to. Along the way, though, she got sidetracked by my usual nipple sucking and clit fingering. Her hand wandered over and mixed with mine so we were both flicking and caressing her pussy but then she told me to stop and go sit between her legs and watch.

Ungh. OK.

I had my face right in there. The room was dark, but there was enough light leaking in the window for me to make out her finger dipping and diving and rubbing. I could hear her wetness while I tried to absorb her feminine bouquet through my very pores. The penis was as hard as it could be. It felt even harder than it does during the morning wood sessions and that’s pretty fucking hard. I moaned, both in agony of what I was sensing (but not being allowed to participate in) and the hard metal bite of the German steel.

I moved closer and tried to nuzzle my nose against her soft, wet folds.

“Get back,” she said, softly but sharply.

Torture.

Again, like a doomed moth, I was drawn in and again I was put back. Pain or no pain, the months of denial and days since the last time I was allowed to enjoy her body were causing me to grind the device into the bed. It was killing me, but my head was full of buzzing and the only thing in the entire world was her pussy. I was losing my mind from it all. Then she pulled her finger out and let me suck it off before taking it away again.

“Please!”

“No.”

More fingering. More hips gyrating. More finger sucking. More abject suffering. I may have been moaning freely. Whining. My inner emotional narrative turned to physical sound. Her hips were picking up speed. I could sense her orgasm coming and I wasn’t going to be part of it. Then…

“Go ahead,” she said as she removed her hand.

I devoured her. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her snatch into full contact with as much of my face as possible. The trapped penis meat screamed at being pressed against the bed, but I knew nothing but her pussy.

Then she told me it was time for the face-sitting. I leapt up, panting and probably a little wild-eyed. My hand shot instinctively to her wetness, not wanting for a moment it to go unattended  She was so wet. So slick with her own fluids and my spit. The penis ached for that feeling. Hot, wet and home. More moaning.

She liked how it felt. She wouldn’t let me stop. She came, clutching my wrist in her hand and pressing her legs together. I reached for her G-spot and could feel her muscles clamping down with each wave of orgasm. Then she was done. And I was dizzy with sensations of her proximity.

After a few moments, I slowly climbed on top of her.

“Please,” I croaked, “Please, can I fuck you?”

Pause. Hopefulness.

“No.”

Crushing disappointment. Then, a building of…of…what? Some kind of emotion. Not anger. Nothing directed at her. Just pure frustration. Hot and sweet desperation. I could feel my soul inflate with it.

“PLEASE,” I said, pushing. I knew I was. But I couldn’t stop myself. I could not keep myself from saying what I was thinking.

“NO,” firmly. Then, more gently, “Not yet.”

I clutched her. Held her firmly. I could feel my muscles knotting with the building tension I was feeling. Building…building…then, release. I was broken. The tension ebbed away with every heartbeat. My body relaxed, accepting my position. The sweat on my body turned chill.

Then I babbled. All kinds of declarations of love and commitment and gratitude. I was desperately, desperately frustrated. The penis throbbed in its prison. And I accepted it. All of it.

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Fetishist

Got the following text from Belle yesterday morning:

Put yourself in the Steelheart

And I did, using the lock and key from the recently removed Looker 02, and left the key in the standard place for her to retrieve later in the day. Not a moment too soon, really. I was getting kind of bitchy-whiny about being unlocked. No, not in that dreaded top from the bottom way. I just don’t react well to uncertainty. She had said after letting me out that I’d be back in on Sunday, but she didn’t do it. Then Monday came and went with no word at all. As if she forgot my state. So, by the time she left for work on Tuesday with still no word, I was feeling anxious in that way only an annoying sub can. Pulling the ring around the penis and balls and settling the shaft down inside the tube as the two halves of the lock fitted into place zinged a warm and comforting thrill through my chest. Nice that after more than four years, it still works for me.

I expected to have a hard time (ahem) with the nocturnal hydraulics, but I slept mostly through them. The L02 doesn’t wake me as often (the ring’s a little bigger) and it usually takes me a week or so in the Steelheart to get used to the early morning squeeze. I fell asleep on my stomach with the device pushing firmly up into my pelvis and a not inconsequential horny buzz going. Today in the shower, I was doing my tube cleaning routine and found even the sensation of the water rushing by head of the penis was enough to make my knees weak and tummy tingle.

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

Honestly, I don’t even like seeing the penis anymore. Not without something on or around it. When it’s freely flopping, I feel…less. Somehow. When I approach a urinal and whip it out, there’s a moment of disorientation where I forget it’s free. It’s like peeing with someone else’s dick. Getting out of bed Tuesday morning, I watched it flop over to one side lightly and wiggle around with my balls laying there like a deflated ballon and the whole thing looked altogether wrong as opposed to this morning when instead I watched and felt the steel shift and pull and keep the nuts orderly positioned side by side. As it should be. As I should be.

Harry asked (and answered) why chastity? I know he was speaking in the larger sense (and I don’t disagree with his answer, though in my usual way, I’d have said a lot more), but why do I need this thing on me? Why does the physicality of the steel mean so much? As it is with so many kinks, I just don’t know. How can we know where these things come from? I can tell you when I’m wearing it because she told me to, I feel better. Special. Looked-after. Maintained. Even sexier. I recall near the beginning of this blog’s life a commenter suggested I had a fetish for chastity devices. I took exception with that at the time, but I can’t really deny it anymore. I do have a fetish. I am a fetishist. Either I had it all along or my feelings of emotional and relationship well-being have been fused with the device between my legs and what it does in such a way that I feel incomplete without it.

I feel like I need Belle to keep pushing and shoving me into tighter and tighter spots. More restriction. More constriction. Less access. Less pleasurable sensation. What’s the limit? Where does it end? Are we, those who long to be controlled, all like this? Or do I have a reciprocally recursive feedback system that builds on itself in such a way that eventually all my feelings of submission and denial will be compressed into a diamond-hard lump?

Yeah, I don’t know. As long as she keeps me locked up along the way, I guess it’ll be OK.

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How I know I’m not gay

I love pussy. That’s it, really. How I know I am totally not gay. I’d save my 20-year-old self so much angst if I could only travel back to point out to him (along with a firm smack on the side of the head) that someone who loves pussy as much as me could not ever be gay. Gay guys might have, at one point in their lives, put up with pussy or might still, from time to time, dip their pen in that colored ink for variety, but a truly gay guy, as Dan Savage points out, is just not into pussy. Period.

I say this because while I was gone, I got this text message from Belle:

Want to sit on your face

And I’m like, WOOF. Yes. Sit on my face! Oh, wait. I’m like a thousand miles away. Fuck.

So I got home Saturday and, even though she let me out of the Looker 02 (which I kept on the entire time I was gone, BTW), she did, in fact, sit on my motherfucking face. And it was awesome. Because, as I said, I fucking love pussy. Especially Belle’s. And you can’t experience more pussy than when it’s grinding into your face.

Funny thing is, Belle seems kind of tentative about doing it. She asked me if I really liked it. Yes, I really do. Maybe you didn’t notice, Belle, but whilst you were astride my face the penis was boned out like a little flagpole. Plus, you know, I’ve only posted about a hundred face-sitting images on the porn farm (such as). I love the whole dynamic. Feeling her hips gyrating over my mouth, her fluids running down my chin, the sensation that I’ve turned into a masturbatory device. The fact that she’s on top. No need to feel weird about it, sweetie. Sit on my fucking face twice a day if you want.

After the face-sitting (which I loved…have I mentioned?), she let me fuck her and it was glorious. The next day, I got to get her off again and, while warming her up, I said something about how I wanted to jack off since it’s been, like, forever since she let me.

“Why don’t you put that energy into me,” she suggested. And I did. But when she was done (using Pink this time), she didn’t let me go for a ride. No reason. Told me I had already had a good time the day before and, don’t forget, I’m not the one who decides when I fuck her. Not by a long shot. And of course, jacking off was not in the cards, either. Inside, the subbie bunny part of me was totally buzzing but the reptile in me was seething. A real man would just take her, it suggested. Just fuck her. But I’m not that man. So the bobbing boner was left to deflate all on its own. Not sure it completely has yet, come to think of it.

Before I left, Belle said something about sending me to a pro domme. I can’t remember the context in which she said it, but she was suggesting there were things I wanted she wasn’t all that into giving me. I assume she’s talking about bondage and hitty stuff. In fact, I’m not that into the idea of a pro domme if for no other reason than I can’t imagine submitting to a woman who’s not Belle. Trying to split my submission like that with another female just doesn’t seem to compute to me.

But. Not being gay and totally digging pussy aside, it occurred to me while driving for hours on end that I’d really be into seeing a dom. Being tied up and beat by a dude? Used and abused by someone with a cock? Oh, hell yeah. I’d really like that. But there’s no such thing, as far as I can tell, as pro doms. I mean, maybe there’s a few. Here and there. Or in NYC where all kinky shit originates. But in the Midwest? Doubtful. So it’d probably look more like a “play partner” kind of deal. And who’d want one whose penis is permanently padlocked? And that’s not what she said anyway. And she was probably only joking. So I should probably stop thinking about it.

In other news, I’m still unlocked nearly 48 hours after getting home. She didn’t feel like dealing with putting me in last night and must have forgotten this morning. I was in the L02 for three weeks and, for those curious about devices with urethral inserts, I can tell you it only got more comfortable over time. By the third week, I could barely tell it was in there. Only little issue I had was after I took it off and tried getting my 4ga ring back in the PA that had been empty all those weeks. Things had started to close up, but I was able to get them stretched back out easily enough.

I expect she’ll use the Steelheart now since it’s her favorite, but she might toss me a curve and pull out the Jail Bird. Who knows? Not me.

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Two strikes

I’m off again on Friday for another week in the woods. Belle’s made it clear this time that she fully expects me to stay locked in the Looker 02 the entire time I’m gone. She even went to far as to suggest she might need to take my emergency key away or hide it in my truck somewhere to keep me from using it. In the end, I promised to only use it for actual emergencies and not simply to make my life a bit more convenient. I said this while laying next to her, face burrowed into her, in a small and quiet voice.

“How does that make you feel?” she asked. Trigger tripping, that. The tone of my voice made it clear how it made me feel. Making me say it out loud? Ungh.

After a long pause, “Powerless,” I said, “Small and powerless.” The penis shifted and pressed against its cage and choked down more of the device’s insert. Being forced to say it like that welded the commitment to my psyche. I’ll do whatever I can not to take the device off while I’m away from Belle.

Not sure why this time’s different than last time when she told me I could go free, but this weekend’s performance might have something to do with it. She told me she’d let me out but expected me to “stare at the ceiling or think about baseball or whatever the hell you need to do” because she wanted to fuck me and come.

Saturday night started in the hot tub for us. She brought the key with her and I took the device off and she stowed it in her robe. The penis immediately started to chub out (as it does hopefully and expectantly whenever the device is removed), but even though it was dark and we were alone, nothing too rambunctious could happen as there were Muggles about. Eventually, I was behind her and massaging her shoulders while grinding the stiffy into her gently. I moved one hand from her shoulders and neck down to her pussy and rubbed it through the fabric of her suit for a while before slipping my fingers beneath. The feel of her snatch in that very sexual position (though one we never use) made me very hard and quite light-headed from arousal. We stopped after a bit and went inside to bed.

Though my fucking wasn’t supposed to happen until the next morning, the hot tub must have gotten her going because before I knew it, she was on top of me pounding away and I had her tits in my mouth. I was doing pretty good until she started to make “I’m going to come” kind of noises and all of a sudden I lost it. Not an orgasm, but the closest I’ve come since January. One strong surge of ejaculate right at the moment of withdrawal, but none of the accompanying sensations or afterglow of coming. Even though I was able to get ahold of myself sufficiently to let her have another go, her moment had passed. I failed the one thing I’m supposed to do in bed: get her off.

Next morning, more of the same except the close call on my part was avoided. It was very frustrating for both of us. I told her not to worry about me and just go and whatever happened to me happened. I didn’t really want the orgasm, but I wanted her to have hers more than anything. In the end, she had a calmer head than me and again she was left without. I failed again. I felt (and feel) very bad.

“Keep that up and I’m going to have to find a surrogate,” she said, exasperated.

More trigger tripping.

So here it is, the eve of my departure, and she still hasn’t gotten off. I don’t know if she’s going to want to try again tonight or not, but I do know I’ll be keeping the steel on, in, and around the penis until she tells me I can take it off. Whenever that is.

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One thousand percent

“I really want to come in you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“That’s not going to happen.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Are you sure?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“One thousand percent.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“OK, you’re done.”

 

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Only she could

She slid her fingers out from her hot, wet pussy and brought them up to his face, rubbing them over his nose and lips and allowing him to hungrily suck the essence from her digits.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.