Tag: orgasm

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Prisoner again

It turns out, she did fuck me. She hadn’t had her cock in such a long time and as she slid down onto it, she moaned and purred in appreciation. It felt hot on the skin of the cock – hotter than I remember. And yeah, I came. I held back as long as I could, but there wasn’t any stopping it. She felt me come and that just made her all the more enthusiastic, but she was still a ways off from her own. The head of the cock felt like it was on fire in its post-orgasmic hypersensitivity, but she fucked it anyway. Fucked it until she came and I was a panting, sweaty pile of meat beneath her.

Beforehand, she had told me she didn’t care if I came. I really hate that. “I don’t care if you come” is, like, the exact opposite position I want her to have. I can think of several things I’d have rather she said. Such as, “you can come, but not until after me,” or “you can’t come and if you do I’m locking you right now,” or “if you come I get to punch you in the nuts three times/burn your nuts with Icy Hot” – just about anything other than I don’t care if you come. That’s the worse.

Before this fucking, we had talked about “taking a break”, but couldn’t really define what exactly we’d be taking a break from. There are things she likes about our arrangement that she just doesn’t want to live without and will not easily agree to giving up, even temporarily. Personally, I wanted to come more. I wanted a period where I was allowed to come pretty much whenever I wanted. I found that, the more I came the more I wanted to come. Not withstanding anything I wrote in my last post, each orgasm seems to push away my desire to be in the device or denied in general. After nearly three months of nothing, I wanted a change of scenery. I still do think that most of the time I should live without and with as much desire for them as possible, but it’s also the case that we only appreciate the things we don’t have when we – you know – have them, at least for a little while.

But she wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel I was being sufficiently worshipful what with my two orgasms and being out and all. She wanted me back in. But, just like in London, for some reason she never pulled the trigger. Each day it was going to be tomorrow. I did not want to get locked up again. Even if I couldn’t come, I still liked having the option to jack off. But, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lock me up, it was very important to her. One morning last week, after she had already left for work, I locked myself back into the Steelheart.

All that day, all I could think about was what a pain in the ass it was. Heavy, bulging, pushing my nuts around (sometimes painfully). I’ve said before how it has felt like the device and its contents become one unit. How the shiny steel shell starts to feel like my natural state. Well, on that first day especially, it was very clearly two separate things. A prison and its prisoner. Unnatural and invasive. Even though I had done it willingly, I can’t say I was very happy about it.

That night, when she discovered I was in, she was very pleased. Her pleasure caused the tube to pressurize. And, from that moment on, I became more like she wanted me to be. I am a different person when I’m locked up and, as each day passed, that other person – Thumper – has come to the fore. It’s hasn’t been a complete conversion. Sometimes, I still feel myself rebelling against the steel. And my desire to have access to the cock has an edge to it that it didn’t before I came. But this is what Belle wanted, so this is how I am.

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2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

That’s as far as I got. Two months, three weeks, and five days.

The end began with me getting Belle off. She was on her period and I was locked, so it was your regular nipple sucking, clit fingering affair, except when it was over, my motor got stuck revving at about 5,000 RPM. Belle had been slapping my nuts around a bit and, if I remember correctly, had placed little chrome clips on my nipples. I was rubbing and pulling and stroking the hard metal tube, grinding my butt into the sheets, and generally tripping out on my own desperation.

“Oh, god, I want to come,” I moaned, almost against my will.

She reminded me my time wasn’t up yet. I said it again. She repeated herself. I did, too.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t want to read your whining on the blog about it later and feeling all sorry for yourself.”

I pondered. On the one hand, I liked begging only to be refused. That’s how I had started, not actually expecting to be allowed out. I enjoy it when she makes me suffer. But, as I laid there, I found I really and truly wanted to come. I needed to.  Two months, three weeks, and five days was a really long time. I wanted to go to 100 days, and I was almost there, but the reptilian maleness had taken notice of the chance it was being presented with and pushed me onward. The rational side of my brain, also desperately horny and wanting very badly to come, said that the 100 day thing was never Belle’s idea in the first place. I had come up with it. If she was OK with me coming now, and I declined, then who, exactly, was denying who? I almost had to come in order to preserve the order of things. Yeah, that’s it.

So anyway, I took her up on it. She got the key and I removed the metal and immediately started stroking while she looked on. Right from the start, it didn’t feel at all like the last time she let me beat the meat. This time, I knew, was going to be productive. There would be gobs of sticky white stuff all over me when I was done, not a rapid release so I could retreat from the edge of bliss. I felt the cock swell and the internal gears lock into place. In maybe just a minute, I could feel the point of no return rushing towards me, then fly past me. I started to come.

It was very intense. So intense, I can’t remember how many slugs I shot, but it was many. I felt a prickly wave run from my scalp down the back of neck and into my shoulders. I wanted the surging hot goo to never stop coming out of me. Never. I just. Wanted. To come. And come and come and feel that crescendo of orgasm last forever.

But, of course, it didn’t. In fact, just as suddenly as it started, I felt myself slip off the peak. I was still milking the meat, squeezing every last drop out, but the shores of Climax Island pulled away from me at sonic speeds. And, while not remorseful at all, I was disappointed. I felt almost immediately a sense of loss. Like I had been swindled into a transaction that I realized was a con the second my money left my hands.

This is beyond kink now. I do like the tease, the torture, the bondage of the device, and all that very much. But now that I live without them, I find the actual orgasm to be rather empty. The anticipation, the craving, the heightened sexual existence that comes from their nearly total absence is more rewarding, many times more, than the squirt it all revolves around. I feel so much when I’ve been denied – so much more alive – that the post orgasmic period feels nearly vacant of any feeling. The edge is all gone. The texture of my everyday horned up, locked up life is obliterated by the explosion of ejaculation. There’s no way the actual event of orgasm could ever live up to it.

In fact, I felt very little for several days afterward. Belle would ask how I was doing and I gave her noncommittal kind of grunts because, in fact, I felt very noncommittal. Neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, up nor down. I just was. Again, I wasn’t at all remorseful. Just kinda empty.

My feeling about it now is that infrequent ejaculation is necessary. Like an oil change or something. I need the occasional squirt to reset the levels and the vague emptiness it leaves me with is just a part of the cycle. I do know that, as I am once again starting to regain my sexual desire, I no longer like the feeling of what I once called sexual satisfaction. Living in a state of always wanting more is far better.

—

The other night, I was in bed with Belle, naked as she told me I could be and feeling the first inkling of sexual desire return. In the distant past, this feeling would have sent me into the bathroom to quickly and quietly rub one out over the sink, but that not being an option anymore, I was grabbing Belle. She had left me unlocked since the end of the two months, three weeks, and five days, so anything was possible. I made my move and was typically guy-like in my bluntness.

“I like you better when you’re locked up,” she said in exasperation. Just like that. I like you better when you’re locked up.

Almost immediately, she started to back away from the comment, hemming and hawing as if she had said too much. As if it would bother me to hear it. Finally, she corrected herself and said, “I like us better when you’re locked up.”

That might be true, but my actions would not have caused her to express that particular sentiment. She meant what she said originally: She likes it better when I’m sexually compliant. When the device she locks onto my body leaves me far less aggressive. When my frustration has no where to go and, in desperation, I seek only her climax as a surrogate for my own release.

And, of course, I was immediately very hard and way more turned on than I had been before her true feelings slipped out. I wish she’d own these feelings more and not be worried about my reaction to them. Hell, that’s exactly how I hope she feels. Hearing her say it – that she liked me better when I was under her control and unable to express myself sexually in any way other than in service to her – filled me with excitement, and not all of it sexual. I know that I occasionally push her up to her position of dominance (like so many other men in my situation) and that it hasn’t always come naturally to her or been something she’s comfortable with. But here she was, really feeling it. She hadn’t thought at all about what she was saying before she said it. It was awesomely honest and in no way contrived to elicit a certain response from me.

—

As I’ve been writing this, Belle asked me what I was doing. I told her and then I read to her the first 800 words or so. I’ve never read out loud to her what I write here and doing so was equal parts embarrassing, exhilarating, and revealing. I hope she asks me to do it again sometime.

In any event, I’m hoping to get the dick wet tonight. It’s been a really long time since she fucked me and I’m thinking a lot about how it’ll feel. She’s told me I’m going back into the device tomorrow, though she hasn’t said for how long. Nor has she said how long it’ll be before I come again. Perhaps she’ll let me tonight. I wouldn’t fight her on it. Even though I want to live without them, I feel the need for one. I want to feel it again. Just as much as I want to keep on feeling the need. She could start me on another period of extended denial and I’d like that, too.

Either way, I’m good.

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Random updates

My blogging performance has been substandard of late, so here’s a few random nuggets of information to get my wheels turning again…

—

I got the replacement lock to the Steelheart yesterday. This time, I noticed that Dietmar rounded the sharp brass edges before he sent it. Not sure if this is a change he made based on my review (or comments like it) or if the first one I got was an anomaly, but I was pleased to see the change. I’m also pleased now to be wearing a lock with two keys! Belle changed it out last night.

—

During the week she let me out of the device, there was a morning where my sexual appetite combined with the free erection caused me to snuggle aggressively into Belle. She, wanting to sleep a bit more, kinda rolled over and placed her hand directly onto the hard cock. And then fell back to sleep. Her breathing was deep and regular while mine was more shallow and quick while, for a relatively long time (like, twenty minutes), her hand just sat there and the cock underneath would soften slightly then harden again, over and over. I’d flex it just a little to get more stimulation, but I was afraid if I did it too much her hand would have rolled off of she would have turned over or something. It was torture. But, you know, I’m not complaining.

—

Belle had told me she was going to lock me back up on a Sunday, but the Sunday rolled around and nothing happened. Then, she said it would be Monday, but similarly, Monday night saw no locking. It’s not that I was anxious to be locked back up (after about a week, I like the freedom), but her laissez-faire attitude left me feeling a little anxious. When she doesn’t act decisive in her control – when she appears to not take it seriously – it tends to make me feel more insecure and unhappy. I know this is more my issue than hers, but I can’t control how I feel. I shared with her this observation and she had me in the device the next morning.

—

She fucked me just once during my time out and it resulted in an unauthorized emission. I’m not calling it an orgasm because I fought it really hard and clamped down when it started and basically ruined the whole thing (based on the fact that it didn’t feel like an orgasm afterward). I made it right up to the end when she was coming and I thought I was home free. Letting my attention wander for just a split second let it happen.

In any event, I was yet again disappointed in myself for not being able to better control my autonomic functions. The night before, she had said she was going to make me wait a hundred days for my next orgasm and there I was 24 hours later having a barely-controlled squirt that was about as close to an orgasm as a guy can get without actually going over the falls. This led us, more than a week later, to talk about our differing feelings about these events. On the one hand, she just wants to fuck her cock. It’s what she wants and she doesn’t really care what happens as a result of her getting it. I understand that and respect it. On the other hand, I’m not supposed to come and when I do (or get as dangerously close as I did that night), she doesn’t seem to care. There’s next to no consequences and most of the time she doesn’t even say that much about it. Just like not seeming to care when I’m locked up, not seeming to care one way or the other if I come makes me feel like I take this more seriously than she does. This is a difficult place for my inner submissive rabbit to occupy.

I’m not sure we have a solution, but at least we’re talking about it. I feel just as bad suggesting she shouldn’t get her cock when she wants it. I don’t want to deny her anything, let alone the thing I gave her to do with what she wants. Maybe it’s a question of defining consequences so when I fail to control myself, I still feel dominated as opposed to sneaking in a freebee.

I guess the bottom like is I need to feel like she wants to dominate me at least as much as I want to me dominated. This hardly makes me unique. I’m not questioning that she enjoys our dynamic. In fact, she told me the other night she never wants to go back to the way things used to be. Either I need to be in a place where I more consistently accept the way she approaches her end of the deal or she needs to make a few tweaks around the edges (or maybe a little of both).

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The 10/100 plan

As I mentioned the other day, I’ve been feeling a little blah of late with regard to the denial thing. I think a big part of this is that my body’s adapted to its nearly orgasmless existence. I just don’t get the hormonal charge from it that I used to.

So I had this idea. Not a new idea, to be sure. I’ve read of various flavors of this idea in different places and even a few comments from my recent post brought it up. Basically, what would happen if, instead of denying me orgasms, Belle made me orgasm more? Like, more than I would normally. Back in the day when I had my own cock, I seem to remember jacking off about maybe three times a week or so. Maybe a little more. I don’t know, it’s been a while. Anyway, what if she made me come a lot more than that. Like, twice a day for five days. Ten orgasms. I suspect the first several would be great, but how will number five feel? Eight? Ten!? The idea is to shock my body out of any denial-induced torpor.

That’s the first half of the idea. The second, I admit, is inspired by Cricketed who’s offered his keyholder a “summer of chastity”. I liked the sound of that and started thinking about offering something similar to Belle. Turns out there are just about 100 days between Memorial Day and my birthday. A hundred days. That’s a long time. That’s a goal. It sounds hard. I like hard. Problem is, Memorial Day is still a ways off. Why couldn’t we start the 100 day clock sooner?

So anyway, the idea is to basically “flood the zone” with orgasms over the course of a week and then go deep into denial for a period of time about twice the length of my previously longest period. I brought this up to Belle (who’s decision, I acknowledge, is absolutely final with regard to any question involving what happens to the cock) and she’s willing to give it a shot. However, before doing so, she said I needed to post the idea here so she could see what my readers think of it.

So that’s what I’m doing. What do you think?

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All in one night

Based on a true story. 😉

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

—

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

—

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

—

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”

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Top five

First off, I just have to say UGH! Vikings. Jesus. UGH!!

There. That’s off my chest.

Going into this weekend, I had been given guidance by Belle that I’d be locked up on Friday. She left me unlocked for almost a week, though due to various nighttime work-related activities for both of us, we never connected over the course of the week (where “connected” means “fucked”). Friday night came and went and I was still free as a bird.

That caused me to cop a bit of an attitude. In our brief conversation the next day, she told me she didn’t want to lock me up until she had chance to take advantage of the unencumbered member. I told her I figured as much, but it would have been nice to hear what she was thinking. Friday morning, she had made a point of reminding me what her plans were that night, but when the night came, she snuggled up in bed and went right to sleep. Nothing happened. That, of course, is her prerogative, but it left me feeling somewhat miffed. Absence of action along with an absence of communication is difficult to deal with. All I need to hear is that she’s changing her plans and I’m cool. That little bit of communication helps assure me she still takes all this seriously. Anyway, it wasn’t that big of a deal. And we talked, so it’s all good.

Saturday night, I hustled the kids off to bed as early as reasonable (though clearly unreasonably early, according to the eleven-year-old). Once they were down for the count, Belle told me she wanted us to have good old-fashioned vanilla sex. Well, maybe vanilla with a few kinky sprinkles on top since, naturally, I wasn’t allowed to come.

I went into it not feeling too insecure with regard to coming accidentally. However, after several minutes of slow fucking, I started to feel myself get drawn in to the action. I try to keep my mind on other things (like her nipples, work, the political ramifications of recent special elections), but I was quickly running out of distractions and she was obviously enjoying what I was doing to her. With remarkably little warning, I found myself past the point of no return. I told her I was coming, but I could tell she was still a little ways off.

“Keep fucking,” she said.

So I did. I fucked right through the orgasm. It felt really good for about one and a half seconds before the head of the cock started to burn and all the muscles I had been contorting so I could keep my mouth on her nipple, one hand on the other nipple, and the cock in her pussy all at the same time started to complain. The joy of the orgasm was swept away by the psychic energy necessary to keep my rhythm. The load of spunk I shot into her completely changed the viscosity of her lubrication and once it got good and sloppy, she started to arch her back and breath heavier.

“Keep….fucking,” she ordered me, “KEEP…FUCKING…”

She reached up with both hands and grabbed onto the headboard while I did as I was told and humped her harder and faster. I hadn’t lost the erection, but the sensations coming up from it were no longer at all pleasurable. She finally came extraordinarily hard and it was all I could do to keep myself from collapsing onto her.

After I rolled off, she gasped, “Top five. That was one of the top five of all time.”

So on the one hand, I’m really happy she had such a tremendous orgasm. On the other hand, I’m upset with myself that I came. But on the third hand (work with me here), at least it wasn’t pleasurable. Totally ruined.

Sunday, I put on the device.

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He comes laughing

I woke up Saturday morning at our family compound in the North Woods at 5:28. That’s within 5 minutes of when I woke up every day for the previous week or so. Usually I get up and pee since, as any guy knows, peeing helps alleviate morning wood and some days the wood’s so woody that the ring of the device is biting harder than a snapping turtle chomping on a guy’s tit. Not every day, but most days. I guess you could say that beside all the other reasons chastity is good for us, it’s also convenient having a reliable alarm clock with you wherever you go.

The night before, after rolling in moderately late and getting the kids settled down and asleep, Belle and I were laying in bed sipping Bailey’s, me naked at her direction, talking about the Steelheart again. I had been wearing it for 25 days and, while maybe not a record, it was pushing it. You leave something like that on yourself for so long and you start to lose physical memory of what it was like before it came along. We have both come to think of it as the cock and not just something over it. I told her how happy it made me to be wearing something she liked so much.

“Oh no”, she corrected me, “I don’t just like it. I love it.” Whimper.

The next afternoon, she unlocked it so I could prepare myself for that night. I was happy to see no surprises lurking under the steel. It all seemed perfectly normal (though I imagined it blinking and covering it’s eyes after so long in the dark). I cleaned both it and myself and shaved the spots I can’t normally get to. For the remainder of the day, I was commando in my pajama bottoms.

As the fabric rubbed against the head of the cock, I found the skin more and more sensitive to it. I don’t know if it’s something to do with the material of the device or if the PA fixing holds it such that it doesn’t come in contact with anything when it’s in there, but by the time we went to bed, it was really kind of driving me nuts. There’s nothing apparently wrong with it (maybe a little red), but it remains extraordinarily sensitive, even today.

The evening’s sexual activities were pretty standard fare. She let me give her an pretty great orgasm using my fingers and mouth (while she gently abused my balls) before I entered her. Once it was in the friendly confines of the warm and wet, any discomfort I felt on the head of the cock disappeared. The now thoroughly defeated sex lizard stirred just enough for me to lose myself in the act of fucking her, but not so much that I forgot to do as Ms. Rika suggests and ask to stop just before I came. I knew Belle wanted me to, and I figured I was going to, but Belle also liked Rika’s tactic of always having the man ask to stop before he comes (to ask if he can’t as opposed to asking if he can). In any event, the question surprised Belle and by the time she answered that she did want me to come, it was too late anyway. Nothing in the world was going to stop it.

I felt between four and five fat, healthy squirts followed by a large number of post-orgasmic flexes and throbs. It felt. So. Good. Seriously, top 10% of all orgasms. I even laughed. I once had a boyfriend who laughed when he came and I never really understood it since I’ve always felt orgasms were deadly serious business, but there I was, laughing. It was wonderful. Belle later commented on the prolific nature of the orgasm’s payload and I reminded her that it was 28 days worth with no relief (no milking and very little ancillary leakage).

Sleep reached up and forcibly pulled me down into its grasp. I slept incredibly hard and can remember no dreams. Just deep, deep sleep. And I didn’t wake up until Belle did at 7:30.

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Thumper’s night

Yes, she let me come on Saturday.

The whole thing was wonderful. Before we got down to business, she told me to undress and get into bed. I did, on my knees, burrowing my face into her, kneeling and demonstrating my willingness to submit. She ran her hand up my naked back and caressed my skin with her nails. I hadn’t been feeling super submissive up to that point, but the weight of the event was starting to dawn on me. I was going to have an orgasm. An orgasm I really wanted and was only going to get because she was allowing it to happen. I got under the covers and laid next to her, opening myself to more of her caressing.

She ran her hands all over me except on the aching part that wanted it the most. I shifted around trying to help her find what she was obviously avoiding.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please touch it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied calmly. She’s always calm in bed. I get so turned on and fight for control and she stays cool and collected.

“I want it so bad.”

“I know.”

After a few moments, she finally found her cock. I gasped. Even though I had been unlocked for weeks and had plenty of opportunity to feel a hand on my erections, this was altogether different. This was her hand.

“How many times did you play with this while I left you unlocked?” She asked. I avoided her eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I felt guilty. “How many times?” she repeated. Not angrily, but firmly.

“I don’t know…” I said sheepishly. I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You don’t know,” she repeated.

“No, I don’t,” I said. Then, eventually, “Lots. More than I should have.”

“Uh huh.”

“You said I could that one time,” I said, gamely groping for an out.

She grabbed my nuts and squeezed. The pain was instant and severe. I gasped as her griped tightened and I felt one testicle slowly and uncomfortably grind against the other. She let go and I collapsed against her, panting. The pain throbbed dully and the cock was harder than before.

After a few moments of relief, she quickly grasped my testes in her hand again, squeezing even harder than before. The pain seared up and out of my groin and spread throughout my body. Her nails began to dig into the soft scrotum skin. I realized I was being punished for playing with her cock.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasped and she released me.

I nuzzled into her and apologized again.

“You’re weak,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I’ve been far too indulgent with you,” she said. “I’m going to lock you back up tomorrow. You need to focus more on me.”

“Yes, Belle Fille,” I whispered. Her attitude was unexpected, as was the intensity of her punishment. She had quickly driven me deeply into subspace.

A short while later, she allowed me to begin bringing her to orgasm. I pulled up her top and started suckling her nipples, feeling them stiffen in response. I brought my hand down between her legs and felt the glowing heat coming through the material of her pajama bottoms. I pulled them down and felt her slick wetness under my fingers.

“I want your tongue in my pussy,” she said bluntly. “I want you to eat me out.”

I moaned and quickly moved between her legs, planting my mouth on her wet snatch. I absolutely reveled in her juices, slurping them down as the soft folds of her flesh responded to my insistent tongue. I reached up and played with her nipple. Soon, she was breathing hard and gasping “oh, fuck” repeatedly. She came really hard and I laid my face against her wet heat, rhythmically grinding the hard cock pressing into the mattress.

After basking for a few minutes, she brought me back up and indicated it was time for me to go. I easily slid the cock into her pussy, loosely relaxed and supremely wet as it always is post-cunnilingus. I quickly got up to speed, wanting to enjoy the feeling of purposeful fucking but also wanting to feel the orgasm I knew I’d have. I held her head with one hand, the other on her hip, and kissed her face. I felt such love and affection for her. Felt so grateful to her. So connected to her.

All too soon, I felt the orgasm lock and load. I was still pumping, but beyond the point of no return. It started to well up inside me from great depths. I gasped, “This is yours,” and shot my load inside her. Again and again the cock flexed and more of my seed surged into her. I was grunting and gasping and just fucking coming like a feral pig. I had been so horny – wound up so tight in anticipation – and all of it was swirling away inside as the pent-up energy drained out with the orgasm like water down a drain.

Immediately afterward, I was spent. Totally spent. Exhaustion came over me like a heavy blanket. I felt contentment unlike any I’ve felt in quite a while. This was no half orgasm. There was no restraint on my part. It was my night and I came completely. In no time, I was out. Deeply asleep. Content.

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I am not dead!

Anyone who’s read this blog for a while knows that extended periods of quiet are signs of alarm. Not unlike a collie bursting into the room and barking like mad (which might lead you to look around for young Timmy, whose absence would then cause you to run off to check the local well/abandoned mine). In any event, I haven’t posted because a) there wasn’t all that much to talk about for a bit, and b) there were, in fact, issues.

The issues are basically the same we’ve gone over before and involve the fact that my internal submission engine requires a certain level of sexual frustration to remain engaged. Belle left for NYC immediately following my last post, which was fine because our sex the night before was outstandingly frustrating. However, for a variety of reasons, we didn’t do much of anything sexual from the time she got back through the next weekend. In addition, she wasn’t giving me any tasks to perform or otherwise flexing her domination over me (and, in fact, did several things I told her I’d be happy to do for her). By the time Sunday night rolled around and she fell asleep while watching the Vikings collapse in front of a national audience, my tank was full of fumes.

I laid there, listening to her sleep, and calmly thought through where we were. I, certainly, was not feeling it. She, it appeared, wasn’t feeling it. Not only that, she didn’t seem to have any desire to bring it back (and, of course, by “it” I mean our D/s dynamic). I wasn’t really mad or full of despair or anything like that. It seemed normal that after a year or so of messing around with this and after a several month period where she left me locked in a chastity device pretty much 24/7 that maybe the one or both of us would get our fill. I really wanted out of the CB6K. Once I felt I wasn’t being denied as much as detained, the bloom was off. Also, since living with the Steelheart for a while and even the chrome CB6K, the old clear CB6K is only barely erotic for me (and her, I think).

So, long story kinda but not really short, I decided to propose a break the next day. By “break” I meant no device, I can come whenever I want, I’m not submissive. At least for a while. Until we both wanted it back. That was the idea, anyway. Turns out, when I said it, she took it pretty hard. What seemed to me a logical extension of how we were living, to her, was a rebuke of sorts. I didn’t mean it that way and didn’t expect her to take it the way she did, but there it was. She gave me the key on Monday morning but was also obviously distressed to do so, so I gave it back to her and said we’d discuss it that night when we had a chance to talk.

Monday night came around and she removed the lock. I was very happy to be facing the prospect of taking it off, but it was still obvious to me that she was unhappy about it. She said it made her feel like she didn’t own the cock anymore. That wasn’t my intention. Really, all I wanted to do was take it out for a spin. Laying there, device still on but unlocked, and against what I wanted, I suggested she put the lock back on. She declined. I offered again. She declined again. Soon, I was practically begging her to put the lock back on. The deliciousness of the situation (me, begging to be relocked even though I really wanted out) was not lost on me and I found myself forcibly holding the device together as it strained against my erection. I finally told her to replace the lock just for the night. Whatever she wanted to do the next day, we’d do. Obviously, the device and the control it represents has developed into a potent symbol between us.

Next day, she let me out. Her period had just started, so she said we’d do the opposite of what’s normal and I’d be unlocked until she was done bleeding. However, we were not going to be on a full break. I was not allowed to come without her permission. I really did want an orgasm (more to the point, I wanted a whole fucking lot of them), but wanting out wasn’t the same as wanting to be out from under her control. Feeling full and unencumbered erections was, I admit, glorious. I also admit to doing what came naturally with those erections, though I never went all the way to the logical conclusion.

Last night, Belle started giving the cock some pleasant attention (mixed in with occasional and random strikes to the balls). It got hard again, really hard, and I wasn’t sure which I wanted more: the nice cock contact or the ball hitting. I rolled over and got onto all fours and she started to milk me like a cow. I closed my eyes and zoned out on the sensation of her hand moving over the hard cock. It didn’t take too long for me to start feeling the tickle of an orgasm bubbling up. I warned her, asking if she wanted me to come. She said I could.

Because I’m me, I didn’t think, “Oh, fuck, YES!” I thought, “Oh shit, not on the sheets!” I cupped my hand under the end of the cock just in time to catch the spurts, but doing so took my eye off the ball just long enough that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the orgasm. Regardless, I really liked it. I wiped my hand off on my balled-up underwear, curled into her, and almost immediately fell deeply asleep, heavy scent of ejaculate hanging over the bed.

This morning, the PA piercing kinda hurts. She was pretty rough on the cock and the ring flopped around with a lot of force. I’m totally feeling it today, along with the normal post-orgasmic rush of additional horniness. One orgasm never seems to get it all out.