Tag: orgasm denial

Posted on

My rules

There are several things I need to get to blogging-wise, but I first I want to formalize the newly updated set of rules under which our D/s dynamic operates. There have been various versions of this over the years, but the most recent list has stuck and now there’s a new addition that makes them just about complete (though, of course, I don’t decide that). 

  • I can only come when Belle tells me to and, if she tells me to, I have to.
  • I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.
  • When it’s not locked, I must never play with the penis without permission.
  • I must never volunteer to her how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, I must always have a locked penis. No exceptions.

The addition is in the second rule. It used to be that I had to be locked up when she told me to be so. A couple of weeks ago, I was unlocked for a whole week during which time she assumed I was locked. When she found out I wasn’t, she was surprised and my weasely explanation was she never told me to go back in (and, of course, I didn’t bring it up). Since she prefers me when the penis is locked and, absent some extraordinary reason to be otherwise, sees no reason for me not to be, the assumption now is I will always reclock the penis as soon as possible after she lets it out for whatever reason unless she explicitly gives me permission not to. 

The others are pretty straightforward. The fourth rule is written that way because sometimes I want to come and sometimes I don’t but, according to the first rule, she decides when that happens, not me. Therefore, it doesn’t really matter how I feel about coming (either pro or con) and, obviously, asking for one is out of the question. The thing that’s interesting to me about orgasm control and denial is, the longer one goes without coming, it’s often the case that one wants to go longer and actually starts to dread the idea of it. By resisting or complaining or in any way trying to influence the one who decides, one cannot truly be said to have given up control over that part of their existence. I’ve found that once I really let go of all that and thinking on how long it had been and how long it would be, etc., I was much happier. And so was she. 

The last and unspoken rule is that Belle makes the rules and I live under them. Unless I fuck up miserably. That’s the next post…

Posted on

Funny little thing

“It’s a funny little thing, isn’t it?” Belle remarked.

The lights were out and we were going to sleep (I thought). It was a weeknight and she was tired, but she told me I could sleep naked so I was. She had her hand down on the penis which was at its most flaccid state. Not much more than a tiny worm of a thing even as she fiddled with it.

“Hurph,” I replied. I was halfway tired and halfway wanting to catch up on some news and unsure which way I’d go but I wasn’t at all thinking anything would happen between us.

“Do you ever think about that? How funny they are?”

“Yes, I actually think about them quite a lot.”

Her fiddling became more focused. More like stroking with fingers on either side. I squirmed a bit and shifted to give her a better angle at it. It was plumping up into a not so pathetic state.

Once it got to about 80% full, she was actively pleasuring it and causing my breathing to catch in my throat. The heavy 4 gauge circular barbell in the PA flopped hither and yon and my fingers sought out her nipples through her bedclothes.

“You’re going to give me an orgasm,” she stated plainly and moved to take off her clothes. I took the opportunity to grab and squeeze the hard-on between my legs. She’s right. They are funny little things. One moment barely an inch long, just a little nubbin of a thing, and the next almost six times longer and hard and much bigger around. Ridiculous, really.

Once she was naked and I was on her nipples with my mouth, she stopped paying attention to the penis. I tried to find a spot where I could grind it into her hip while pleasuring her, but my focus was on her breasts and her snatch and the sounds she was making and the way she was breathing and moving and using all those inputs to expertly gauge how successful I was being at getting her off and where she was in the process. I know her orgasm as well as my own since I’ve been party to it many times more often over the past several years.

Since we were alone in the house, she was able to come loudly. Since it was hot out and the A/C was on, the neighbors weren’t alerted to the event. I felt her pussy clamp and spasm around my fingers as I pressed into her clit the way she likes. Then is was over. She was coming down. Purring and breathing more deeply.

And I laid there. Waiting. Expecting. Not moving. The penis was still hard against her. I didn’t even move it. I wanted in her. I wanted to feel her pussy around me. I hoped she might let me come so I could fall asleep more easily, though there was no way of knowing about that.

And I waited. She breathed.

And I waited. She sighed.

And I waited.

“Good night, Thumpie.” And she rolled over.

Posted on

I can’t say

I’m not allowed to tell her what I want out loud. To put words to my desire. My craving. So I scream it in my head. With each thrust into her, “Let me come!” With my eyes, “PLEASE.”

She smiles back at me. 

I whimper. 

“What?”

I can say it now so I do.

“No you don’t. Thanks for the fuck, though. It was a good one.”

Posted on

Controlling the denial

My goodness, but we kinky folk like to define things, don’t we? I wrote about May’s stats and that triggered Charmer to write about whether she and Snake are doing orgasm denial or orgasm control. I suppose the terms are used interchangeably by a lot of people and I probably used them that way, too, at least at first. I now think a couple of things on the subject.

First up, it kinds of depends on one’s point of view. In my case, I’m being denied when Belle has me locked up but I’m also controlling myself when she lets me fuck her or otherwise fiddle with the penis absent permission to come. From her perspective, she’s controlling me when I’m locked up and denying me what millions of years of evolution is pounding away at me to do when the penis is inside her. So, looked at that way, control and deny are yin and yang-ish.

But can I be really denied something I don’t want in the first place? In that case, it’s all control, right? Pure willpower over the autonomic response from having the penis in a warm, wet place and pushing it in and out. Thing is, my higher brain may be able to sit in its wingback chair donned in a smoking jacket, snifter of brandy in hand, and have a William F. Bucklyesque cerebral discourse on the subject but my lower brain — my lizard brain — only wants one thing. And it’s all my higher brain can do sometimes to ride that lizard and keep it in check. So absolutely, lower lizard is denied what he wants through the control of Mr. Buckley upstairs.

I don’t know about other guys, but it’s that push and pull between the two parts of my brain where I really get off on denial. It’s like surfing, in a way. Needing to maintain balance and poise while constantly judging and compensating for this wild force of nature. The feeling of your toes hanging over the board and the wind in your face as you skate the edge of failure while riding that sucker all the way in. That, in and of itself, is a kind of energy altogether different from fucking and coming. Yes, absolutely, coming is wonderful. But sitting in that pure space between desire and objective while waiting for someone to tell you what happens next. The lack of control over one of the most basic human urges. That’s the stuff.

Her denial depends on my control. Her control over me leads to my denial.

Usually.

This morning was different. It started out well with the fingers in the pussy and the nipples in the mouth and, thanks to a kid-free house, Belle yelling her heart out as she came. Then I got to fuck, but all her vocalization had left me right on the edge from the get go. I found myself immediately in that space between wanting it and getting it and was trying to surf right down that pipe and was doing a fairly good job. Minimal leakage, but lots of starting and stopping.

But then she stuck her tongue in my mouth. And…I don’t know. I can’t tell you what happened. It was like her tongue, once it was past my lips, was ticking the penis directly. The pipe started to collapse and I held the penis stock-still in an attempt to keep things going, but her tongue wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t fucking her, but I started shooting inside her. The pipe crashed down and my board went up over my head and I may have bumped into a shark, I don’t know.

It was a really weird orgasm. At first, I thought maybe it was ruined. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing so she didn’t know what was going on. Then I felt the prolactin hit my brain in three beats of my heart. Like someone had injected me with it. BLAM. Went down like a sack of bricks and was quickly in sleepy-bye land. There was no explosion of dopamine that usually goes with orgasm so it didn’t feel like one when it happened, but I was absolutely post-orgasmic once my load was drained.

Siting here now, I don’t really feel like I came. I’m still pretty horny. Easily turned on. But also kind of grumpy. I can tell my temper is shorter than usual. Part of it is being annoyed at myself for kinda coming, but it’s more than that. Hard to explain. Brain chemistry is tricky, I guess.

Whatever, that’s what happens when the control fails. The denial ends. You can’t have one without the other.

Posted on

Give and take

She told me it was time, so I climbed between her legs. She took the hard shaft in her hand and, as usual, placed its leaky tip against the lips of her freshly orgasmed pussy. I tilted my hips a bit and felt it. That feeling. Of warm, wet, soft envelopment. Not confinement. Not hard steel. The feeling that makes my eyes roll back. She made a little sound of pleasure.

I left it right there for a moment, then pulled it out until I felt her lips slip past the sensitive flare of the penis, then pushed it back. Just about a third. In and out. In and out. Not too much. Not yet. God, I wanted it all in there. I wanted more than I had inside her. I wanted to feel every bit of her pussy push back against me, but that’s not something the penis can do on its best day and, if I were to try, it would be more about what I wanted and less about my job. She likes to be fucked. She likes to feel a hard man inside her. She wants to feel him take his pleasure from her pussy, but were I to do that the whole thing would be over too quickly. I might even come.

I fuck her for her when she lets me. It’s like a dance. A performance. For her benefit. I pretend to be a man concerned only with his own ends because that’s what she wants to feel. If I forget myself and become the part I’m playing, I lose my control. I can’t lose control.

I shift my weight forward and feel her pussy grip the penis about two-thirds up. I wrap my arm over her shoulder and behind her head. She brings her hand up (the one that put the penis in the spot she wanted it) and feels my bicep. I flex it hard as part of the dance. She purrs.

Her breathing is pronoucned in my ear. Her eyes are closed and she’s enjoying the feeling of being penetrated by a real hard shaft. I turn my head a little to the right and put her nipple in my mouth. I lick and suck it while pushing in a little deeper. I quicken my pace. Won’t last too long at this speed, but I know my limits. I know when to stop. In and out. In and out…

Right there.

I freeze. A hot shot of fluid flexes out of me and into her. Another. Ejaculation without orgasm. I wait a moment. Let the urge drain away. That’s it. Push it in a little. Pull it out a little. The orgasm, which was so close, now is far away. I can get back to my job. I won’t get close to coming again.

The consistency of her snatch has changed. It’s super wet and slippery with the added ejaculate. I fuck through it and pretend it’s not my mess. That she’s already been taken and these are his sloppy seconds. The penis, if flagging at all, regains its strength. Full pressurization.

Now the penis is fully inside her. I’m fucking her deep – well, as deep as I can – trying to hit her cervix. Push it in, pull it out a centimeter, push it in, pull it out a centimeter. Her nipple is back in my mouth. She’s liking this. The penis is how she likes it. The fucking is how she likes it. We both pretend like I’ll come in a minute. But I won’t. I just keep fucking and sucking. I keep giving her what she wants. And she keeps taking it.

Posted on

Can’t stop the feeling

There’s this feeling I’ve been having that I want to write about but I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s the kind of thing I will noodle on while trying to fall asleep because sometimes, in that space just between wakefulness and sleep, inspiration will happen. Sometime I find I wake up with the idea ready to go. It’s weird, but it can work. But not this time. Not really.

There are two things I know about myself. Well, lots more than two, but two that are related to this feeling. One is my need and desire for orgasm has totally been reprogrammed. I find that I think about wanting one while inside Belle maybe 30% of the time (a percentage which is much higher when I know I might be able to have one versus knowing I will not be given permission) and I’ll occasionally want one when not fucking her as a result of looking at porn or whatever, but that’s a lot more rare. Regardless of my relative desire to come, I always know I’ll be happier if I don’t. In fact, the more desperate I am to come and am denied the experience, ultimately my…satisfaction (seems a weird word to use to describe not getting something I crave but we don’t seem to have a word that describes contentment from being unable to satisfy a craving and being satisfied by the want instead) will be higher. Also, if I come more than once in about 48 hours it absolutely negatively impacts my mood for about a week. In short, how my brain used to work with orgasm is gone. The firmware has been replace. So that’s thing one. Thing two is the longer I’m left locked up the more I want to be locked up. Being unlocked with a crotch unemcumbered is by far a weirder feeling for me than the opposite. Belle could make a rule for me tomorrow that said I am to always be locked unless she’s using the penis and I’d be thrilled. Being in bed and rolling over on my stomach and not feeling a hard lump pushing back at my hips makes me feel a little less grounded and centered. Having a constricted, inaccessible erection is deeply satisfying (that word again) and even comforting.

So, to recap, I don’t want to come and I want to always be locked in a device.

The feeling I can’t capture is how very deeply this sits within me. To the extent that I don’t really feel like a man anymore. I mean, sure, I feel masculine and look and act as masculine as I ever have (which, admittedly, isn’t always super masculine), but there’s an assumption of what being a man is that doesn’t quite fit me anymore. I don’t want to spread my seed and I don’t want to be able to play with myself. I even fantasize about my wife taking a lover she finds so satisfying that she no longer needs me for penetrative sex. In fact, the only thing that keeps me from feeling disappointment when she unlocks me for sex now is that I know how much she enjoys the feeling of being fucked. I’m doing it for her, I tell myself. Sure, it feels good. It feels really good, but I’m not motivated by that. I’m motivated by the desire for unrealized sensation more than the sensation itself. So what kind of man would rather his woman get fucked by someone else, doesn’t want to come ever, and hopes he’ll remain locked in a chastity device forever? And if I’m not a man, what am I?

I guess a third thing about me is that I’m much more motivated sexually by giving pleasure or being a vessel of someone else’s pleasure than receiving it myself. Feeling Belle come from my touch, how she loses herself in the ecstasy in the moments before orgasm, that I took her there. Those are very great rewards for me. Even before I was aware of my submissiveness, I was significantly more interested in my partner’s pleasure than I was in my own. When I’m with Drew, it’s the same way. The things he wants and needs are my goal. I could get into more detail, but suffice it to say I endure more then I would otherwise because I know it’s bringing him pleasure.

I’m not saying I’m not a man in a way to say I’m a different gender. It’s not like that at all. But being someone who would rather want than have, who would rather give than receive pleasure, who can move from having sex with a man or a woman with ease makes me feel very other. I look at porn and I see “real” men doing what porn says they do (even the gay ones) and I don’t see myself. I like it. I get turned on by it. But it’s not me. I’m like a different version of a male. “Male B.”

I suppose it would be the most straightforward to just say I am me and leave it at that. But we kinky folk like to sort and label and identify. And that turns out to be a kind of itch I can’t scratch. Submissive is a good start, but doesn’t feel like enough. A masochist surely. I dunno. I am a being of desire who wants to satisfy desire. Someone who wants to make pleasure happen for others. Either the language is failing me or my comprehension of it is.

It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day. Things are working. I’m with a wonderful woman and have a rewarding sex life. I don’t need better words. I can write them all down like this and make you see the shading between the colors. And I know that because right now today I’m deeply horny and have felt the Steelheart’s bite many times over the past several hours, all these feelings are more potent and nearer the surface. But I still have this feeling.

And now, this…

If you don’t like J.T., we can’t be friends.

Posted on

Going up, going down

We had to leave the northern retreat a day earlier than expected. On the long drive home, with my daughter and her friend in the backseat of the truck, I was unable to ask Belle the one thing I really wanted to know. In a moment of stopped traffic, I texted her…


Belle continues to be reticent when it comes to having me go down on her. When it happens, which is relatively infrequently, she always asks me if I’d do it. Asks. A) She doesn’t have to ask. She can simply tell. “Eat me out.” My only acceptable response to that is to put my face in her pussy. B) I always want to eat her out. I simply cannot describe how much I love her pussy and the closer and more intimate I can get to it, the better. There really is no way to get closer once my nose is buried in it.

I think women in general (not all, of course, but a fair number) aren’t as socially conditioned to have the same kind of feelings towards their junk as guys are. I don’t want to psychoanalyze, but it seems our culture spends a lot of time shaming the pussy and talking about odor or idealizing the labia-free image or whatever and that leads to a generally negative vibe in many cases. Personally, I think pussies should be celebrated. Belle’s is like the center of my universe. I want to touch it, taste it, be inside it. I just Want. It.

But even more than simply telling me to eat it, she seems even more hesitant to climb up and push it down into my face. But, invariably, she absolutely loves it after. It’s that moment when we reach the fulcrum of effort and she starts grinding and gyrating down on me more than I’m licking and lapping up at her and the pussy monster inside her gets feverish and insistent of its release that I love the most. When the lower half of my face is slick with the combination of my spit and her pussy juice and my face and mouth become an elaborate masturbatory aid and she lets her need for pleasure override any lingering reticence. She rarely seems to come harder than at that moment, squatted down over my mouth. Bliss for us both.

“Why don’t we do that more often?” she asked, still breathing heavily.

“I have no earthly idea,” I replied.

“Can you breathe when I’m up there?”

And I think, Obvioulsy otherwise I’d be dead, but I say, “Yes, easily,” and chuckle.

After, she went down on me. This always takes me by surprise because even before she kept the penis locked up most of the time she rarely sucked me off. She seemed especially inspired because I’m quite sure had she kept it up I would have come in her mouth. I am under explicit orders not to come in any circumstance, but in her mouth is a way I’ve never done it. It was surprising how good she was at is considering how rarely she does it. But oh fuck did my toes curl.

“Did you like that?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good. I need the practice.”

For him, she left off because we both knew what she meant. The little bit she’s told me regarding what he’s said to her suggests he likes getting sucked off and expects her go down on him. I warned her getting me into her mouth is going to be easier than getting him, but I’m perfectly happy if she wants to practice a lot more in the future. It’s what makes us perfect, after all.

Posted on

The return of TOG

I’ve tried to write a post about TOG, Belle’s possible other guy, but I couldn’t get it right. Not only because I struggle to write about it in a way that isn’t all soap opera-ish (and I said I wouldn’t do that) but also because the status and nature of their acquaintance keeps changing. And yes, it’s true I said I wouldn’t write a play-by-play of what was going on between them, I eventually decided this blog is about me and my relationship with Belle and TOG is part of that, too. So ignoring it is just as weird as writing about it too much.

First I wanted to describe how the reality of living with the prospect of TOG (wish I had given him a better name, but oh well) was different than the initial fantasy of him. Then I wanted to write about what it was like tending to the hurt feelings of one’s spouse when their guy on the side seemed to evaporate in an unexpected and thoughtless way. After that, I wanted to talk about the unique experience of trying to find Belle another, better and more mature match. But then TOG came back. So we’re kind of back to the start again.

Before he ghosted Belle, it was clear things were kinda shaky. The issue between them, I think sitting over here on the sidelines, is that Belle’s in a relationship she has no intention of leaving and, in that relationship, she’s already got the kids and the house and the job and all that whereas TOG is in a place where one is usually starting to think about those things (if one is going to think about them) and he’s more than a little smitten for my wife. That’s a scary place to be for a guy, I get it. I do feel for him. I worry about him in that what he’s going through emotionally will spill over on Belle and that will spill over to me. But I have no control over him whatsoever. There’s nothing I can do about any of it. So the reality of TOG’s situation kinda lets the air out of the cuck fantasy ballon (or, to be more precise, lets the blood out of the cuck’s locked up penis).

Another issue is its difficult for me to objectify him and their relationship. It’s hard to let go and just think of him as a cock that will fuck Belle. I’m too empathetic. Too aware of the person carrying the cock around. And too concerned for how his issues and behavior will affect Belle. Case in point, the other week he without warning blocked her on Facebook. That’s how they have been communicating. It’s an abrupt thing to suddenly find an empty lot where you used to go for a good time. It hurt her. I was slow on the uptake and could have been more supportive, I think. Belle’s trainer (who used to be my trainer until I stopped going to him because he’s kind of a dick but who is now kind of my trainer again since I’m back with him once a week yes I have two trainers get over it but I still call him “her” trainer) asked me how it felt to know Belle was working hard to make herself all fit and stuff for him but, once he evaporated, stopped even though I was still around. I thought, “Fuck you,” but said something about her being on the rebound and I’m there for her, etc.

Did I ever mention the trainer was hep to the whole open marriage thing? Can’t recall. Anyway, Belle spilled the beans to him. He’s been pretty fascinated but doesn’t ask me too many questions about it (other than the basic expression of being somewhat perplexed at it all). He’s also very pointedly not asked me if I’ve ever partaken in the openness which I think is interesting. If he does, I’ve decided to tell him I have and with what gender. But he hasn’t yet. Odd.

But now TOG is back. I think he’s as close to being in love with her as you can be virtually. And she’s enamored of him, though I won’t put words to her precise feelings. I am, as I’ve said here before, more than OK with Belle developing emotional attachments to other men (up to and including the Big L). I am both supremely confident in my position in her heart and also aware that no one person can be the everything any other person needs or wants in life. I continue to feel not the slightest, molecule-sized piece of jealousy (which I consider the radioactive energy put off by insecurity). His ghosting of her, he says, is due to his intense feelings for her (well, he says through her so you’re getting this third-handed). He’s still coming to the US and again wants to see her, though probably on the West Coast not NYC. If this happens, it’ll be in August. I don’t know if I give it more than a 50% chance to be truthful based on previous experience, but I’m hopeful for her. And for me.

So the other night we were laying in bed up at the cabin talking about it. We were there when he reestablished communications. Apparently things are right back where they were. She made sure to tell me he once again intends on fucking her. Even used the phrase “serve her” which I thought was interesting. I don’t think she needs another like me, to be honest. Could probably use someone a bit more dominent, but I don’t pick for her obvs.

Regardless, all this led me back to the initial feelings towards TOG. Namely, I had a hard time falling asleep due to the visions of his big dick sliding into Belle for the first time. Pushing her open, stretching her out like I can’t. That and the moment he’s got it shoved inside her when he’s pumping her full of his seed. You know, the usual. Just those things running over and over. Her getting fucked by his big cock, coming inside her. I was unlocked and totally hard but didn’t play with it. Just laid there and tossed and turned.

The next morning, we started to kiss and the visions were back in rotation. I got about as hard as I can get without her even touching it. And it stayed that way. When my fingers found her pussy, it was already slick and dripping. I thought about how he had designs on that pussy. Wanted to fuck it. Wanted to show me up. Pretty sure she was thinking about those things, too.

Belle climbed on top of me rode the hard penis while I sucked her tits and focused on baseball with all my might (Kershaw was pitching that night, man Chase Utley was amazing, Carl Crawford is a waste of bench space, when’s Andre Either coming back, when’s Scott Van Slyke coming back, repeat). And I did it. I lasted all the way through and she came well and fully. And the penis never wavered. After, she wanted more fucking so I was on top. I fucked and fucked. I had a sneaking suspicion me and the penis weren’t fully engaging her imagination (a suspician she later confirmed). But I fucked her best I could. Like I was the one with the 7.5″ cock. Never really got that close to coming. It ended when she had had enough. And the penis never softened for a moment.

We snuggled and talked after. I was slowly grinding the still-hard penis into her thigh using the residual wetness from her snatch as lube. She told me then I wasn’t going to come again until TOG did. In her. Then the reality of our dynamic became clear. Her pussy is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it. I have no say in it. And the penis is hers to do with as she will and is for her pleasure. She decides who gets to enjoy it (and that’s just her). I have no say in it. 

There’s a kind of symmetry to that that makes all the sense in the world to me.

Posted on

Hard is good

It was the odd Saturday night in that both kids were out doing their own thing and Belle and I had the house to ourselves. We had been out and about doing domesticy things before deciding to have dinner at our favorite Mexican place. When we got home, she decided we’d fool around. 

I was being kind of cluless about the whole thing and was in my comfy clothes and had Game of Thrones all queued up (Belle has decided to finallly start watching so we’re still early in season one) when I looked over and saw her getting into bed naked. Ok, then. I got naked and slid in next to her. 

Of course, it all starts with the kissing. But I was unlocked and the candle was lit and my skin was on hers so things escalated quickly. I reached around her leg and slipped my fingers into her snatch from behind. I love feeling her clit from underneath and the different sensation and my mouth on her opposite nipple had her breathing heavily in no time. The position we were in gave her easier access to the penis which was hard and needy. She was fingering it in return, occasionally rubbing her thumb in circles over the flare in its head. Almost enough to make me shoot right there. Made my breathing fast and short. 

Having already come once that day about 14 hours earlier, Belle was going to need something more than the kind of stimulation I can give with my body. She grabbed her trusty purple vibe from the drawer and used it on herself while I fucked her with my ring and middle fingers. Up and in and curling around trying to hit her G-spot, eventually finding the right rythym to her own vibratory gyrations. Since we were alone, she could be as loud as she likes to be (which is LOUD). It took her longer than usual but it was all good. She was clearly enjoying the feeling of my fingers in her, the vibe on her, and my mouth sucking her tits. She said, Oh fuuuuuck! in that way that makes me all melty inside. Then she exploded vocally (hi neighbors!) and her pussy throbbed and clamped under my hand.

I’ve had an interesting relationship with erections in recent months. There’s a trope online about chastity making it more difficult to have an erection and I think that’s true, but it’s not a physiological thing. It’s all mental. The other day, we were trying to use the Boyfriend extender and it wasn’t working because I couldn’t keep it up (that whole morning was a disaster). Earlier in the morning yesterday, I had no problem keeping an erection until I got too close to coming and then it went away all by itself. So yes, chastity does affect your erections, but it does so by rewriting how your brain and penis work together. Or complicating their relationship. I know this because when Belle told me I could fuck her, the penis was ready and willing. All systems go this time.

As soon as I entered her, I could feel that my fingers had already been there. But it felt different in another way. I could also be more vocal and used the energy of it to be more primal and physical. This was not fucking encumbered by D/s dynamic overheard. This was fucking. No obfuscation between penis and brain. Not long after I started, I realized I wanted to come. Really wanted to hear her say I could. Then, the magic words. Ah, bliss.

But even this was different. Usually when she says I can, I either do it almost immediate or freak out. But not this time. She said it at exactly the right time. It wasn’t so far away I had too much time to think about it, but not so close that I couldn’t control myself. I let it build. Felt it accumulate energy in my balls and move through me, physically and mentally. My thrusting into her was different than usual when I know I can’t come or don’t know if she’ll let me. This time, each one had a purpose. For once, the rabbit and the lizard were working in tandem. No internal conflict. No regret. Just wanting to feel myself coating her snatch in my release. Feel the hard penis fuck through pools of its own making. Each thrust put me a centimeter closer and each thrust was punctuated by my grunts in her neck. When it finally happened, there were multiple explosions of light and sensation all over my body. As each surge of fluid left me and flew into her, brain chemicals I rarely feel in their full force flooded my bloodstream. It was a Top 5 orgasm. So good and so pure and so wonderful. The kind of orgasm you can’t have if you’re having them all the time. 

Then I went comatose. I’m no match for the post-orgasmic hormones and I was immediate high as a kite. Can’t hold my prolactin. But I came around. Eventually. Then we watched GoT. Poor Bran. And oh how young they all look. 

Posted on

A good morning 

April, so far
Device distribution, April to date

When we got back from Spring Break, as I said, I locked myself back up in the Looker 02. In the weeks since, I only got out to swap devices and have otherwise been secured the whole time. I switched the L02 for the Steelheart because it’s Belle’s favorite and then, due to my own inattention, needed to go into the Jail Bird. Being locked up in a closed tube like the Steelheart as much as I am has made me much more aware of the changing chemistry of urine than the average boy, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, I neglected my hygiene routine for too long and things started to burn after peeing. Nothing a few days in an open air cage couldn’t fix. (For those of you who like their data visualized, I have included a chart.)

She felt it was important for me to stay locked up until today to help me reset my attitude and submission to her. What with all the talk about other men and what they were saying to her and threatening to do, I found myself craving her pussy more than at any other time in recent memory. Mind you, I like it a lot even on the worst days. What I’m talking about here is a whole ‘nuther level of pussy craving.

I woke up with the penis all pushed up against the bars of the JB. My balls have been feeling especially plump for the past week (likely a result of being so turned on so much of the time), and the whole package was the very definition of “straining.” She let me have the bit that fits the locking screw and it went well and fine until I had to get my nuts out. They were just too fat to slip through without a painful wince. In earlier days, this kind of thing would probably have left me feeling the symptoms of blue balls for two weeks, but I rarely feel that now. Just this ouchy quick trip through a steel ring.

Everything is more intense in those moments the penis is out and hard for the first time after a few weeks. I want to devour her from the pussy up and she needs to give me a figurative swat on the nose to calm down and remember my place. But god did I just want to plung right in and fuck her to bits. Regardless, I did my duty and kissed her and sucked her tits and fingered her snatch and felt the hard-on between us throb and grind into her thigh.

There’s this one little spot on her clit. On the right side, down a little. If I let my finger tip flick over it in just the right way I can make her right foot jump. I love that being so focused on her pleasure for so long has left me as familiar with her pussy as I am the penis. I know her spots. I know the places to touch to warm her up and how many fingers to use and where to go when she’s plateauing and then how to bring her home to orgasm. I know her rythym and what her sounds mean and where she is in the process of coming with me. I can tell the difference between her letting it take longer because she likes what I’m doing and when she’s having a harder time getting there. Her body and my brain connect there in a more intimate way than they do when the penis is inside her. And when she came this morning, I had to stifle my own exclamation at feeling her clamp down and pulse on my finger, back arched and eyes closed. The female orgasm — Belle’s orgasm — is one the most beautiful things in the world to me. And like all of them, they’re over too quickly.

I fought the urge to push in as soon as she was done. I found my body positioning itself above her even as I told myself to wait for permission. With just the slightest touch by her, I moved over and shoved the penis home. And…oh, my. I just. There aren’t words for how it felt. To be in her. Soft and warm and wet. The feeling of total gratitude towards her for sharing that part of her with that part of me. Millions of years of evolution to make it as inviting a place as possible to a man all came crashing down on my head and I nearly shot my load the second the penis was totally in her. But I didn’t. She told me I was expressly forbidden to do so. So I fucked her slowly and gently and with a constantly changing rythym so as to avoid getting too close too quickly. I felt like the first time I had to stop to avoid coming she was going to tell me to get out so every fiber of me was focused on not getting there.

Sometimes, when I get to fuck her, I fantasize about other men having been there first. In the past, that was entirely fantasy. To an extent, it still is. Maybe it’ll always be so. But the fantasy is ever so slightly more real now and I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that what she was letting me do to her she was letting me do to her. That I didn’t have any special claim to that place. That someday another might be there instead and her soft cooing would be the result of his actions and her hands would be wrapped around his neck and on his back as he pumped into her as I was. My heart was filled with gratitude that I was being allowed the pleasure. And it was so much pleasure. I concentrated on how it felt to such an extent I could feel the grip of her pussy precisely and the feeling of the individual petals of her labia rubbing past the flair of the penis head as it slid by. I could feel the tip of the penis barely graze her cervix and couldn’t help but think if I was going after him I wouldn’t be near it. I felt drunk on the passion of it all.

I lasted a lot longer than you might imagine. It was glorious, but eventually the lizardly part of my sexuality snaked up out of its hole and muscled in. I started to fuck her harder and faster. I pushed in as far as I could and tried to push in deeper. Her breathing changed as the impact of my body into hers bacame more intense and purposeful. I could feel an orgasm rising in me. I could feel it shoving its way past my inner guards as though she had given me permission to come. But she hadn’t. This wasn’t about having an orgasm. This was about coming in her. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession and competition and making mine the seed she carried. It was older and more primal than love.

Just as the the orgasm started to touch the point of no return, to words screamed out in my head at the same time.

MINE.

STOP!

And I did. I stopped thrusting. I held still. The penis flexed and pumped like a drowning man clawing for a rope that wasn’t there. One lonely shot of ejaculate came out, then nothing. No orgasm. Just intense and nearly overpowering craving to do so. I growled like a Klingon into her neck. I fought the urge to bite her. The lizard screamed at me and yelled about how some other guy wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. Idiot rabbit.

“Mine” it is not. The thing I was fucking her with isn’t even mine. None of if it is. It’s all hers. Every bit of it. My heart filled to explode. So much love.

Afterward, I asked to go back in to the Steelheart. I could tell the lizard was still slithering in the shadows. I could tell by how the penis felt and the impulse I had to grab it and yank on it. If she left me alone with it, things would happen. So she laid there as I assembled the device and turned the lock. And that’s where it sits now. Behind steel and beyond reach. Until she wants it again.