Tag: relationship

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Dev and Thumper talk

Transcript of an instant message conversation in which Dev helps Thumper figure some shit out. After-the-fact commentary in italics.

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Dev: I read your post.  It was more positive than how you described it yesterday, which must be a good sign.

Thumper: i have two other bile-filled ones I never finished

Dev: I have an only semi-related question for you, or two questions really: (1) Are you able to cry? and (2) How does Belle respond if you do?

Thumper: (1) I can and have, but not in a while. (2) Hmm. Usually by trying to comfort me. Fix what I’m crying about.

Thumper: Last time i cried it was about feeling weird and guilty and like a freak for bringing kink to my marriage

Dev: right, maybe you blogged about that, it sounds vaguely familiar

Thumper: i think i did

Thumper: that was it

Thumper: there was lots of crying around the time i told her about the affair

Thumper: natch

Dev: yeah

Dev: She should have apologized about falling asleep.  Definitely.

Thumper: she eventually did, but in that pissy “i’m only doing this to shut you up” kind of way

Dev: But (IMO) she is right that you should stop pushing the dildo thing.  Like, a while back already.  (Sorry.  Please don’t hate me.)

Thumper: totally

Thumper: actually, when she finally put it that way, it really turned me on

Thumper: if only she had let it lie

Thumper: “pushing the dildo”

Thumper: snerk

Dev: lol

Dev: btw, when Jos and I fuck, and I get to the point where I want to come (which I can’t from just fucking) or I am tired of him stopping (so as not to come) then I stop him and I use my vibrator while he fucks me with his fingers.  Fingers work much better than a dildo for me personally

Thumper: “pushing the dildo” would be a good name for a blog

Thumper: belle’s unusual in that she can come solely from fucking. i don’t need to stimulate her clit to make her come.

Thumper: i only know that’s unusual since i listen to dan savage’s podcast

Thumper: the difference between you and she is also that she *does not care* that I need to stop. she won’t let me.

Thumper: i think it’s one of the reasons she moved to the top recently

Thumper: so i can’t stop

Thumper: that *sounds* hot (Yes, it does!)

Thumper: but it isn’t

Thumper: not really (Yes, it is.)

Thumper: i obsess. (Jesus, lighten up!)

Thumper: during the fight night, she said she was “letting” me come in those situations

Thumper: when, in fact, i did not want to.

Thumper: she was actually “making” me come

Dev: yes

Thumper: seriously against my will

Thumper: which, again, could be hot (No shit!)

Thumper: if played the right way (Ding ding ding!!)

Dev: Sounds more like she is making you lie there and get fucked regardless of whether you come or not.  Which is also hot.

Thumper: that’s it

Thumper: if i don’t come, good for me. if I do, so be it. suffer the consequences.

Thumper: maybe i’m looking at this the wrong way… (Ya think?)

Thumper: cause right now, it sounds pretty good (Oh, yeah it does.)

Dev: I think there are ways she could put this to you that are very hot, but she’s not likely to find them and you don’t want to do too much coaching.  If you can find it in yourself to translate for her to yourself, it would work

Thumper: god, that’s smart

Thumper: that’s it exactly

Dev: I only really “got” the right words to say to Jos after he said them to me when we were switched, and it was so fucking hot that now I understand it deeply and can carry out my side of it better than ever before

Thumper: in fact, there’s so much i need to “translate” within myself

Thumper: hmmm

Dev: but I don’t think you’re going to switch with her so I don’t think she’s going to get it that way, if she even could, which is doubtful

Thumper: nope, she’ll never switch

Dev: but it’s clear that she just wants to fuck you and get her pleasure from fucking you without having to have a bunch of angst over whether she’s allowed to do stuff that (incidentally) makes you come

Thumper: that’s right. she could have said that

Dev: and that is a totally cool thing to want (IMO as a non-participant in your relationship)

Thumper: the denial is fine until it gets in her way

Dev: She CAN’T say that because for you it would imply that she doesn’t care whether you come or not and you can’t handle that

Thumper: she once said she didn’t care and that was bad. but, if it was just another form or torment…

Thumper: of testing me

Thumper: and punishing me if i failed (I think he’s starting to get it…)

Thumper: god, that would be cool

Dev: …which is how she handled it last time

Dev: now, it would be better if she would just beat you for your failure rather than doing the sort of “no sex, no touching” thing, but she’d have to be comfortable with that

Thumper: icy hot

Thumper: she already knows that’s close to my limit

Thumper: at least the way she applied it last time

Thumper: fuck, that hurt

Dev: And if it was right after you came it wouldn’t be sexy either, until later

Thumper: god no

Thumper: *or* she could make me clean it out of her. that’d totally do it for me

Thumper: without the pain, too…

Dev: But she might not feel like it, after coming herself.  I don’t know what she’s like.

Thumper: oh, yeah

Dev: and that sounds more like a treat than a punishment

Thumper: true

Dev: to me

Thumper: it helps that you’re a female

Thumper: here’s a crazy idea. would you mind if i copied this exchange, removed the real names, and posted it?

Dev: Not at all

Thumper: sweet

Thumper: thanks

Dev: 🙂

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Fight night

This is my 18th day since I last came, but, more importantly, it’s the fifth day since I was last able to give Belle an orgasm. It’s starting to get to me. Her release is my release and when I’m not able to achieve that I start to get squirrelly. Just as our yellow sun provides Superman his powers, contact with Belle’s flesh and exposure to her pleasure keeps my submission on the side of truth, justice, and the American Way. Absent that, and it’s Bizzaro Superman: dark, imperfect, wrong.

Complicating my feelings today is a rather large fight we had on Tuesday night. We hardly ever fight anymore. I think this is at least partly because my ego is less of an issue when I’m in the subby mindset. However, I can still get pissed, as I did Tuesday.

It started with a conversation about the dildo/harness thing again and she, yet again, expressed no interest in it. I tried to lobby for it the best I could, but she finally pulled the Dominant card. Is she not in control of when, where, and how we have sex? Yes, of course. OK, then. I promise never to bring it up again. I’m sorry.

But she wouldn’t drop it. She accused me of wanting to introduce it to our stable of toys primarily for my pleasure. In fact, that’s entirely untrue. Yes, there’s a part of me that really gets off on the idea of fucking her while not fucking her – of replacing my meat with something else – but the primary reason I want it is because I know how much she enjoys the act of being fucked by me. And yeah, I like fucking her. But, when I’m being denied, the act leaves me an emotional wreck. Nine times out of ten, I come (especially if it’s been a while). I do nothing but obsess and worry while it’s happening and, afterward, I really and truly feel like shit. So, yes, I would get something out of it (submissive charge from being “replaced”, freedom from orgasm angst while pleasuring her), but she would also get something out of it (enjoying a good fuck more often, enjoying a phallus engineered to give her pleasure). But she insisted I was not telling her the truth. That I was trying to spin this as a plus for her when, in fact, I was thinking more about myself. That pissed me off.

Then, of course, there was the other thing. Even though I’ve written about how I really never want to experience true sexual satisfaction again – that is, I never want to come so much that I lose my constant desire to come some more – I’m not sure she really believes it. So I was pouring my soul out about this significant change in me and my approach to my sexuality, really trying to make her understand how profound I find this realization – when, at the end of my little oratory, I found she had fallen asleep. Yes, it was 10ish, yes, the candles were glowing, yes, we were laying in bed and, of course, she had consumed her fair share of the wine, but come on! She fell asleep on me. While I was emoting.

Poof. Any and all subspace totally evaporated. That left me a pissed off, horny, locked-up dude (if not for the device, I’m sure I would have rubbed one out right then). I blew out the candles and put on some clothes (sorry, did I not mention I was naked through this whole exchange?). She woke up, tried to pretend she hadn’t fallen asleep, and then the fight part started. She was pissed at me for being pissed at her for falling asleep. I thought that was total bullshit and told her as much. Evidence of the bunny was nowhere to be found. So, we yelled at each other for a few minutes before finally settling in to talk some more.

Bottom line for her was two things. One, she felt sex had taken over our relationship. I told her, IMO, sex was our relationship. I’m a guy. Guys need sex. We equate sex with love and connection, etc. This had been covered at length in our counseling. If she thought I was placing too much emphasis on it, that’s fine, but, as far as I am concerned, we have just enough sex in our relationship right now. If she ever thought I was making too big a deal over it, she was entirely within her rights to tell me to back off. In fact, she could even do so within the construct of our dynamic and still give me a form of what I was looking for.

Second thing for her was her continued insecurity with regard to her role in our dynamic and the potential that she was not living up to all the things I wanted from a dominant partner. She was afraid of disappointing me. I told her I fully expected her to disappoint me. I totally accept that nobody could be the perfect dominant I have in my head. In fact, I’m not even sure what that ideal would look like. Disappointment in any relationship is par for the course and unavoidable. All I want from her is to be as comfortable as possible with herself and let the rest happen as it will. In fact, I am, as I have said here multiple times, over-the-moon happy with her and our relationship. I am happier now than I have ever been with anyone, even her for the first 10 years of our marriage. I have shared things with her and done things with her I never though I would do with anyone. I could not be more satisfied with her or where we are as a couple. Except for this gnawing insecurity on her part. I worry that she’s only going through the motions to make me happy. That she really doesn’t want to live this way or do these things. She says that’s not true. She says she likes where we are and likes to keep me locked-up and all that. I believe her, but struggle to make her understand that, more than the ideal dominant partner, I need a confident partner and that she has every right to feel confident in her role right now. She rocks. She’s amazing. She is so, so good for me. I say it all the time (or, at least, I feel as though I do), but her doubt and insecurity lingers.

I told her last night that really, truly, this is what I want. I want the denial. I want the control. I want to live with the constant sexual frustration. I want the basic unfairness of the arrangement. Really. I will never, ever hold it against her. It’s how I want to be. All she has to do now is believe it.

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Piggish manbeast

There’s an element to what happened yesterday that sounds so stereotypically wannabe-FLR, that it makes me somewhat embarrassed to even write it down (I’m reminded of Dev’s comment about hard-ons and holding a purse in a shoe store, but I’m trying to keep it out of mind). It was all very subtle and most observers might not even notice anything, but it was there: Belle Fille stretched her dominant muscles ever so slightly – and in front of other people, no less.

It was another Sunday dinner at the in-law’s (Belle’s mom, dad, sister, her husband, their baby and dog, but only one of our kids as the other’s at camp). These used to happen almost every weekend, but in recent years they’ve become less frequent. Where each person sits at the table and what role they play in preparation, consumption, and clean-up of the meal is well-established. Short story, mother-in-law does most of the work, freaks out that everyone’s got enough to eat (Augustus Gloop’s mother would be proud), and then everyone without a Y chromosome cleans up while those who do have one tend to sit around and shoot the shit until it’s time to go. This is how it’s worked for years.

And it was pretty standard fare through much of dinner1 until my mother-in-law went to get dessert from the kitchen (key lime pie and vanilla ice cream or root beer floats – river of chocolate reserved for special occasions).

“Why don’t you get up and help her,” Belle Fille asked me with the tone of a statement, not a question. She looked me directly in the eye and, gently yet firmly, was obviously giving me an order.

Zing!

“OK,” I replied and hopped up. This never happens. I never get up during dinner since, as I said before, the roles and expectations are all set. And her “asking” me to help was also very out of character. I felt somewhat self-conscious as I left my place at the opposite end of the table from my father-in-law and went to get the pie.

Later, after the pie, we were all sitting there talking, except for the the mother-in-law who was clearing the table. “Why don’t you let [Thumper] finish clearing this,” she suggested.

“OK,” I replied and hopped up. Except this time, so did everyone else so my task was minimal.

Typically, as the dishes are being done, the menfolk go and discuss politics or sports or some other manly topic. No exception last night. We were on the deck enjoying the beautiful early evening when Belle came to the sliding screen door and told me to come inside and dry the dishes.

“OK,” I replied and hopped up. The other menfolk exchanged glances. There was a disturbance in the Force.

The drying duty was given to me because my sister-in-law had to prepare a bottle for the baby. Once that was done, she came back in the kitchen to relieve me.

“OK, you can go back to being a man now,” she said as she took my towel. Ouch.

Back on the deck, the brother-in-law said, “Have you been released from service?”

“Sorta,” I replied.

Finally, later on, I came out onto the deck to find Belle already out there talking to my brother-in-law. He offered me a chair next to him, but Belle said, “No, why don’t you sit across from me. That way, you can massage my feet.”

“OK,” I replied and hopped…down…into the chair. She put her feet up into my lap, pressing down with them onto the device, and I started to massage them while she continued her conversation with my brother-in-law.

I can hear some of you. You’re saying, “So she kept you from being a piggish manbeast? That’s it?!” and, yeah, I see your point. My point is Belle’s had a thing about finding opportunities for me to provide her service. Not only was she actively looking for these, she did it in front of her family. On a scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is something like this, what Belle did was about a 2, but it was a start. A really good start. I hope to see her become more comfortable with her position as time goes on.

Later, back at the ranch, it was more foot massage followed by back massage followed by face massage (something I didn’t even know was a thing). She went to sleep supremely relaxed while I was left hot and sweaty from the effort…and, you know, all the touching.

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1 Did I mention I was drinking mojitos again? I can’t help myself. They’re so yummy. And no, I didn’t drive until way after dinner and the buzz had turned into lethargy.  ↩

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Guilt and submission

Act two was not the stuff of sex blogs. Basically, she laid there sipping wine and reading her book for two hours while I massaged her feet. Yes, wonderfully decadent for her and not unenjoyable for me, but very low on the hotnsexy scale.

After she was done reading, I threw caution to the wind and asked if there was anything else she needed from me (which she correctly interpreted as a veiled request for sexual contact). Turns out, she wasn’t interested. That wasn’t very surprising considering her body language, etc., but I was surprised by her subsequent accusation that I was throwing a ‘tude over her disinterest.

Yes, there is precedent for my behaving poorly in the face of her lack of interest. But I swear, this wasn’t the case last night. I wasn’t in the slightest annoyed that I wasn’t going to get any action. I was dealing with it, though, and I’m sure that’s what showed on my face. Dealing with the pent up frustration, the erections that come raging up at the slightest thought or simplest touch, the carnivorous butterflies that flutter in my chest looking for human flesh to consume – dealing with all that. It’s an effort. It’s hard. But, it wasn’t in any way directed at her.

I told her as much. I said I am fully comfortable and accepting of her role and my position. She decides when and in what way I enjoy sexual activity, not me. Not at all me. And, of course, saying these things to her, in my defense, as she looked at me crossly with furrowed brows, sent the cock higher and higher until it was straining to grow more. I felt very, very small and, yes, unfairly accused, but having to confess and reiterate my lowly rank in the face of hers was terrifically stimulating. For me. Not her. I got nothing more than the chance to spoon into her, hard cock pressed into her left ass cheek.

In that position, we discussed guilt. Her guilt. She feels guilty for not giving me what I want. She still thinks that just because I desire sexual attention that I want her to give it to me. In fact, those are very different things. The way we socialize girls in our society – and her upbringing, in particular – has left her with these residual ideas of what’s expected of her. Where these were in the years in which our marriage basically had no sex to speak of I don’t know, but they’re there now. I told her that all I really want, more than anything, is for her to do exactly what she wants to do with little or no regard for my base sexual urges. I need to feel that. Whatever drives my submissiveness wants to feel pent up urges with me, needs to feel as though my desires are inferior to hers, craves her control over my sexuality. She should feel no guilt for what the arrangement I asked for does to me. None.

All that being said, the night that followed was difficult, as they all are when I’m at about this stage. The cock seems to always either be growing, shrinking, or rigid. Lots of action down there. Sometime, it’ll stir and then become something like a perpetual motion machine. Just feeling itself move will stimulate it to keep going until I have a totally useless hard-on. I know all about nocturnal tumescence and, thanks to the CB6K, I also know exactly what times I experience it, so I also know the 8 or 12 times I was awakened last night with awkward stiffies had nothing at all to do with normal physiological processes and had everything to do with all the hormones circulating within me.

Today, my desire to work for her is high. We were both going to clean the windows, but instead I’ve told her to sit next to the pool, read her book, swim with her daughter, be a sloth. I’ll do the windows. I’ll do anything. Wash the sheets, fold the laundry, kill a wildebeast with nothing more than a stick. Anything at all she asks. And I’ve made it perfectly clear, I have no expectations whatsoever that anything I do for her will result in any reciprocal attention on her part. There is no quid pro quo. I give whatever she asks freely and ask only that she enjoy it the best she can in return.

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Sunday…I guess

I asked the question I shouldn’t have asked. Whilst massaging her feet yesterday evening, I asked if she had given any thought to when I would be locked-up again. No, she hadn’t. She was getting around to thinking about it, but hadn’t really expended any brain cells on it.

“Sunday,” she finally said.

So why Sunday? It’s so arbitrary. There’s no good reason I’m not locked-up now and there’s no good reason for it to be Sunday. Why not right this second? Why not last Wednesday? Why not next Tuesday? The insecurity came back. I felt like it didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. If I hadn’t said anything, how long would she leave me out? If she didn’t want me back in, I didn’t need to be. If she really didn’t care…well, we could just stop messing with the damned thing.

Yeah, total overreaction. My problem is I think about this stuff all the time. I want there to be a rhyme and a reason behind it all. I want her to have a purpose for leaving me out or locking me up, or, absent one, at least to pretend like there’s a purpose. The whole, “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it…I guess Sunday,” thing just reiterates that she doesn’t think about it as much as me and really doesn’t seem to care if I’m locked-up at any given moment. And of course, lock-up is synonymous with control. If she doesn’t care about lock-up…well, see where my fevered little pervert brain takes things?

Like I said, total overreaction. I can hear many of you thinking, “Gah! Stop with the whining, you ass! Don’t you know how lucky you are!?” or something similar. I know, I know. But I want there to be reasons for the things we do. Consequences. Structure. Thought. It’s not just about being denied orgasm, it’s about being denied for a reason. Maybe I ask too much of Belle since this really is my kink, not hers. Maybe I should just go with the flow and be grateful that she’s willing to go through the motions and deal with the high-maintenance basket case to which she’s found herself married.

I’ll just crawl back into my little hole of insecurity now.

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Right this second

Sometimes, I start to write a post meaning to say one thing and end up saying something else entirely without even realizing it. That happened yesterday. I related the fact that we were in the hot tub but got all carried away with her furtive little kicks to my groin and forgot the Really Big Thing™ we talked about.

In my opinion, there’s always been in the back of Belle’s mind the idea that what I really want – the thing that’ll make me most happy – is to actually come like a fountain at the end of all the teasing and denial. Maybe, once upon a time, that was true. But not anymore. We both agree that when I’m in the phase I’m in right now that we’re both happiest with the D/s. The power of my sexual frustration has stripped away my self-centered mantle just enough so that I’m especially attuned to her needs. I’m not going to try to get too psychological about it or fall into any of the typical Femdom stereotypes, but there is something to the idea that a woman can harness her man’s need for sexual release and focus it on more productive (for her and the relationship) pursuits. That’s where I am now. I know I’m not the same person when I’m like this. Well, the same, but a different version perhaps. I act very differently. She’s used my desire to change my behavior, and I like it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I’m a “true” submissive or if the denial just makes me one. I still think it’s the case that I’m not a real submissive, but the truth is, I like being turned into one by her. Just the idea that my natural urges are being used to modify how I behave is a huge turn-on. Plus, I recognize that she’s happier with me and the relationship when I’m in this state. I’ve touched before on how maintaining the sweet spot between the more selfish apathetic condition of my normal self and the leg-humping horndog of me carrying way too much pent-up sexual frustration should be our goal.

So, back to what I really want. In fact, what I know now is I never want to be sexually sated ever again. I never want to be in a position where I’ve achieved so many orgasms that I’m totally uninterested in maintaining a submissive position with her. In the past, she’d give me lots of release around special occasions or, once she let me come, she’d let me come a lot. Recently, she’s moved away from that strategy and I’ve found that, yes, there is a hit to the sub energy after I’ve come, but the bounce back happens much more quickly if they’re singular events.We are both so much more happy with how things are right this second that we should make right this second the model or our relationship and not some ideal espoused by the dominant phallic-centric popular paradigm of sexual perfection.

Also, with regard to “special occasions” (such as romantic get-aways or birthdays or anniversaries or what have you), I think what they offer is a special opportunity to make the denial even more effective. Yes, the romantic anniversary trip we’re taking to Mexico in the Fall is a classic scenario where a normal, sexually equal husband should expect lots of terrific orgasmic sex. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t get any. My orgasms, as I’ve said in the past, should be the opposite of special occasions. They should be perfunctory and banal. Everything special should be focused on her. My orgasms are to be regarded as unavoidable maintenance events to be put off as long as possible while hers should be frequent, spectacular, and celebrated.

In retrospect, this may not seem like a Really Big Thing™ to anyone who’s been reading the blog for more than a week or so. The concept isn’t what’s really big. Disabusing her of the idea that my craving for sexual release means I’d be happier once I achieved it – that’s the big thing. For both of us.

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My Mistress

Belle and I spent a nice portion of yesterday in the sun, floating on two innertubes bound together with a bungie, Coronas in hand, tethered to a pontoon in the middle of a northern lake. The water was chilly but the sun was warm on our skin as we let the gentle breeze move us around. It was lovely. Afterward, back at the cabin, I found Belle in the hot tub all alone.1

After asking for and receiving permission to join her (the kids were upstairs getting their fill of Sponge Bob, the in-laws doing whatever it is they do), we soaked in the bubbly warm water. Lately, I’ve felt the need to gush endlessly about how happy she’s making me. I told her – again – but also added that I find her to be a remarkable woman. I know from reading enough guysub blogs that the majority of SOBs like me out there don’t generally find their spouses amenable to a D/s arrangement (or, just as often, they don’t have the nerve to even find out). Yet Belle has been wonderful. She and I have found a way to relate inside this headspace that makes me over the moon happy. My only fear is that I’m happier than she, but she tells me that when I’m feeling very submissive (like lately) and my urge to service her in every way is running its highest, that yes, she’s very happy, too. So I’ll just need to be happy and try to accept that she’s also as happy as she can be. Constant communication is, as usual, one of the secrets to our success.

So, back in the tub, I was down toward her feet, holding them, rubbing them, massaging her calves, when she realized our relative positions gave her feet a perfect vector into my balls. Up until this point, she’s always used her hands when hitting me there, but I’ve fantasized about her kicking me. There wasn’t enough room for a full-on kick in the balls, and the water slowed her movement somewhat, but she managed to make a few connections without me even asking (one of which that was especially painful). By the time she needed to get out, I found I was unable to do so due to the massively hard erection she had produced (and the cock ring had enhanced). I bobbed around in there all my myself for a while until I was presentable to any in-law or offspring I might have happened upon as I exited the water.

Later, in bed, I told Belle that I have been feeling the need to call her something more formal that just “Belle Fille”. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but yesterday when I wrote in my previous post that she and I didn’t have any formal honorific for me to use with her, I think I finally realized how much it meant to me. In the past, we had discussed our options, but none of them seemed to strike her fancy. This time, I said to her that I needed to call her Mistress. My Mistress. Mistress Belle Fille. Even writing it out embarrasses me, so imagine how saying it to her made me feel. In any event, I got it out and she acquiesced. From now on, I will, in the appropriate setting, address her as Mistress. *blush*

I can’t say for certain why this is suddenly so important to me. I like how it makes our power exchange more formal. I like how it elevates her. I like how, in my mind, when I think about what I should or should not be doing (either with her cock or just in general), she’s not just my Belle Fille, now she’s Mistress. The female version of Master. I am mastered by Belle Fille. And I like it.

So after that was decided, I asked my newly minted Mistress if she’d punch me once in the nuts. I know what you’re thinking. WTF is it with all the testicle pain? For the love of god, isn’t there anything else to do? My answer is twofold. First, the ROI of testicle abuse is quite high. Very little effort (and no tools or toys) can result in enormous pain. I dig that. Second, and this is the part I really can’t explain logically, I find my desire for nut torture goes up in direct proportion to how long she’s denied me an orgasm. Of course, my overall desire for pain increases as well, but in particular, testicle pain in something I find myself craving. Dreaming about. I am simply addicted to it at the moment.

In any event, I asked.

“Will you punch me in the nuts if I hold them? Just once?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly. My heart raced and my breathing became heavy. I wasn’t sure which way the answer would go.

She pulled back the covers exposing my crotch. I encircled my nutsack with my fingers, pulling the skin tight and causing my testicles to be completely exposed. They could be no more vulnerable.

“Now I’m scared,” I said, looking into her eyes. She touched the cock gently, lightly, as she ran her fingers over the engorged meat. Her calm green eyes seemed to say, “It’s OK.” I kept my gaze fixed upon them, the eyes of my Mistress, my tormentor, my love.

She has never hit me harder and caused me more pain. One strike on my right nut. The pain irradiated my whole body. Lovely, glowing pain. I fell asleep as the dull throb ebbed in my groin, clutching her tightly to my naked body.

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1 We have it rough, don’t we? ↩

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Real life

A reader calling themselves gasmaskpipe (there has got to be a story behind that one) left the following comment to my post Ramifications:

Erm, sorry, but the bit where you say “but no orgasmic participation!? For nearly a week? Man. It’s not like I killed a guy. That’s harsh” left me feeling that you don’t really appreciate just how lucky you are to have a woman who is not only controlling your sexual activity, but also modifying it in a way most of us only dream about. Stop moaning and start appreciating what you have. I’m sorry if this message seems harsh, but you need telling!

Now, I’m not trying to single out gasmaskpipe for a whippin’ (for all I know, they’re not even into that kind of thing), but the more I thought about it, and especially after Dev’s comment in reply, it’s occurred to me that I had something more to say on the matter.

This blog is about my real life, not some porn fantasy femdom cartoon1. There are so many blogs not totally unlike mine out there and very many of them are very much alike. However, I like to think the thing that sets mine apart (and a couple of others) is that I’m not writing about some paradigmatic male submissive relationship. I am not a stereotype. I am a man in a relationship with a woman and we’re stumbling along as best we can down a path neither of us knew was in our future. I think the measure of success we’ve had up to this point is because we are traveling our path, not the subculture’s definition of one. That means, on occasion, I’m going to come here and sound a little whiny or a little ungrateful or a little sad. It means I’m going to write about decidedly unsexy stuff like marital infidelity. And yeah, it means I’m not going to strike the expected tone of others chronicling their version of the standard femdom tripe.

I reread that paragraph and realize I come off sounding angry or bitter or something. I’m really not. The bottom line is, I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing2. Belle and I are trying to strike a mutually enjoyable sex life and, I think, succeeding more often than not. Sometimes, that’ll lead me to recount incredibly sexy scenes (at least, incredibly sexy as far as I’m concerned). But not always. And certainly not always according to your expectations.

Getting back to GMP’s original point, yes, I count myself incredibly lucky. I’ve said as much here many times. I am really nothing more than yet another dime-a-dozen man who’s uncovered a submissive side in the midst of an otherwise vanilla marriage who, unlike so many others, has had the great fortune to be married to a woman willing to indulge my needs. I tell her all the time how happy she makes me and how lucky I am and how this is the most excited and most engaged and most happy with my sex life I have ever been. And it’s all thanks to her. God, I love her for it.

So did I whine? Sure. Am I ungrateful? Never. Not even for a second.

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1 Well, at least portions of my real life. I spare you the tedium of hearing about my work, political leanings, and child-rearing adventures.↩

2 And neither, it seems, do some of my favorite bloggers on the subject – which may help explain my attraction to them.↩

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The rabbit returns

I’m back. Miss me?

So last night, the first full night of my return, was full of talking (and a little sex – I’ll get to that in a minute). Belle was somewhat put off by my lack of subbie Belle-oriented behavior. Funny, she thought, since our “arrangement” was my idea and now she’s so accustomed to it that when I’m not in the proper state of mind, she’s annoyed with me. Unfortunately, she really didn’t say anything about it until we were in bed at the end of the day. She was right, of course. I hadn’t been focused on her in that way, though I certainly was horned up and wanting her in more mundane ways. My excuse (such as it is) is that I was so far out of my headspace after a week in the woods and 18 hours on the road getting home, that I couldn’t just snap back into the groove. As I’ve said, I’m not by nature a submissive person. It’s a state of mind I need to work on in order to achieve. Had she said something about it – made it clear that I was underperforming and that she was disappointed – I think I would have fallen back into the groove (or started to, at least). She feels she shouldn’t have to say anything, though that’s difficult for me. Hearing her assert her dominance over me gives me quite the charge. She suggested that I had been out of the device for too long and I felt a combination of foreboding and excitement that always exists within me after being free for a while. I value my freedom but also crave her control. She neglected to say when she’d put me back in.

After that, we talked about my trip. The one rather important thing I neglected to mention here on my blog was that the The Other Woman was also on the hiking trip I took (along with eight other people, including her fiancee). As I’ve said previously, I met her through a group of wildlife enthusiasts – the same group I was hiking with. My participation in this trip was always kind of up in the air. Belle and I are in a very different place than we were nine months ago when I was unfaithful, but still, it was difficult. It was difficult for Belle and it was difficult for me. In any event, Belle wanted to know how it was. How I felt, etc.

What I decided once and for all on the trip – something I’ve pondered quite a bit over the past three-quarters of a year – is that the dominant paradigm of monogamous life-long relationships is not the only entree at the buffet. In fact, I do still have feelings for TOW, but they’re entirely different that those I have for Belle. As I told her last night, Belle is my mate. My other half. She completes me. I have never wanted anything other than to be with her for the rest of my life. She really is the love of my life. My feelings toward TOW are clearly inferior to those I have for Belle. They lack depth, richness, and complexity but they exist. I don’t know that I’d call it love. If love is what I feel for Belle, then it’s not exactly that. I feel like I need a new word. More than like, less than love. In any event, these feelings don’t in any way detract from my feelings for Belle. If anything, they enhance them. During those moments over the past week where I felt a resurgence of my feelings for TOW, I felt even more in love with Belle. I can’t say I fully understand how that works, but there it is. I know in my heart of hearts that TOW is no threat to what Belle and I share, even though I continue to carry these feelings around for her.

I also wanted Belle to know that I didn’t regard these feelings for TOW as representative of anything lacking in my relationship with Belle. They are separate and parallel and in no way competitive. I do not want to leave Belle and/or replace her with TOW, but the affection I feel for her is real. Is this polyamory? I don’t know. Perhaps. I can’t say I fully understand the concept enough to be able to say that’s what I’m experiencing.

What I am capable of saying, however, is that the idea of Belle having a little piece on the side seriously turns me on. Like, seriously. I told her as much. As soon as I brought it up, I felt myself stiffen considerably. Unlike Belle, who loses energy to the perceived competition TOW represents, I feel that I’d gain energy from her having a paramour. It’d make me want her even more. The competitive energy would convert to a greater desire on my part. Again, I can’t explain this. It runs entirely against what we’re all taught by society as to the model of the perfect relationship. I’m sure a part of this has a lot to do with where my head is now with regard to her sexual satisfaction. We’re not equal. My sole purpose is to ensure she’s totally sated at all times. In fact, according to Our Covenant, “Belle Fille claims the right to achieve sexual satisfaction in any way she sees fit.” When she decides she wants a vibrator over her cock, that’s a major turn-on for me since she’s sacrificing an element of my pleasure to ensure hers. It reinforces her position. If she took that several steps further and replaced the vibrator with the cock of another man…well, I get somewhat light-headed just thinking about it.

All this talk of cuckoldry had me well and truly worked up. She instructed me to close the bedroom door and remove my clothes. As she laid on her back, I was again looming over her body on all-fours. She gently rubbed and stroked the stiff flesh between my legs, my balls, and – eventually – even my exposed crack. Sweet Jesus, that felt glorious. I flexed my hips in order to fully expose myself and told her, even though I knew it more than a little squicked her out, I totally wished she could fuck me. Feeling her fingers glide smoothly over my puckering little hole sent me into a drooling stupor. I was snapped out of that when she slapped my nutsack. She didn’t hit me hard enough and in the right place to cause the level of pain I really crave, but she got a few good one’s in there.

After being reduced to a simmering pot of sexual energy, I pleaded for a chance to do something to her. Anything. Please.

She pulled up her top and I latched on to her nipple as though my life depended on it.

“Gentle,” she reminded me.

“Yes ma’am. How would you like to come?”

“I can’t decide,” she replied.

“Your cock is available,” I reminded her.

“I don’t want to hear your lobbying.”

“I’m not lobbying. Just making a statement of fact. I know how much you like it.”

“Yes, but your fingers are so sweet.” She removed her bottoms, now totally nude. “Put them in me.”

I obeyed. She was incredibly wet as I ran my fingertips up and along her slick contours. She moaned.

After a few moments, “Stop! I’m going to come too soon.”

My fingers retreated from her snatch, but continued to stroke the inside of her legs while my mouth stayed on her breasts.

“Oh god, you’re going to make me come without even touching me. STOP!”

I pulled away entirely. She was significantly turned-on. It had been more than week since her last orgasm (she neglected to use her vibrator while I was away) and her body, now that it had become accustomed to regular relief, had a lot of pent-up energy. It didn’t take much to put her on edge.

She climbed on top of me, but didn’t put the cock in. She just rubbed her outer lips against it like an animal in heat and almost immediately came (hard). My desire reverberated within me. I felt a pang of regret for not getting inside her, but also a thrill at how turned-on I could make her.

After she had a few moments to bask and glow, I asked, “Can I put it in? I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Sure.”

I grabbed what used to be my cock and positioned its head between her lips and pushed it home with my hips. Holy fuck, that felt good. Her moist heat sent the reptile brain within me into autopilot and I began to slide it in and out like a piston.

“I promise not to come.”

“Liar. You’ll come.”

“No, I won’t. I promise,” as I continued to fuck her.

“Liar.”

“I swear I won’t come without permission!”

“Good, because you don’t have permission.”

And I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. Crude, half-formed fantasies about her non-existent paramour flashed though my brain. I can’t imagine my desire could have gone any higher. I so badly wanted to come, but knew it wasn’t allowed. I had to stop once as I got close to the edge, but had plenty of time to pull back before starting the steady rhythm again. I could have gone on like that all night. At one point, I opened my eyes to see her head being propped up by one hand, a bemused and somewhat bored expression on her face.

“You’re being so kind to me,” I told her. “Thank you for humoring me…uhhhng…oh, that feels soooo good.”

I had to stop again as another orgasm approached and she decided to pull the plug.

“OK, that’s it. You’re done,” she said as she lifted off me. I felt her hot wet pussy start to slip away and I lifted my hips in order to keep it inside her as long as possible. She pulled completely clear of me and I felt her soft wetness slide its last over the head of her cock as it fell back and bobbed, so hard and so desperate for more of her, suddenly cold. It flexed on its own volition. So, so desperate.

A short while later, after she had put her pajamas back on and the majority of my desire had eaten itself, I said to her, “I bet you’d let your boyfriend come.”

“Who says it’d be a boyfriend?”

Oh, fuck!

Posted on

Wednesday night smackdown

This is quite likely my last post before leaving on my trip. I can’t imagine I’ll post again before the 29th. Belle might post while I’m gone, though I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. For the next week, I’ll be communing with nature (read: hiking, camping, fending off mountain lions and bears, crapping in little holes).

—

Last night was all about the talking. For various reasons, issues related to my infidelity to Belle were raised and had to be unpacked and repacked. I think it all went well, but I admit to feeling frustration that these areas are revisited at this point in our relationship (which, as it turns out, is a very typical point of view from the unfaithful male). I try to be understanding. I work through whatever it seems like needs to be worked-through. Last night, we left things better than we found them.

Toward the end of the conversation, I was able to relate to her something that had dawned on me earlier in the day. I was grocery shopping and listening to the Masocast (this episode) when I started to wonder what life would be like if I was a young submissive male looking for love (not unlike Axe). I know how lucky I am having my Belle who is eternally GGG and does things for me she’d probably never think of doing on her own, but just imagine how much more complicated the entire “dating” thing would be if, at a point 10-15 years ago, I had realized what kind of sex I liked and was looking, not only for a compatible mate, but a mate who was also comfortable topping me.

And you know what? I can’t imagine anyone else doing that. I don’t have any fantasies of being dominated by anyone other than Belle. I have never seen another person and thought, “Oh boy, wouldn’t it be great if they did [insert dominant act here] to me?” All the things I still want to do that I haven’t had a chance to do, I want to do with Belle. And yeah, I am the luckiest SOB in the world that I not only uncovered this side of me that I find to be extremely satisfying, but I uncovered it while married to a person I’m comfortable exposing it to. Is it possible I’d want to be submissive to other women (or even men)? Sure. But the point is, for me it’s all about her.

Which also led me to tell her all I really wanted was for her to smack my nuts around. I’m totally free and unlocked, so they’re just hanging there (lower than they used to) and begging for abuse. She was on her back and I was naked and on all fours over her, kissing her, telling her I loved her, etc., when she started to land her blows. The first one was, as always, shocking, but not really painful.

“That didn’t hurt,” I said, knowing it would goad her on.

Smack! SMACK! WHACK!

She finally landed a good one. I dropped like a sack of kumquats onto her as the pain raced up and though me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her close to me and feeling the throbbing reverberate everywhere. I started to laugh. Then she started to laugh. Hell, it was funny.

“OK, now I can’t breathe,” she said.

After a minute or two of giggling at the pain, I started to lift myself back up on all fours again. I felt the part of my brain responsible for self-preservation fire off all its alarms and try to stop me, but the other part of me – the pain slut – fought back and kept me moving. I assumed a position where my legs were well-spread and she smacked at my nuts again. Not as painful as before, so I found myself actually lifting one leg trying to give her a clearer shot.

“JESUS GOD, MAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” yelled the little safety director in my head, but I ignored him. Feeling that conflict within me – desperate for more abuse while struggling with my body’s autonomic need to protect itself – is so fucking hot.

In any event, we had talked for a long time and it was getting late. I could have gone on for hours (or, at least I think I could) but she was tired, so we stopped. I spooned into her, erection pressing stiffly against her ass, hot, buzzing, feeling the last of the testicular pain ebbing away…wishing for more.

—

P.S. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite post of Dev’s. It’s like she wrote it just for me: ball smacking, domination, biting, orgasm denial and forced orgasm…all in a nice tidy package. Yum.