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.
Mexico was a lot of fun. As my previous post said, it offered me several chances to frolic au naturel, first on Wednesday before the couple we rented the house with arrived, and then again on Saturday while they were out and we stayed behind. There are few sensations more wonderful then that of the heat of the sun across all your skin and the warm breeze running though every hair on your body. The nearly-tropical sun is a force to be reckoned with, however, and even with ample SPF 70 on Belle’s cock, the effect of the sun’s radiation could be felt. I took measures to protect it and am happy to say it suffered no damage (though the rest of me is nicely tanned).
This morning, I priced out a 
Yesterday, I spilled the beans to Belle. I told her we needed a new lock since I knew how to open it. She seemed surprised at my cheekiness. Yes, we certainly did need a new lock. Then I went into the bathroom and, apparently to put a very fine point on my recent admission, picked the lock again and put on the smaller ring (again, without removing the tube). Instead of putting the thoroughly disrespected (yet still very pretty) chrome lock back, I took the ugly, sharp-cornered little lock that originally came with with the CB-6000 on. Its only redeeming quality (other than being totally secure against the monkey brain) is that it’s small. Otherwise, its very utilitarian.