Tag: S/M

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Cops n’ robbers

On episode 527 of the Savage Lovecast, Dan related a story in the context of a caller asking if a 24/7 master-slave relationship was possible about how he was once taken to task for describing BDSM as “cops and robbers for adults with your pants off.” He was at a conference and someone came up to him and said it was much more than that and, oh by the way, not being able to literally own another human being was a form of sexual repression. Or something like that.

Not that I would know anything about 24/7 master-slave things (though I do know something of the end of slavery in this country), but the more I’ve experienced and lived the less comfortable I’ve become with the “cops and robbers” analogy. It seems too flippant to me now.

Sure, for some, BDSM is something that’s simply scene-based. They buy their 50 Shades “My First Bondage Set” they found on the endcap at Target, feel very naughty indeed, and then get along with their lives. Maybe they never do it again because they feel incredibly stupid and self-conscious or maybe it spirals into a full-fledged Thing for them, but for most, it’s just a playful aside. In these cases, I totally buy Dan’s analogy. But it can be (and is) so much more for some.

My theme around here lately is “it’s what I am, not what I do” and the cops and robbers thing is all about the opposite. Belle and I don’t live in a scene. When I’m really submitting, I’m not pretending or acting. Bottoming, being hurt by a sadist, really giving of myself and being denied create a deep emotional resonance inside me. Drew and I were talking about this when he visited recently. Knowing what I know about myself now and if I were in a position where I wasn’t married to Belle, finding someone who was capable of accepting my need for domination would be a high priority. Perhaps higher than any other single attribute. That’s not playing.

I suspect Dan knows these things. That an inclination to some aspect of BDSM, like all things, exists on a spectrum. But for those of us on one of the far ends of that spectrum, his description is severely lacking.

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Peanut buster parfait

It is in that moment before your beloved drops her balled-up fist with as much might as she can muster between your open legs and onto your exposed and oh-so-vulnerable testicles where you experience primal terror. All the evolutionary safeties, who would usually be screaming at your higher brain to stop and cover yourself, are quivering in fear in the dark little box into which you’ve locked them. Your heart flutters and you have to will your legs to stay apart…

Continue reading “Peanut buster parfait”

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The first rule of Fight Club

The other week when the kids were at camp and Belle and I were alone, she offered me a night of whatever I wanted. All I had to do was tell her what that was.

Of course, I couldn’t. I couldn’t say what I wanted because, kinda like Santa Claus, once I said the truth the magic was gone. This is, obviously, very unfair to Belle. And counter-intuative. But it’s how I work. If I said, “do this and that,” then I would have a hard time accepting those things from her.

What I wanted was something like that one night we spent in a hotel last year. Major hot mostly because I didn’t really know what was happening at any given moment. It was all spontaneous on Belle’s part and it was fantastic. But, assuming she can’t pull a rabbit out of its funk every time, how are we to proceed? When the rare free night presents itself, how can we be sure to take whatever advantage Belle’s willing to let us have? Part of me thinks she should grok where I’m coming from since my kinks are well known to her now and we’ve had some practice at this stuff. Part of me also thinks we shouldn’t have to wait for special events to be able to indulge in a little quality time. But part of me also understands that none of this comes naturally to Belle.

Her idea was for me to write here what I wanted her to do. I can speak here more freely and more completely. I was supposed to do this a while back since this week is the last kid-free one we’ll have for a while, but I didn’t get around to it for whatever reason. Usually, when I know I have something to write for the blog, I’m anxious to write it, but this time I sat on it. And it, in turn, caused me to stop writing here almost altogether. I think my reticence is all tied up in the sub’s paradox of not wanting to be proscriptive but also needing to communicate their needs. I have needs, but relating them is hard. But let’s give it a shot.

In general terms, what I want it to lose control. To be tied up with my hands over my head and my feet to the footboard. To have the device taken off and the penis stroked until I can’t stand it anymore. And to be brought back to that place over and over. Until my high-level brain loses its ability to rationalize my desire not to orgasm and I truly need to come. Until I beg for it. And then, of course, I want her to not let me. To ice the penis into submission and lock it back up without ever letting me touch it.

Then I want to be hurt. Not too much, at first, but eventually quite a bit. I want angry red marks standing up from my skin. I want her to beat me and whip me and flog me and clamp my nipples and punch me in the nuts. We have a cane we’ve never used. I can imagine her gently hitting my ass and upper thighs with it before building ever so slowly to savage whipping that sends me falling deep into endorphin-fueled subspace. Where I stop pulling away and fearing each new fall of the cane and start to lean into them and crave them and feel the pain’s warm wave wash over me. I want her to build up a sweat from the effort of beating me. And I want to feel the sting of it every time I sit down for the next three days.

That’s what I want. And that’s what I can’t say. Because talking about the bubble makes it pop. Because this particular part of our relationship is a bit of theater. I need to buy the fiction that she hurts me because she values my suffering. Because she wants me to. I need to feel as though I’m giving her my pain in a reciprocal exchange. But I know she’s not a sadist. She doesn’t really like to hurt me. But she is a spouse willing to try to give me what I need. Unfortunately, it’s all so complicated.

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Six pinchy things

I only have the two nipples, but over time, we’ve collected six different types of pinchy things with which to torture them. I realized the other day that they’re not all created equal so I thought I’d write a little missive on each explaining why I like some but not others.

Each will be rated on three attributes using a scale of 1 (worst) to 5 (best):

Pinchiness — In short, how much to they pinch the nipple meat? Admittedly somewhat subjective, but it seems an important measure for those who like things clamped to their tits.

Grippiness — How well do they stay on, either when just hanging there, during play, or when being pulled on?

Viciousness — Another highly subjective measure, but exactly how mean and nasty is each? You know, in case that’s what you’re into.

I’m also including pictures of each, both in situ and a detail of the business end. Click on any picture for a ridiculously larger version.

KinkLab Mandible – $18.50

One of two newly-added items to our collection, they have a threaded adjustment feature that allows them to be made more or less tight. There is no spring mechanism, so the only way to make them grip is to screw them on. In practice, I found that to be somewhat futsy, though once on, their rubberize tips make them difficult to remove by pulling alone. They’re unlikely to come free by themselves, assuming they’ve been screwed on well. However, they’re also surprisingly unpainful. To such an extent that they’re essentially useless for me. I like it when it hurts.

Pinchiness: 2 — Grippiness: 5 — Viciousness: 1

Pierced Nipple Chain – $14.50

While my nipples are not pierced (alas), I got these because the Stockroom description said, “After testing, we also found that they work well as nipple clamps.” My initial impression was not good and I almost chucked them out as they seemed rather weak and unimpressive. However, given a good fat chunk of nipple flesh to bite onto, I found they’re anything but. In reality, they’re intese little fuckers which stay on well even though they’re nothing but bare metal. The chain is nice and heavy so you know when you have them on. They can be pulled off with enough effort which can be fun, too.

Pinchiness: 3 — Grippiness: 2.5 — Viciousness: 3

Chrome Mini-Clothespins – $9.00 a pair

We got these very early on in our acquisition of kinky toys but don’t often use them anymore. One of them fell apart when the two metal halves came out of the spring (and getting them back in was a bitch). In use, they’re tricky to get on properly and tend to slip off after a little while since they’re very slick. The biggest issue I have with them, though, is the fact that one spring carries considerably more tension than the other meaning one nipple gets pinched much harder than the other. Also, I wish they had a connecting chain for tugging and yanking (turns out, they do make some like that).

Pinchiness: 3 — Grippiness: 1 — Viciousness: 2.5

Japanese Clover Clamps – $26.50

The first really satisfying clamps we got, these things are classics. They grip really well thanks to the little nibs on their white rubbery pads. They have a nice heft and a good chain to yank and pull around with. Their large size makes them exceptionally well-suited to twisting. Plus, they look really cool in black. It’s very hard to go wrong with these.

Pinchiness: 4 — Grippiness: 4 — Viciousness: 4

Alligator Nipple Clamps – $16.50

Of all the clips, these are the ones that grip the best. Underneath the vinyl coating on their tips is a set of pointy-toothed aligator jaws which, if used unprotected, would undoubtedly sever the tips of my nipples. With the vinyl coating, however, these little bastards hold on like rabid badgers. With a good mouthful of pink meat, they resist coming off even while being pulled with much force. In addition, they bite pretty hard. Originally, they had some little screw-in things to keep them from clamping down fully, but I chucked those pretty quickly. Of all the clamps in this post, these are probably the best combination of bite, grip, and price.

Pinchiness: 4 — Grippiness: 5 — Viciousness: 3

Pervertable clips from some cargo shorts I got from Old Navy several years ago – Priceless

These are bad-ass motherfuckers. They originally came off three pairs of shorts I bought from Old Navy maybe eight years ago. Each pair had two clamps attached to one another by a striped shoestring, one end clipped to a belt loop and the other end…well, I can’t remember. Honestly, I have no idea what they were supposed to be used for. I took them off the shorts and stuck them in a drawer and forgot about them. Then, one day several years ago, I rediscovered them and realized what they could represent. This was before I was “out” as kinky, so I experimented with them in private. Their bite is so intense, I could never keep them on for more than ten or twenty seconds, but as I’ve expanded my repertoire of pain (and my overall horniness levels), I’ve found I can sometimes leave them on for long periods. But fuck, do they hurt. Even just moving them around at bit while they’re biting can be an eye-wateringly painful experience. Usually, they leave my nipple aching for at least 24 hours. In short, I love them.

As you can see in the detail image, their pinchy ends are off-set and fit into each other so that the entrapped meat is twisted in an especially tortuous way. In addition, their edges are rough and sharpish. Their bite is so hard and nasty that their overly enthusiastic use will actually cause scabs to be formed on my nipples in the days following. They don’t cause me to bleed, but they do break the skin enough that it has to heal afterward. Here’s a detail of one of the other clip images where, if you look real hard (or just where the little red arrows are pointing), you can see the scabs left over from their use almost a week ago. Not for the faint of heart.

Their upside is that they’re wickedly horrible. Their downside is…that they’re wickedly horrible. They are so intense that I really, really have to be in the mood to get any enjoyment out of them. Also, they’re getting kind of old now and I’ve found that the spring mechanisms in a few are getting unreliable. Two of them stick so that they don’t bite as hard as they used to which makes them slip off relatively easily when pulled. I’ve replaced the shoestring in one set with a black chain and another set I keep free for maximum flexibility (sometimes, when I’m feeling especially wicked, I can get two on each nipple). The third set is still like they were when I got them and, since I use them the least, are in the best shape of the bunch. Bottom line is these are absolutely fantastic implements of torture, but you couldn’t buy them if you wanted to any more than I could and that’s a shame.

Pinchiness: 5 — Grippiness: 5 — Viciousness: 5+

So you might think six sets of nipple tormenting devices would be enough. But no. I’m always on the lookout for more. If there’s a type I’ve not covered in this post that you have experience with, please leave details in the comments. I’d love to hear how my readers are abusing their tender pink spots.

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Needy meat

I am wired.

Can’t sleep. Vibrating with frustration. Earlier, I used the Pure to pummel my prostate senseless. Now, I’m tired. So tired. But humming. And clutching. At the steel and it’s living contents. Feeling the gland inside my body swollen and tender and the device heavy and so perfectly locked.

Belle sent me a text from New York. I didn’t see it until 24 mintes later. In my writhing and tossing and clutching, I missed the thrum of the phone.

Just in an elevator with Jay-Z

Once I saw it, I texted back, “Are you still awake?” I wanted to talk to her so bad. To admit my condition. To admit I abused myself without her permission. To ask – no, to beg that she let me get myself off. To put me out of my misery. I’ll accept any condition. Any punishment. I have a key, secured by a plastic tag. Say the word, Belle. Please. Let me out. Let me come. Fucking hell, I want to come.

But she didn’t answer.

I put the cruel little clamps on my nipples and pulled and twisted and felt the white hot pain and heard my little moans in the quiet dark bedroom and realized I could not hurt myself enough. The pain was not pain. No pain at all. It was all going right to the cock. As the clips chewed and bit the tube filled and was made tight by the meat. The needy meat. I pulled the clips harder. Harder. The nipples stretched and screamed and I twisted and pulled and pulled. Finally, even their mean little teeth couldn’t hold on and first the left, then the right slipped off with a pair of brassy, tight-springed snaps. Now the nipples sting. But I need more. I need so much more.

I need my Belle.

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Under advisement

Just to recap, I was feeling a little down, Belle and I talked about it and I suggested maybe, if she wasn’t feeling like playing the game right at the moment, that we could take a break. Then everyone was like, you know what you should do is take a break, and I’m like, well, it’s not up to me (and yeah, I know that deep down inside it is up to me as much as it’s up to her, but I’m not going there).

Then this weekend rolled around and on Friday she told me, again, that, all things being equal, she’d much rather have me locked up than not. She actually prefers the cock to be locked in a steel tube over it’s natural state. And I have to tell you…woof. That’s like pouring gasoline on a fire for me. It’s exactly what I need to hear, even though she’s already told me this before. Her reason remains the same — control. She likes knowing exactly where it is and what it’s doing (nothing) to the alternative of me being able to have my way with it whenever I like. But I crave the reinforcement of hearing that’s what she wants. I know that makes me sound pathetically needy, but there you have it.

It also helped that she then proceeded to alternately caress my balls and smack the hell of out them. I fell asleep curled into her, tube painfully tight and balls aching warmly.

Last night, she read Friday’s post and the comments. While she rejected the idea of taking a break when I brought it up, she said, based on the comments, that she’s now considering it. The past 72 hours have been very healing for me. She paid some attention to me, let me stick my fingers in her wet pussy and feel her come, and told me I was exactly as she wanted me to be. I feel like I’m gaining altitude again. That’s not to say she’s still not really feeling like dealing with the whole chastity thing, so if she wants to take a break, I’m fine, but I want her to know that right now what I want is what she wants. I sense a hesitancy on her part. The last thing I want is for her is to be doing this solely out of some sense of obligation, so if she’d rather not, I’d rather not. If there’s something missing that she needs — something I can give her or make happen — I hope she’ll tell me what that is.

The thing that keeps coming up, both in our conversation and in some of the comments, is the six month goal. In my opinion, that’s got nothing to do with what’s happening between us and in my head. I’m “only” six weeks in, anyway. If it’d had been four months since the last time I came, then maybe, but it hasn’t. I’d done six weeks before. I’ve done twice that. It’s not the duration, it’s what happens or does not during the period. I can imagine a situation where I was only two seeks denied and still be feeling the way I was a week ago. Now, it may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her. If so, she should end it. I would have no problem with that. I’d prefer it over her struggling. Yes, it was my idea, but I honestly believe and respect the fact that she controls what happens. She can modify it in any way and I will comply. She could say I’ll come when I come, I’ll come right now, or I’ll come on the next February 29th. Whatever. It was just an idea I had, that’s all. She makes the law, not me.

So, to recap the recap, she’s considering a break. Ironically, I’m in a way better place today than I was this time on Friday, but she may not be. In which case, a break might be a good idea. But whatever, I do what she says. The cock belongs to her. I just want us both to be happy.

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Stryker’s beast

If you’re really not into graphic accounts of self-administered anal action, this post probably isn’t for you.

Last time, I said the “realistic” Jeff Stryker dildo seemed ridiculously large. That got me doing some research to find out how big he really is. According to a page called Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Penis Size But Were Afraid to Ask, Jeff Stryker’s cock is 7.5″ long (measured in the proper way along the top, from the pubic bone to the tip). As you can see in the picture below, the “realistic” dildo is actually about 9″ long measured in the same way. That’s about a 20% increase. I’d estimate the insertable length to be about 8″.

Besides the length, the really interesting thing about this dildo is its girth. The circumference just under the head is a half inch greater at 7″ than lower down the shaft where it’s 6.5″. While I can’t find any reliable information about Stryker’s actual girth, I can say these proportions are accurate based on the numerous times I’ve watched him put it to use, though the actual size of the dildo is much larger.

So yeah, it’s bigger than the original. For me, it’s at the very limit of a usable size. While I might be able to get something bigger inside me, that’d just be showing off and not really all that enjoyable.

I haven’t had anything this big to play with in a while. In the recent past, when I felt like getting fucked, I’ve used a cheap vinyl dildo that’s 6″ insertable with a circumference about 4.75″. Nothing too impressive, but also pretty easy to use. Prior to climbing Mount Stryker, though, I made preparations. First thing I did was remove the hair around my asshole. I’ve found that hair is hard to lubricate and will grip a dildo and get pulled in and out with it keeping things from being nice and slippery smooth, so I shaved an area about two inches all the way around. Also, I used one of the other new items I bought with the dildo: the Colt Anal Douche.

As Dan Savage says, having anal sex without douching your rectum is like having oral sex with a mouth full of food. The obvious issues of residual fecal matter is what squicks out so many people who might otherwise really get into anal. This is too bad because it’s so easy to deal with when you have the right tool and the Colt Anal Douche is that tool. The really nifty bit, and what makes it better than the run of the mill bulb enema you can get at any drugstore, is the 6″ attachment you put over the spout on the bulb. The water comes out of it along a seam near the top as opposed to squirting out a hole way up into the colon. It feels better and keeps the water where it needs to be. There’s no point in filling your lower intestine with a gallon of water since the only part that really needs to be cleared is the rectum. All you have to do is fill the douche with warm water (get all the air out!), squirt it up your butt, and push it all out. After three or four times, if the water coming out is as clear as when it went in, everything is ready to go.

As I said, it’s been a long time since I had anything this large in my ass. I approached it in the only way you can when dealing with this much mass: slowly and with tons of lube. I used water-based Astroglide as opposed to the silicone lube. I like to put a condom over my toys to make clean up easier and also because I find vinyl actually causes irritation and stinging. Perhaps I’m allergic. In any event, I decided to get things going with the smaller vinyl dildo, sheathed in latex, to open things up and distribute lube all along the soon-to-be assaulted path. Maybe it was because I was staring down Stryker’s beast, but the smaller dildo slid in rather more easily than normal and was soon in all the way to the base. I could feel my prostate was already crackling with electricity. I left the small dildo in for several minutes while preparing the main event. Once it was out of the way, I moved the big guy into place.

It was as if the smaller dildo had never been there. As the fat, blunt head of Stryker’s beast pressed against my hole, I remembered that there’s nothing subtle about this cock. It’s all business from the very start. My sphincter complained, but I kept a steady pressure against it. I’d push, let it sit there as the tight ring of my ass stretched against it, then I’d pull back to give it a few seconds rest. Then I’d push again, trying to get just a millimeter further. At about 2″ in, the fattest part of the cock was starting to come into play and I found the compression of my hole against the condom squeegeed all the lube off. I had to reapply it again and again.

Push, wait, withdraw.

Puush, wait, withdraw. Lube.

Puuush, wait, withdraw.

Puuuush, wait (oh, god, the stretching), withdraw. Lube.

Finally, after maybe 15 minutes of this, my sphincter had finally opened wide enough to envelope the fattest part of the cock. I admit, if I had never actual had this thing up my ass before, I might of chickened out at this point. The sensation of being opened to that extent was incredibly intense and I only had about a third of the thing in me. But I persevered, slowly yet forcefully, until the 7″ circumference of the first half was past my rim.

After that, it was like the cock got sucked up inside me. As the shaft moved along and the slightly thinner part entered me, I felt myself being opened like I hadn’t been in a very long time. Eventually, I had the dildo in all the way to its balls. I couldn’t move it, though. I was so full of it, the best I could do was leave it in place and let my chute stretch along the entire 8″ of the beast. I’d leave it in as long as I could stand it, then pull it all the way out for more lube. I felt my rectum collapse behind the retreating invader.

Then, back in. All the way. I actually bottom out at precisely the point in which the Stryker dildo is in all the way. The entire length of my rectum is opened by it and its head presses against the point where my anal passage turns and becomes my colon. It’s as if it was custom made for my body.

After another 15 or twenty minutes of repeating the cycle of putting it in, leaving it there, and then pulling it out for more lube, I felt myself loosen up sufficiently to start fucking. I can’t even describe it. It’s like having your guts punched, but in a good way. Eventually, I was pistoning the fat dildo in and out, faster and faster, grunting and moaning and feeling the stretch on the way out and the filling sensation on the way in. Over and over. I can’t say how many times and for how long. In the past, I would have come well before I got to this point, but of course, I couldn’t even see the cock let alone stroke it. My entire being was focused on the feeling of this giant slab of rubber invading me, insistently pushing my prostate and everything else out of its way again and again.

I eventually just tired out. My legs were cramping and sweat was flowing down my forehead. A cock that couldn’t come was fucking a body that never would. The only barrier to going all night was physical fatigue. So much effort had gone into even getting to the point were I could put it inside me, that my tank was close to empty by the time things really heated up.

Finally, the dildo slid out heavily with a slurp and a pop. My asshole gaped at the abuse. I felt it with my fingers and easily could get two inside to massage my fiery gland. I could tell I had leaked, but the natural lube mixed with the Astroglide so I couldn’t tell which was which. I used the douche again to sooth my chute and flush out all the extra lube. I had to concentrate to keep my asshole closed so the water wouldn’t simply fall back out. The first time I pushed it clear, the action caused a huge glob of semen to escape the end of the chastity tube. I was well-milked.

After cleaning up and putting everything away, I went to bed, exhausted but still spinning. I read some porn and worked The Portfolio until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. After about three hours of sleep, one of my various electronic devices made a small sound, but it was enough to wake me up. I was in a hormone hangover, still buzzing with unexpressed sexual energy. My hand reached around to my asshole and it felt smooth and well-fucked and entirely not mine. It was as if I was fingering a stranger. A stranger who had been used and abused. I could feel the absence of the giant cock inside me and I remember why I loved it so much. I wanted it again right then. I wanted to feel it split me open and stretch me to my fullest, I wanted to feel it punch me again and again.

But I didn’t get up. Instead, I went after my nuts. I squeezed and pulled and slapped them. I found that whatever internal lock that usually keeps me from really working them over had been released, so I crushed them and beat them and felt the tendrils of warm aching pain snake throughout my body. Instead of pulling up when I normally hit myself, I was able to strike them with greater and greater force. They felt swollen and hot and they throbbed. All of my unreleased sexual frustration was taken out on the fleshy punching bag. Putting my finger back on my hot, shaved hole, I decided it felt not unlike a pussy. My pussy. Wet and loose.

Exhaustion retook me and I fell back asleep with the ache of my abused testes still rolling though me. I slept fitfully and woke often, each time finding my hands either on my nuts or along my crack. This morning, I’m still swimming in the hormones from the night before. My ass is craving the Stryker dildo again. I can still feel the void it left inside me. My guts hunger for it. Night can’t come fast enough.

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Hotel

I apologize in advance for the extreme length of today’s missive. I didn’t intend for it to go on and on like this, but there was too much to say!

As I mentioned the other day, Belle and I had a kid-free few days this past weekend. We celebrated by spending Friday night at a luxe downtown hotel with an on-premises spa.

We checked in and decided to grab a light dinner downstairs before retiring for the night. I had brought along a number of toys and accoutrement, but wasn’t too sure what would happen. I was locked in the Steelheart and Belle had just come the night before, so if it were any other run of the mill Friday night, nothing would have happened. I braced myself for that eventuality and had an alternate checklist of activities if she happened to fall asleep or something. I didn’t wonder if she was going to let me out because it’s a given that my normal condition is to be exactly as I was.

Back in the room, she wanted to lay on the bed and talk which was great because I like talking to her. She allowed me to go naked since it’s the state I prefer to be in when it’s an option. So there I was, naked with a big shiny thing where the dick usually is, with her snuggled under the covers in her jammies. And we talked.

At some point – and I’ll tell you right now that most of this evening is something of a blur for me so what you’re reading is my best approximation of the events – she mentioned that she planned on letting me out that night. She had already told me I would be out for the massage the next day, but as I said, I didn’t expect to be released before morning. Once she said it I knew I really wanted out. You just don’t say no to these kinds of opportunities. I expect I was not unlike an excited puppy from the time she mentioned it to the moment she let me out.

Back on the bed, now totally naked, she made it clear that I wasn’t to touch the merchandise. It was at this point that I started to get the idea that something was going to happen, though I had no idea what. She had previously said I wouldn’t come until the end of the year, but there’s a ton of stuff you can do besides that with a hard cock if you’re imaginative enough.

“What did you bring?” she asked.

I told her: the flogger, the bondage straps, nipple clamps, my collar, handcuffs (but not the key) and Mr. Darcy with his harness.

“Not Pink?” she asked, meaning her favorite vibrator.

“No, I couldn’t find it. I assumed you brought it.” It hadn’t been in it’s normal positon in my nightstand (handy for when she wants it), nor was it in hers.

“I didn’t bring it,” she said. Come to think of it, we need to figure out where that went. Anyway…

“Get the clamps and your collar.” A thrill of excitement when through me. She hardly ever collars me. “And the cuffs.”

I brought the collar over to her side of the bed and kneeled and dropped my head so she could buckle it behind my neck. A low subbie thrum started inside me.

Back in bed next to her, I asked if she had ever wanted to try the nipple clamps.

“No, I don’t like pain.”

“How do you know until you try?” I asked, “Maybe you could try it just for a second on one nipple.”

She pulled her top down so her right breast was exposed and she placed the clamp gingerly onto her plump, succulent nipple.

“OWW!!!!” she said. So much for that idea.

She griped about it for another five minutes or so before attaching a clip to my left nipple. Then she strung the other through the ring on my collar and clipped it onto my right nipple. Then she pulled. And pulled and pulled. And the cock rose accordingly.

“You are so weird,” she said.

“I know,” I replied as the cock twitched and surged.

She snapped the handcuffs around my left wrist.

“You have the keys, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You sure? Because this’ll be hard to explain during the massage tomorrow.”

She got up and got the keys to the handcuffs, showed them to me, and then placed them on her nightstand before closing the cuffs around my right wrist. They were tight, digging into me. Every movement caused them to bite harder.

Collared, clamped, and cuffed. I slipped a little deeper into my headspace. She teased me by running her fingers around the throbbing cock, over my balls (slapping them lightly) and back up to the chain connecting the clips. Pulling. I groaned. The cock flexed.

“Please touch it,” I begged.

“No.”

Whimper. Whine. I moved to kiss her, but she pulled her head away.

“Please let me kiss you. I want to kiss you.”

She moved her head back down, just close enough for my lips to graze hers, but not close enough for a real kiss.

“Please…”

She kissed me, full on the mouth, but just once and she didn’t linger, then she got up from the bed and started to rummage through my bag. She brought out the bondage stuff and strapped my ankles to each of the king-sized bed’s feet. I retained some movement, but couldn’t close my legs. Next, she started looking around the room as if she had misplaced something. She grabbed a cloth napkin from the bar and tied it over my eyes like a blindfold. I couldn’t see a thing. Then she made a little happy sound like she had discovered something she had lost. That was followed by a few metallic sounds. CLAMP CLAMP!

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Maybe I should go down to the bar and have a drink. Leave you like this to stew.”

Groan. I think she considered it. Really was thinking about it, but then I felt her get back into bed with me. She continued the teasing from before. My cock was desperate for real touching, preferably stroking, and I moved my hands down as if to oblige but she jerked them back over my head.

“No touching!”

They weren’t tied that way, but it was clear she wanted my hands up over my head or near my face.

“Please,” I begged again, “please touch it.”

“If I do, then what? What’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, please, just touch it!”

“OK…”

I felt something cold and sharp on the hard shaft. It clamped down on either side of the cock and moved up and down, slowly.

“How does that feel?”

“Ungh! It hurts!”

“Hurts bad or hurts good?”

“Both!” I writhed.

I could feel the metal bite the smooth, silky skin of the shaft but also feel the internal stimulation of being stroked. I needed this so bad. Craved it. Two months since I last came, and she was jacking me off with some kind of sharp, painful metal device.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I paused. It hurt. But it also felt good. Really good.

“No.” I said quietly, then moved my hips closed to her, arching my back so she could get a better angle on the meat. What felt like sharp little teeth were biting into the stiff shaft and it hurt, but I couldn’t imagine it stopping. I was getting more than enough jacking off stimulation to hold my attention.

Occasionally, she stop the stroking and I’d feel her use whatever it was on my nuts. She’d clamp the sharp teeth round one of my nuts and squeeze. Then the other. Then back to the shaft. I could actually feel the rumblings of an orgasm, even against the pain of the metal.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yes? Want me to stop now?”

“Oh FUCK, no. Don’t stop. Please.”

“Does it hurt?”

“YES! But I like it. I want you to jack me off.”

“You. Are. So weird.”

“I know,” I said softly, moving closer to her.

“And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

More stroking. More biting. More feeling the need to come, though I realized it was never going to get there with the level of stimulation I was getting from whatever it was she was stroking me with.

“What is that thing?”

She pulled the blind from my eyes and held the ice tongs in front of my face, snapping their little teeth together.

“Jesus Christ!”

She moved it back down to the cock and grabbed it with the little teeth.

“I thought you liked it,” she said.

“Ungh,” I replied as she stroked me some more.

She put the tongs aside and pulled off her shirt. I tried to kiss them, get my mouth on her nipples. She pushed me away.

“Not yet.”

Then she started to flog the cock and my balls. Gently, but then with some force. Not enough to damage me, but enough to get my attention. She’d slowly drag the suede lashes over the straining and, now thanks to the ice tongs, stinging meat. Then flick them across the shaft. Then the balls. Then dragging them again, seductively. Lovingly. Again and again.

“Please, will you fuck me?”

“No.”

Whine.

“Not yet, anyway.”

More flogging. More pulling on the clamps which had, by this time been on me for much longer than usual.

“I really should just leave you like this all night long. Tied up, nipples clamped.” I whined again.

“Please. Please fuck me. I don’t need to come. I just want to feel you. It’s been so long. Two months.”

“I know,” she said cooly, “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

“Please…” was all I could muster. I wanted it so bad. Was so horny. She had played me perfectly all night, leaving me right on the edge of where pain turns to pleasure, but not going too far. I needed to feel something soft and hot and wet on her cock. I wanted her.

She took the cock in her hand. I moaned deeply. This wasn’t her pussy, it was pretty good.

“It stings.”

“Really?” and she stroked me harder.

The cock stiffened. I could feel my balls drawing up. I was getting close…

Then she stopped, leaving me bobbing in the air.

“Oh God!”

She waited, perhaps counting the beat of my heart by the bounce of the cock in midair. Then she grabbed it again and resumed the stroking.

“You want me to fuck you?” she asked.

“Oh, Jesus, yes! Please fuck me!”

“And…what’s in it for me?”

“Anything. Anything you want.” And I meant it.

She made herself completely naked and climbed on top of me. She straddled my hips and moved the abused, desperate cock in position against her pussy’s lips. Then she plunged down onto it. I lost my breath, unable to breath. It felt so good. So amazing. Hot. Everything I needed it to be.

Her breasts were in my face and I tried to get her nipples in my mouth, but her motion as she fucked her cock made them hard targets.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, “Good Thumper. You know what you’re supposed to do…”

But it was too hard. I couldn’t keep hold of them. Eventually, she moved off and I slipped out with a wet smack against my stomach. She removed the clips from my nipples and twin lasers of intense pain seared into me. Unmoved, she pulled them out of my collar and tossed them aside. She picked the keys to the cuffs up off the nightstand but didn’t have a good handle on them and they fell into the hot wax of the candle.

“Fuck!” she said. Then she got the tongs and used them to fish the keys out.

Clamps and cuffs off, she put her hand over the cock again.

“Oh good, you’re still ready,” but she stroked it a few times for good measure before mounting me again.

She fucked me slowly as I sucked her tits. Her eyes closed, she was enjoying it at least as well as I was. After the initial shock, I settled in to as useful a position as possible. She may have given me what I was begging for, but now it was for her.

Best intentions aside, I said, “I’m getting close.” She slowed down. I could see her working it out in her head. Would I come or not? It had “only” been two months. After a smal rest, she’d pick up her rhythm again. I’d focus on a place far, far away, but it was so hard. The two months and the stroking, both with her hand and the ice tongs, conspired against me.

“I’m close,” I said again. What would happen? Would she roll off of me? Make me finish her in the normal way?

“Go ahead,” she said, and started to fuck me faster.

“Really?”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

And I did. I fucked her as hard and as fast as I could. Moments later, I felt it. From somewhere deep, deep inside the orgasm started to build and grow and rush forward before exploding out of me and into her. Three, four, five giant loads of semen surged out of me. I cried out at the intensity. The entire world had gone away and all there was was this feeling. My orgasm.

It finally subsided and I was left a gibbering, gooey mess. She rolled off of me and I felt two months of pent up desire ebb from my pores. Fuck, that was awesome. Even as the cock was laying against me, fat and happy, it continued to ooze its payload. Now, of course, I was repulsed by it. The slippery, foul smelling paste. While she attended to herself, I got some tissues and wiped as much of it as I could from my skin.

She got back into bed and I cleaved onto her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Awesome. Thank you so much for that. It was so great.”

“I haven’t come yet.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

I started in again on her nipples and fingering her pussy. It was super slick with my ejaculate and felt wider than usual. Well-fucked. She seemed to enjoy what I was doing, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“I want you to eat me out.”

Oh, fuck. I cringed. I whimpered again. “Really?”

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked that.”

“I do, but…” I just came in there!

“Well, you should have brought Pink. Come on, cowboy, get to it,” she said as she spread her legs wide. “You said I could have anything.”

Busted. I was groaning the whole way down. I could smell it. I had already felt it. I knew it was in there still. There had been so much.

I closed my eyes figuring it’d be easier if I couldn’t see anything. Don’t get me wrong, I love pussy, but I’ve never found it to be the most appealing thing immediately after an orgasm. Regardless, I figured the band-aid approach was best. Just get it over with.

My tongue stared to lap at her clit. That would be the area of least contamination, I thought, but she liked how it felt and started to move her pussy around, guiding my licking.

“That’s a good boy,” she purred. I licked. Oh, god. I licked and lapped and reached up to her nipples, hoping she’d come so I could stop.

“Can you taste yourself?” she asked.

I grunted noncommittally. Of course I could. Fucking hell.

When she finally came, she pushed my face into her and my tongue deeper into her pussy. She clamped her legs around my head. There was no getting away. Her orgasm spasmed across my tongue and she squeezed more of my seed into my mouth on onto my face.

When she unclamped, I moved out as quickly as possible, wiping my face with my hands.

“Good job, Thumper.”

Next morning, before we went to get our 80 minute deep tissue massages (can you imagine?), she allowed me to jack off one more time and finish with an orgasm. She was in the bathroom getting ready and would occasionally look in my direction, a look of bemusement on her face.

“What?! You said I could!”

“I know…”

I tried to draw it out as long as possible. To savor the rare moment of self gratification. I came again and, just like before, it was copious. Great globs of it oozed out of me. The orgasm was half as intense as the night before, but even then, was ten times better than I used to have when they were mine.

Later, after the rubbing and the fragrant oil and the fruit juice, as we were leaving the spa, she asked if I was relaxed.

“Oh yes,” I replied, “In more ways than one.”

—

In thinking about this after the fact, I can easily say that night in the nice hotel when Belle Fille abused me and then fucked me and then made me eat my own seed from her was one of the top five sexual experiences of my life. I’m so, so lucky to be married to such a wonderful and caring woman.

Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.

Posted on

Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.