Tag: orgasm

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Embracing the vestigial state

Even though it was in the middle of Hashtag Locktober, Belle decided she wanted the contents. As is the custom now, she gave me the key the night before the morning she wanted to get fucked.

I need the key in advance so I can prepare the contents. Prep takes about an hour. I take three 20mg tablets of sildenafil citrate (aka, Viagra) and apply four or five sqirts of Promescent® Delay Spray for Men. This is all due to my being totally unable to 1) avoid orgasm 36 seconds after penetration, and 2) remain hard for longer than 36 seconds after that. I had hoped the Viagra would take care of that all by itself so I could at least feel myself fucking her, but even with the chemical erection support, it goes flat as soon as it squirts, orgasm or not. So the meds help me remain as hard as possible for her and the Delay Spray (basically lidocaine) keeps me from coming as quickly.

As an aside, the Delay Spray works well. Somehow, they’ve formulated it such that after a bit of time it has absorbed entirely into the penis and won’t transfer to Belle so only I am denied the sensation of penetration. The package says not to exceed three pumps of the spray but I find that four or so is better at deadening it and the Viagra keeps it hard even though it’s about 90% numb.

So I did my things and then waited for her to wake up. It’s my job to make sure everything is ready for her when she’s ready so that she neither has to wait around for things to take affect nor for there to have been too much time passed so that the precautions aren’t useful.

This particular morning, things lined up well and the contents were both good and hard but also almost totally without feeling so that after I got her off with my fingers, I was able to climb on top of her and provide a reasonable facsimile of having a normal male lover.

Unexpectedly, she told me she wanted me to come inside her. My routine isn’t designed for that. I specifically deaden the meat so that I won’t come but right after sliding it in, she told me she wanted me to. Of course, the precautions were working very well and I realized rather quickly that getting to a point where I was having a real, full orgasm wasn’t in the cards. On the plus side, I was able to fuck her for maybe the longest period of time in years.

Eventually, I could feel the rumblings of orgasm from somewhere behind my balls. I wasn’t going to come due to anything I felt on the shaft, but I was still going to do it. Some combination of feeling my hips grinding and her under me and the flex of the muscles necessary to do the act tricked my brain sufficiently that it was able to get there. But I didn’t get much of anything from the penis and the orgasm was typical of the ones I have now. Weird, somehow incomplete, and while productive from a volume of ejaculate POV, still less than entirely satisfying. I mean, she can make me come, but she can’t make what’s left of my ability to do it feel good.

But it was an orgasm and it was enough of one to make me very reluctant to get back in to any device after. The Rules are very clear:

I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.

Belle’s Rules for Thumper

But I eventually did go back in. Even though the device felt foreign and weird and uncomfortable. I hated it.

The next day we went to dinner for our anniversary (which, coincidentally, is very near the anniversary for this blog — happy lucky 13th anniversary to me!) and she took the opportunity to ask how I was doing. Not, like, how’s your day going? More like, is this still what you want?

It was a bad time to ask. Had she brought it up 48 hours before, I would have wholeheartedly said YES. Things are GREAT. But 36 hours after coming, I replied somewhere between a shrug and a “fine…things are…fine.” But I realized how my lack of enthusiasm was being perceived and explained that I was in a period of profound sub drop. So of course, I was very happy with our dynamic. But it was, as I said, a bad time to ask and expect enthusiasm.

A few days later, we flew on a plane together. I was still feeling the impact of the orgasm and took the opportunity to let myself out before we went to the airport. Even though we were flying alone with no kids or friends or family around and if I got pulled out of line it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I wanted out. So I basically made an excuse for myself.

Usually, I’ll go back in right after the TSA invades my privacy, but I didn’t this time. I just…didn’t. Could have. Didn’t. And I didn’t when we got to our destination. Or at any other point that day, even though I was very clearly aware I was unlocked from all the incidental friction inside my pants (which drives me CRAZY). As we got into bed, I told her I was out. I don’t think she knew. She didn’t seem too impressed. But that’s how I went to bed.

I mean, I knew I was being bad. And I knew it would feel bad later. But I wasn’t willing to abide by the rules. I wasn’t willing to accept my position.

The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard on. I was at least able to maintain some control over myself. I didn’t stroke it, but I did lay on my stomach and grind it into the firm mattress and revel in the pressure and friction. The head popped out from the side under my left hip and I rubbed the bit on the underneath and knew if I did just that for more than 30 seconds I’d come. So I stopped at about 20 seconds.

Belle turned over I spooned into her. I’m sure she could feel it. And it was a vacation morning when I should have expected some sex. But she wasn’t offering. But I wanted it. In fact, I did expect it. And that’s when I started to come back down to earth.

I should have ZERO expectations of sex. Sex is for her. For her to get pleasure and satisfaction. My satisfaction comes though giving her hers. Period. But here I was trying to fuck her. Because I wanted to fuck her. That’s not me. That’s not right.

I was locked back up within the hour.

The next morning, I was spooning into her again, but my entire demeanor changed. God, I absolutely fucking hate the version of me that was unlocked without permission and was trying to coax her into getting me off. She was much more receptive to the locked version of me and allowed me to eat her out. I could once again feel pressure and compression of the contents, but no friction. Nothing like that. Just the Evotion 8 doing its job while my tongue did its.

And when her hips bucked in my face and I could feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my mouth and the contents strain in defeated futility, I felt so much more normal. So much more me.

And yeah, it was not lost on me she was far more willing to engage sexually with the locked me than she was the unlocked me.

Five days earlier when I was mounting her with my numb, chemically enhanced erection, I remember the thought flitting though my mind I really don’t need this. This is for her, not me. And, honestly, thinking back to her asking how I was doing, the only issue I have is that there are still reasons for me to be unlocked from time to time. I mean, that’s just how it is. It’s what she needs and, in the past, she needed it a lot more than now, so she’s already made a significant change to her expectations based on my limitations. I’m not asking that she stop letting me out for a fuck, even as infrequent as that is. It is entirely her prerogative and I accept that.

But we both know I’m better when the contents of the device are treated like some vestigial remnant of what I was prior to evolving into what I am now.

Speaking of which, my mom sent me a picture the other day of me in 2002. It was taken maybe two months before my daughter was born and I look like I’m 17. This was before Belle made me come, so the second thought that went through my head after being stunned a how young I looked was what a waste it was that it would be another six years before that guy’s dick was taken away from him. We’d already had our kids. The two we said we’d have. We didn’t need it anymore.

And that’s why I ended up locking on to the concept of vestigial. My phone defines it “forming a very small remnant of something that was once much larger or more notable. Or, pertaining to an organ or part of the body, degenerate, rudimentary, or atrophied, having become functionless in the course of evolution.”

I have evolved. Away from the needy, selfish, willful asshole who thought mostly of himself and his pleasure and into the full flower of the sub I always was deep inside. The sub that was trapped under the weight of the will of the penis. But here we are on the other side of all that. The penis is vestigial to who and what I am now. “Degenerate, atrophied, and functionless.” It’s not even a penis anymore. It’s just contents. Nothing more than a remnant of my former self. I always, always, always need to think of it that way. Because that is what it is.

And thank god we got here. I honestly can’t imagine what we’d be like right now if I still had a cock. I don’t want to imagine it. I am incredibly lucky Belle keeps me locked up. That she expects me to be. And prefers me that way. I can never, ever let my hormones make me forget that. Not for a day. Not even an hour. Not for a moment.

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It is better to give than receive

The first and most basic rule of my being kept is that Belle decides when and how the chastity device contents are used, always every time. Even in #Locktober. She is not bound by hashtags.

So it was the other morning, not long after our wedding anniversary and near our chastity anniversary, that she decided what she really wanted was for me to fuck her with the device’s contents. And that’s why my #Locktober won’t be 744 continuously locked hours.

Not only did she want me out, she wanted me to come. It had been more than a month since the contents were allowed inside her at that point and sliding in was, honestly, sooooo fucking nice. But the magic words whispered in my ear didn’t happen until I had already been fucking her for the approximately 90 seconds required for me to have to stop and I had already started to mentally shut the orgasm down when she said I could have it.

I didn’t hesitate. It’s not that I wanted to come. It’s difficult to say anymore if what I feel is a desire to come but, regardless, what I want isn’t part of the equation. So even though I had already started to back off when she told me to do it, I sallied forth best I could and had an orgasm, of a kind. It felt like the ruined leakages I usually have. No fireworks of sensation, no build of pressure and pop of shooting explosively. The only real difference is instead of stopping my thrusting into her just before it began, I kept pumping all the way through. And that made it real.

On a scale of 1 to 10 of orgasmic sensations, it was like maybe a 2 or a 3. Tops. I don’t think it’s possible anymore for me to have an “orgasm” if I only get one every twelve months or so. But is was an orgasm and the tell was all in the brain chemistry.

For a long time time, I’ve found Belle’s orgasms make me sleepy as though I had had one, too. It’s kind of a cute little sympathetic reaction I developed once I was weaned off the expectations of coming myself. But I had forgotten what a real post-orgasmic chemical hit felt like. A full man’s dose of that cocktail of hormones and other fun stuff hit me like a freight train. A tranq dart to the neck wouldn’t have put me down faster.

I mean to tell you, I was fucking drugged. Laying there next to her I could occasionally feel my consciousness try and surface only to get pulled back into the shadows by a hundred heavy velvet tentacles. It was amazing. Clearly, denial has not only given me a hair trigger but also made me a prolactin featherweight.

And I have found that there was little to no sub-drop after the orgasm. I put the contents back into a device right away without any internal resistance and have felt an edge to my horniness in the days that followed. Like I was given a taste of a drug I used to be addicted do and those old gnawing cravings flickered back to life. It makes me wonder if I was given the chance to have orgasms regularly, either with her or on my own, if I’d be able to have what feels like normal ones again. If so, how long would it take? How many? Or have I been reprogrammed to such an extent that they’ll never again be what they were?

The fact that I’m even thinking that is a symptom of being allowed the one, though. If she makes me wait another year and then another after that and so on and so on…well, those are not the thoughts of a man kept in my condition.

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Orgasm not required, says the Guardian

An article in the Guardian called “Orgasm addicts, sex doesn’t have to be red hot” is a mainstream and non-threatening incursion into the world of orgasm control and denial. The point of the piece, written by author Isabel Losada, is that orgasm doesn’t need to be the ultimate focus of sex and, DUH, totally agree with that. But the headline is perplexing.

“Orgasm addicts,” I think, perpetuates the myth that sex addiction is a thing. We’re genetically programmed to be orgasm “addicts” and the issue isn’t having a lot of sex or orgasms, it’s doing anything compulsively and to excess. I’ve only come three times this year and think that sounds like kind of a lot but still consider myself “addicted” to orgasms. Why use such a loaded, negatively connoted word? Drug addicts, alcohol addicts, nicotine addicts, orgasm addicts. I dunno. Bugs me.

Also, the “sex doesn’t need to be red hot” part. As if the only way it’s red hot is when it’s accompanied by orgasm? And the expectation should be orgasmless sex isn’t red hot? Some of the absolute hottest sex I’ve ever had didn’t involve orgasm. At this point, most of the hottest sex didn’t involve orgasm. At least, not mine.

But the authors of articles don’t always write the headlines. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was a clueless editor. Who knows.

Anyway, the notion that a sex can be about exploration of all the sensations that get pushed out of the way for the big, glitzy orgasm at the end is one I fully endorse. That’s, like, my life. Encouraging women and their partners to focus on exploring a slower, more gentle sensation as a means of becoming an expert in her sex is another concept I can advocate with ease.

The author suggests that taking orgasm off the menu is a way to limit pressure on the act of having sex and, by making it less stressful for women, will lead to more sex. Sure, but by slowing down and learning her body I don’t know why orgasm wouldn’t become more likely. The goal of sex is to feel good and connect to our partners. If we feel good by coming, then that’s the goal. If we feel good (after a fashion) by not coming, then that’s OK too. But everyone who enjoys them deserves to come. It’s incumbent upon the partner to learn how to make her happy. And it’s incumbent upon her to let that happen. To not get hung up on societal programming of expectations of her role. I think, ultimately, that’s what the article is about.

But the article isn’t entirely focused on women.

Another of the exercises my partner and I really enjoyed was when he chose (not prompted by me) to take a 30-day challenge where the man agrees not to ejaculate during that time. This is a fascinating one. For me, it was wonderful. He was forced to slow right down and be totally focused on sensation. From my perspective, it stopped feeling as if he was driving and began to feel as if he was surfing. This was another powerful way for us to increase our connection. The man becomes more aware of the woman’s arousal level as he isn’t being carried away by his own – which is often stronger and easier for him to access.

A couple of times in the piece, the author says BDSM practices are “weird” and not necessary to have great sex with a monogamous partner over a long period, so emphasizing “he chose (not prompted by me)” to abstain from ejaculation isn’t surprising. Like, why even mention it at all? Just say it happened. Is the idea that it was her idea so scary?

Other than that, yeah, that’s how it works! I like the surfing vs. driving analogy, but surfing is a little too passive perhaps. Still too focused on what he’s doing for himself. It’s more like playing an instrument, to me. Trying to make music of her pleasure. But I’m a sub and everything I do is or want is colored by that. I wonder if his experiment in orgasm control was only for the month? Did he ever try it again? If it was so good for her, did she dare to suggest they do it again? Maybe a month on, a month off, etc? She doesn’t say. Wouldn’t want people to think she’s into “weird” stuff, I guess.

It’s not a perfect piece, to be sure, but the bones are there and it’s refreshing see the concept of disconnecting sexual pleasure from orgasm getting a mainstream treatment. Wish Belle was home so we could learn more about her clitoris as she sits on my face…

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You know when you feel it

After a few recent Metrics posts I’ve received the question of what I mean by ejacualting in Belle but not orgasming. As in, if you’re shooting your load aren’t you having an orgasm? I’m going to write this up so I can link to it from now on in order to answer similar questions before they’re asked. 

Supreme Courth Justice Potter Stewart (who, I suspect, is rarely name-dropped in sex blogs but who knows) said in his opinion in the Jacobellis vs. Ohio obscentiy case that while pornograhy was difficult to define, you knew it when you saw it. As I’ve developed as a man denied anything like a regular or normal orgasm frequency, I find orgasm is much the same. There’s a lot that skirts the edges of orgasm and many things that might be mistaken for orgasm from a distance, but when the real deal comes along (pun intended), you fucking know it. 

To be clear, when I come it’s often really intense. Nothing like coming was back when I was doing it several times a week. So intense that it’s usually not even enjoyable while happening and can even be painful. I’ve felt pain in the moment of orgasm above my balls and behind the penis from, I presume, the intensity of the ejacualation through infrequently excercised muscles but also, on occasion, in the back of my head from the wave of powerful hormones that accompany orgasm. And it’s the near total lack of those hormones following simple ejaculation that indicate most powerfully that an orgasm has not taken place. 

The term “ruined orgasm” is often used to describe what happens to me, but those are most often associated with mean old Dommes stroking a restrained guy for an hour and then taking him right up to the moment of orgasm and then stopping all stimulation while his hard cock strains and thrusts and waves around in the air and squirts ejacualte anyway. That’s what happens with me, but it’s inside her and I’m the one who’s stopping the stimulation because I don’t have permission to come. I wrote recently that the line I cross from “about to come” to “OMG I’M COMING” used to feel about a half inch wide. I’d be over it and losing my shit before I even knew it was about to happen. But now it’s so obvious to me and can be felt from so far away that it may as well be a yard wide. The benefits of not coming and forcusing so much energy and attention on trying not to will, over time, give one a detailed understanding of the mechanics and process it entails. If I’m on top and controlling the pace and rhythm of the thrusting, I honestly have no excuses when it comes to “accidentally” having an orgasm. I know when to stop, I know when I have to remain absolutely still, and I know when it’s safe for me to slide it out again. 

Over the years, I’ve also realized that orgasm is not entirely physical. Some of it is mental and my body has been trained in several ways to react in as though it has come, though with less intensity than if I had. For instance, Belle’s orgasm makes my whole body tense and my breathing increase as though her orgasmic energy is feeding back into me through my fingers as her pussy clenches around them. I can even feel a subtle sleepiness after. And when the penis ejacualtes now, it will almost always immediately begin to lose its erection no matter how much I want to keep fucking her. As though it knows the reason for the penetration is complete and the erection is no longer necessary. That has led to some very frustrating moments. I can recall in the past when leaking into her like that would only slow me down for a moment and then I’d keep fucking right through the mess. But not anymore. 

Speaking of which, “leaking” is what it feels like. I might say “shoot” because I like the sound of it, but the difference in velocity of the ejaculation in a real orgasm and the shadow of one that happens when I simply leak without orgasm is significant. When I come, it feels like the semen is being ripped out of me fast enough to burn the stiff shaft from the inside out. When I ejacualte, it’s slower and more relaxed. The boundaries between surges are less defined. Sometimes it can even feel like the semen is running out of me in one long stream. 

The important thing to remember is Belle likes to be fucked and she likes to feel me shoot inside her. Also, I think she feels letting me ejaculate is actually good for me (prostate, etc.). So I know one of the reasons she’s letting me inside her is so that I’ll fill her up with seed. When I fuck her now it’s with the knowledge that even if she doesn’t tell me to come she still wants to feel as though I did. 

So, that’s what I mean when I say I ejaculating and how I know it’s different than having an orgasm. 

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Clang

Yesterday I spent an inordinate amount of time in my company’s conference room. Due to the nature of my job, I’m often subjected to serial meetings that can leave me in there for hours at a time (which is why, when we remodeled the office, I spent so much time and money on it).

Anyway, near the end of the meeting train, I got up to throw something away. The chairs around the conference table were all discombobulated and made a bit of an obstacle course for me to thread my way through. Most of the chairs are your standard conference table kind with padded seats and plastic backs, but we also have three stainless steel desk chairs with higher than average backs like you’d find in the 40’s and 50’s in there for overflow. One of these was standing between me and the trash receptacle as I slid sideways to the trash and…

CLANG

The Looker 02 knocked against the back of that chair far more noisily than I would have expected. The chair rang out like a bell at the contact (can’t imagine how loud being knocked by the Steelheart would have been). There were a few stragglers in there from the last meeting and the noise made one of them jump (though I’m sure all of them heard it). She looked up at me quizzically. I just moved the chair out of my way and paid her no attention (though maybe I was blushing just a bit).

Such are the everyday issues wearing steel on one’s dick.

I got back to civilization late Saturday night after a very long drive. Along the way, I stopped for lunch at a Wendy’s with a particularly squalid restroom whose only attribute was that it was private. Once ensconced, I placed the Looker 02 back where it belongs. I am not above diddling with the penis on long drives and the farther I got from the woods the more it was on my mind.

The next morning, Belle decided she didn’t want any steel on the penis and instructed me to remove it. She then let me fuck her and it was fantastic. I recall wondering at some point whether she was going to let me come and I realized I didn’t actually have a preference. On the one hand, not coming would be great. On the other, coming would be, too. Once realized, I just let myself enjoy the pussy time safe in the knowledge that I’d end up however she wanted.

She wanted me to come. This time, unlike the past several, it demonstrated every bit of the word orgasmic. Wonderful and 100% guilt-free.

Next morning, the L02 was back. Where it is now and where it was when I slid too close to that metal chair.

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Taken

Over the weekend, Belle let me come the way I’ve been waiting for. As I said, each of the previous recent opportunities have been less than optimal from my point of view. Sunday, she let me have the full meal deal.

After waking up, she got the key as she suggested she might the morning before when I got her off but stayed in the Looker 02. Once out of it (and it out of me), I felt a great surge of desire for her that always seems to be associated with the sensation of a full and unencumbered erection. Knowing that she like to be “taken” on occasion, I assumed the role of the traditional aggressive male sex partner and, while kissing her passionately, started to push down her pajama bottoms. Usually, I’d wait for her to take them off as a sign of what I was to do next, but not this time. 

The top quickly followed the bottoms and as soon as she was fully naked, I climbed up on her and wrapped my arm around her neck and shoulders and pushed the hard penis into her as far as it would go. She made no objection. Instead, I heard appreciative sounds escape her lips as we roughly fucked. 

I fucked her as I wanted to fuck. I fucked like a guy taking his partner. I fucked as if for me, but really it was for her. I fucked until I got too close to coming, then I backed off. Once. Twice. Three times. Then…

“Spill it, Thumper,” she whispered. 

The gates opened with three or four strokes. I pumped a full and satisfying load into her. So many productive surges. Six? Eight? I left her brimming with me. 

Then the effects of a real orgasm hit me. Drowsiness. Lethargy. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. So much more powerful than the little echos of orgasm I feel after she comes. A warm blanket wrapped around my brain as she got up to retrieve Pink. I laid next to her, eyes closed, and heard and felt the buzz of the little vibrator finishing her off. I played no part.

I was ready to go again within an hour. Not just feeling “OK, I could fuck,” but, “I NEED TO FUCK.” Surprising, really. She wanted me back in the Looker 02 the next morning so that’s where I am now, but I don’t feel like I just had a great orgasm. I feel like I’ve been denied for weeks. In the shower after some morning Tumbln’, my balls felt heavy and swollen. Last night, while trying to fall asleep, the L02 was so obviously there. In only the way that particular device can be. 

I leave town this Friday for a week in the woods. After that, Belle’s in NYC. Who knows how long it’ll be before I get to go inside her again or I’m allowed to get her off. I don’t and that’s just how it should be. 

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Get up in there

So since my last post, she’s let me come twice more. If you’re me, that seems like a ridiculous number. None of them were especially great since they all happened with her on top. That might be part of a plan. Who knows. 

The last time, she was up there and I was bound and determined to get her off before I lost it, but that didn’t happen. That orgasm might have been passable except she wouldn’t stop fucking me and the head of the penis felt like it was being electrocuted. Eventually, it got too soft to stay in her and slipped out. She just kept rubbing against what was left of the erection before rolling off of me. She grabbed Pink and went to work on her soaked and gooey pussy before deciding she really wanted my tongue in there. 

Ugh. 

I did as I was told but tried to keep my ministrations higher up near her clit where there was less of my ejacualte. Not enough for her, though, because she pushed Pink back in there and told me to move lower. I honestly couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was barely touching her when she shoved her pussy into my face and told me to, “Get up in there.” 

Gah.

Anyway, she’s been very attentive to my mood since all these orgasms. I’ve been just fine, to be honest. I’m trying hard to keep myself in the frame of mind that she’s in control and I will have or have not whatever she chooses. Sometimes I might come, sometimes I may not. I haven’t for at least a week now. Maybe two. Huh. I can’t recall. Weird. 

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No then yes

Saturday, we were going at it.

Me: I want to come…
Belle: No.

/More fucking.

Me: Please.
Belle: NO.

Sunday, shortly after waking up.

Belle: It was wrong of you to ask yesterday.
Me: I know.
Belle: But I may make you. How do you feel about that?
Me: It’s up to you.
Belle: Say that again.
Me: It’s entirely up to you, Belle Fille.
Belle: Don’t ever forget that.

She continued on telling me that this was for her. Not me. She wanted to feel it, not give it to me. A little while later, after I had warmed her up in the usual ways, she was on top of me and I had her tits in my face. I was twenty miles from coming, then five miles, then 100 yards, then three inches all in about four seconds. While I was coming, she kissed me all over my face.

The last time I came, it was spectacular. This time, pathetic. No, seriously. Like, half an orgasm (volume-wise, as well – just a little spurt). I was ready, mentally, but apparently not physically. It’s not how I would have chosen to come (with her on top) but, as I said, it’s entirely up to her.

She hadn’t come yet so she rolled off of me and finished herself off with Pink while I listened and played with her nipples. Last night, she checked in with me to see how I was doing. In truth, I’ve been in a bit of a funk for a little over a week. Not too horny, not really jamming on the denial thing. She had let me out and I had been that way for five days or so, but that’s not what caused it. I didn’t really care if I was out or in (but, perhaps due to the pathetic orgasm, I have resisted being locked up since). We had relatives in town so maybe that had something to do with it. In any event, I don’t really feel like I came but also don’t feel all that Thumperish, either.

Belle commented that fucking me really wasn’t as great as she was expecting, either. She thinks she’s become more accustomed to my getting her off with my fingers. Maybe she’s been “trained” to prefer what our dynamic allows, too. That she would rather have my hand than the penis does, I admit, cause some stirring in certain places.

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Sunday of Sex, part two

As I was saying, Kid #1 was absent Sunday morning and Kid #2 was soon to be. I’m not sure either one of us contemplated the ramifications of this beforehand, but we suddenly found ourselves with five hours of pure alone time. We had discussed going to the gym or something else productive. Instead, we spent most of the time naked.

Once Kid #2 walked out the door, we looked at each other and one of us asked the other, “Well, what are we going to do?”

“We could go have sex,” I helpfully pointed out.

“Yeah, we could do that.” Color me happily surprised. Belle had already had her orgasm for the day and since she’s the kind of girl who usually only wants them one at a time I had no idea what this sex party was going to entail, but I wasn’t about to ask any questions until we were both naked and wrapped up in one another.

It was crazy. Naked fun time in the middle of the day with the bedroom door open and the curtains up. This is how I imagine porn stars live, not 40-something married couples with kids still in school. Did I mention it was broad daylight outside?

I was on her quickly. Still feeling revved up from earlier in the day, it didn’t take much to find me pushing my way inside her. She felt more normal. The lingering effects of Maverick’s earlier intrusions had worked themselves out.

“You want to go again?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m game,” she said (or something very much like it).

“How you want to do it? You want Blue?” I was already fucking her, but that was just me being presumptuous.

“No, let’s do your fingers this time.”

Fine by me. I assumed the position and, while pressing the wet and hard penis between us, I sucked eagerly on her tits and fingered her pussy.

“I feel like you’re having to work too hard,” she remarked at one point.

“God no,” I replied, “I just fucking love your pussy.”

Of course, I’ve always loved pussy, but I’m totally fixated by it now since her’s is the only way I get to feel any pleasure from the penis anymore. Masturbation is forbidden, even touching is frowned upon. Regardless, it’s locked up essentially all the time. So I do enjoy my pussytime, even when it’s only to play with it and not penetrate it.

Eventually, she came for the second time that day (knocking off ninety-one and ninety, respectively). She came loudly. No reason to keep it in. Her exclamations caused me to make my own sympathetic moans as her body convulsed under my fingers and through my arms. It was a great orgasm. For both of us.

After allowing for a few moments of basking, I climbed back on top of her and placed the head of the penis where it needed to be for easy access. I was definitely being pushier than usual which, looking back, might have been some kind of clue. She never said I could enter her but I took her lack of complaint and how she shifted herself beneath me as wordless acquiescence. I shoved the penis home.

I never got close to coming in the morning, but this was different. It didn’t take any time at all until I found myself right there. And not just physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually, I wanted to come in her. I held the back of her neck in my right hand and gripped her thigh with my left hand in a way that asserted a sexual dominance I by rights didn’t have, but the lizard part of me was in charge. After having to slow myself and disrupt my rhythm once again to avoid coming, I actually found myself toying with the idea of having an “accident.” How could she know for sure that it wasn’t?

Yeah, right, the bunny said from the sidelines while rolling his eyes. And he was right. There’s no way I have an accidental orgasm when I’m the one driving. No way.

So then I thought about begging. But I didn’t want to screw with Belle. I didn’t want to make it sound like I was trying to guilt her out or anything. The lizard, though. He’s crafty.

“What if I begged?” I asked. “What would you do if I begged for an orgasm?”

“I’d say no,” replied Belle. Fuck.

“Please,” I begged anyway. “Please, can I come?” I wanted it. Truly. I did. Holding her like that and fucking her, feeling our bodies moving against each other. I was so close. 

And I’ll say right now, either answer would have been good. But I would have regretted hearing no more than yes.

“Spill it,” she said. YES.

No hesitance. No delay. No stopping to consider. Just THRUST, THRUST, THR—

And it happened. I was over the falls and past the point of no return. I wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t think. I just came.

At first, it felt like every muscle in my body tensed and flexed with the mission to squeeze itself out through the penis. I couldn’t breath. Everything stopped. I think my heart even stopped beating. Nothing existed except that feeling. The feeling of a fucking supernova detonating in my balls. Then I felt a rushing wave of pin-pricks hit the back of my skull, cresting from the bottom and heading up over my scalp. And pressure. Like a clamp on my head. I felt my brain release the orgasmic cocktail it hadn’t tasted in seven and a half months. I think I made a lot of noise and I don’t think I could have done a thing about it even if I wanted to. I went from pure orgasmic bliss to a moment of laughter to wanting to cry all in about 360 milliseconds. And there was a tiny flicker of regret. But only a tiny one and it was over as soon as it started.

Quite simply, the greatest orgasm of my entire life.

The volume was enormous. Besides not having had one since July 1 of last year, I was all worked up from the multiple sex sessions. I couldn’t count the number of times I shot into her but it had to be six or eight. Even after I was empty, the penis kept flexing and trying to milk every little bit of it out of me.

Then, I was exhausted. And I realized my arms were hurting from holding me up. And I felt a pain in my side. All the masking of those things that the pre-orgasmic cocktail does to fool you into thinking you’re Superman were emptied out with the ejaculate. Then I did something I can’t even remember doing, it was so long ago last time I did it. I fell asleep in that hazy, post-orgasmic fog. I realized Belle was talking so I woke back up. So sleepy. So spent.

Belle said afterward that the only reason she let me come was because she found my begging for it so hot. That one time, she heard how desperate I was and the idea of having put me there turned her on sufficiently to allow me to come.

After, we spent an hour or so in the bathtub together. We haven’t done that in a really long time. When our relationship first started, Belle lived in an old house with a giant claw-footed tub and we’d lounge around in it after sex with candles burning and k. d. lang playing in the other room. And now we were doing the same thing except the tub was a big whirlpool type and the CD was replaced by iPhone Spotify and a Bluetooth speaker. But otherwise, it felt the same. I thought about the book I’m reading and its premise that we have stages of neurochemical response to our partners and how that changes over time and that I felt, even though we had just had sex after 16 years or so of marriage, exactly like after the first time we had sex. We discussed a remodeling project. I was nesting with her.

It was very hard dragging myself to the gym. All I wanted to do was lay around in my sweats and sloth in front of the TV. Earlier, I had been very keen on getting in there and running. Now the inertia almost scuttled the operation. But I did manage to drag my ass over there and I ran four miles with nothing but the PA ring to keep the penis company.

Belle was concerned for my well-being. She asked me several times (and again the next morning) how I felt. Post-orgasmic aftercare for the chronically denied. In fact, I felt and still feel great. Everything seemed like it was wrapped in a few inches of cotton batting for a while but I woke up this morning (back in the Steelheart, ‘natch) and the feeling was still there. Changed a bit from having come. A little more urgent, perhaps. But not like how it feels after two orgasms. Not that kind of total wipeout.

In fact, right now, I’d very much like to get into her pants.

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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.