Tag: sex

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Seeking my mojo

Thursday, Belle was at a work dinner and got home late. Apparently, their waiter was a hot young thing Belle found entirely satisfactory. At one point, she texted me telling me about him and how she wanted me ready when she got home since she got wet just looking at this guy.

Arriving home, she chose her still-unlocked cock to be her instrument of pleasure. At first, I thought I could hold back but it became clear, as she approached her orgasm, that I wasn’t going to make it. I started out by reciprocally stroking and stopped too late as the idea of her getting turned on looking at this younger guy took root in my imagination. As I sensed my impending failure, I tried to slow her down but only succeeded in causing her to miss a beat. As she rode me, fucking her cock deeply, I started to come inside her. Third time in a week. She continued to slide up and down – sending electricity though the cock, up my spine and bursting into my brain – as she eventually came to a quiet, satisfying orgasm. Afterward, she continued to slowly fuck the cock, making little exclamatory sounds. She was obviously enjoying herself while the extra sensory stimulation made the end of the cock feel like it was going to pop off.

That, more or less, explains my lack of blogging recently. Too many orgasms, not enough mojo. I was just starting to get back into the zone following the extravagance of my double-orgasm vacation when Thursday’s erupted. Today’s the first day I’ve felt anything like a return of my denied headspace since getting back from Mexico.

While away, I missed some very fine posts on the subject of prolonged orgasm denial over at The Glow Inside. I’m sure if you’re a regular reader of this blog you’re familiar with Steve’s, but if not, I wholeheartedly recommend three posts in particular: A Bowl of Wine, Five Minutes of Doubt, and especially Carried Along. He’s captured so well many of the things I felt as the days and weeks ticked by before Belle granted me a release in Mexico. If you’re interested in exploring the why of male orgasm denial, these posts are required reading.

In Steelheart news, Belle told me last night she never saw the Steelworxx charge come through. That, combined with the nine days that have passed since I received the email saying the device was about to ship, make me wonder if something’s up. I sent Deitmar an email today asking if he’s been paid yet. I’ve never been an especially patient person when it’s come to things like this, so I hope nothing’s wrong. Belle’s left me unlocked since we’ve expected the new device to arrive any day. Now I’m starting to worry. We’ll see what Deitmar says.

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Mexico

Back!

First things first. While in Mexico, I received an email from Dietmar at Steelworxx saying our new Steelheart had been shipped. That was on Friday and I’m not sure how he shipped it so don’t know when it will arrive, but that was much faster than I thought it’d be. I expect by the end of the week, it’ll be here.

fucko_in_mexicoMexico was a lot of fun. As my previous post said, it offered me several chances to frolic au naturel, first on Wednesday before the couple we rented the house with arrived, and then again on Saturday while they were out and we stayed behind. There are few sensations more wonderful then that of the heat of the sun across all your skin and the warm breeze running though every hair on your body. The nearly-tropical sun is a force to be reckoned with, however, and even with ample SPF 70 on Belle’s cock, the effect of the sun’s radiation could be felt. I took measures to protect it and am happy to say it suffered no damage (though the rest of me is nicely tanned).

I had mentioned to Belle that I thought she might be on her period when we were in Mexico, but she said she wouldn’t. However, at the end of our second full day, the monthly visitor arrived. Since we typically don’t have sex when she’s on it and all my sexual energy is directed at her, I’ve become much more in tune with it’s ebbs and flows. Never underestimate the power of a man’s sex drive to focus his mind. In any event, she usually locks me up during her period, but we didn’t bring a device, so I lucked-out.

Before she got all bleedly, we did have a chance at some good, old fashioned fucking. The first time was in bed Thursday morning and was pretty tame and typical except for the fact that she let me come. Srsly! Unlike in the past, I was totally up for it and very excited. No second thoughts or any of that bullshit subbie remorse for me. I got her off, then she rolled over and I got busy for myself. The build-up was amazing. I felt the orgasm charging at me from the depths, flooding me with sensory overload all up and down my body, but, when it finally arrived, it didn’t really live up to the anticipation. I suspect that’s just a side-effect of waiting so long between shots, but when I was actually ejaculating, it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t even sure anything came out, though Belle assures me it did.

Later that day, we had two masseure at the house. They set up their tables out on our patio deck. The sun was coming though filtered clouds, so it was warm and wonderful and very, very sensual. My masseur was  a young man named Gabriel and, had I been 20 years younger and unmarried, would have sold my fucking soul to stay under his dreamy hands (and maybe a few other things). A. Maze. Ing. Best massage I’ve ever had, easily.

Once we were done, Belle and I retired to the upstairs Jacuzzi (the view from which is seen in the above picture) while the other couple got rubbed. I was feeling pretty frisky following Gabriel’s ministrations and had ample residual sexual need even after my morning’s orgasm. Soon enough, I was fucking Belle underwater (doing my best to keep the water from sloshing too noisily). She came, I did not. It was very nice. I guess you can add that to my outdoor naked activity list, too.

The morning of our last day in Mexico, Belle put the butterfly clamps on me and hit my nuts with the crop. It wasn’t a serious scene or anything, just a little sensation play, but enough to get me pretty riled up again. I asked if she’d allow me to masturbate and was soon laying back, feeling the length of the erection and the heavy PA ring flopping back and forth at the head of the cock. I was only going to edge myself, but she once again gave me permission to come and I didn’t look back. This time, the build-up was more normal and the actual shooting was fantastic. I felt each surge of fluid as it came out and found it satisfyingly copious.

I’ve said this before, but there’s something about the smell of semen now that’s just as novel and unusual as the act that produces it. It’s much more jarring as it hits my nostrils than it used to be. I just don’t smell it all that often, I guess.

So, there you have it. A brief recap of our Mexican adventure. After two orgasms, my subbie reservoir was pretty much empty. It’s been three days since I came and I can start to feel thin tendrils of it starting to wrap themselves around my brain again, but just barely. She implied yesterday that perhaps my attitude needed adjustment though locking up the cock again, but she didn’t have me do it. I think she’s waiting for the Steelheart to arrive.

I’ll be checking the mailbox regularly.

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Wet

I asked for a quick release yesterday morning in order to do short inspection and thorough cleaning. Like last time, I found a little surprise. On the shaft of the cock, in the same location the corners of the KSD-G3 make contact, there were two little raw spots. They hadn’t broken the skin, but there was obvious irritation. I felt something that morning, but it was a mild pinching sensation. I’ve never experienced this type of reaction from the KSD and assume it’s related to the rougher interior surface of the chrome tube. Next time, I may forgo the KSD as see how that works, though I like having it in there because it helps keep the cock positioned well.

In any event, Belle let me stay out for a brief recuperative period. I’ll probably be back in by Sunday night or Monday morning at the latest since she’s going to LA next week and I’m not to be free when she’s not around. I find that the device helps keep my arousal in check and once it’s off my desires flame up like a smoldering fire suddenly given oxygen. I was way horny last night. I more or less was able to control myself and not be annoying, but she could tell.

I offered to rub her feet again and found that the prospect of doing it really turned me on. More and more non-sexual contact and activities provide an outlet for me now. Rubbing her feet has always been nice, but I’ve never felt a charge of energy around just the idea of doing it like I did yesterday. Later, in bed, I rubbed the living fuck out of her feet for a good 45 minutes and added a few new flourishes she really seemed to appreciate. It made her very relaxed and, I hoped, ready for some action.

I got lucky. She wanted an orgasm. Excessive horniness aside, I was able to slow down and savor the experience. I get no incidental contact with her breasts anymore, let alone her pussy, so those times in which she allows me to touch them have become so much more important. I lapped and suckled and simply enjoyed her nipples while I pressed as much of my body against as much of hers as I could. I kept my focus north of the Mason-Dixon line, so much so that by the time I started to touch her between the legs, her wetness had already soaked though her pajama bottoms. Slipping under, I felt that she was wetter than she’s been in a while. All of this left the cock so, so hard with what seemed like the distant memory of being inside her. I actually have been inside her, but it’s been a long, long time since I was in there and doing what I wanted rather than what she wanted. After just a few moments of manual stimulation, she pushed me over and told me she was going to fuck me.

It only lasted for a minute or two before she came. I got close, but was able to hold it in (mostly because she stopped fucking in the nick of time). Regardless, once she pulled off of me, I leaked a healthy squirt. I did not come, though. My arousal was like a ringing in my ears. Once it was time to sleep, I latched onto her and held tight, hard cock between us.

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There and back again

Thursday morning, as I was getting ready to leave on my trip, Belle took me into the bathroom to lock the CB6K onto my body. I’ve gone into it before with less than full enthusiasm, but this time I really didn’t want to wear it. I was going to be driving for many hours to get to an event where I’d be socializing with dozens of people and speaking before hundreds. It would have been much more convenient to not have a bunch of plastic down my pants. Regardless, she said she likes it when I’m locked up – likes the extension of her control and knowing what I’m incapable of doing – and it’s entirely her prerogative to determine when I’m wearing it and when I’m not. So wear it I did.

There’s a lot written about that moment in which the sub hears the lock on his cock click shut and the feelings it engenders in him. I have to admit, most of the time I’m happy she’s taking control and locking me up so the actual sound of the lock closing doesn’t usually generate any extra feelings. This time, though, I felt the click. It sent a shiver down my spine. She knew I didn’t want it on but she put it on me anyway. Not only was I willingly submitting to her control, she was actively requiring I do so. It was thrilling. And it was done. As soon as it was over, any feeling of displeasure left me. I was as she wanted me to be and there was no point worrying about it anymore.

To help make the hours of driving bearable, I wore my loosest pants and no underwear. Normally, I don’t like going commando while packing plastic as the inner seams of the pants tend to rub uncomfortably against the skin of my scrotum, but find underwear can limit the freedom of movement of the device and pushes it back into the flesh at the root of the cock while sitting. In my loose pants and with the total freedom of movement, I drove for a very long time and felt very little discomfort from the device.

Perhaps contributing to my reticence towards being imprisoned was the sex we had the night before. Belle told me she wanted me to give her an orgasm before she went to sleep, so I (gratefully) started in using my usual proven method. I was free of the device and I found the contact with her body left the cock rock hard and straining.

After just enough time to get her warmed up and wet, she asked, “Is my cock hard?”

I ground it into her leg to let her know. It was very hard. With that, she pushed me back and started to fuck me. It happened very suddenly and I had to get myself in the right state of mind rather quickly. On the plus side, she was able to fuck me freely and long enough to arrive at a satisfying orgasm. On the minus side, as soon as she was done, I started to ejaculate copiously. I pulled out of her to try to keep it from happening, but the point of no return had already been passed. I spurted into her shallowly and all over her outer lips even as I fought against the contractions.

What I can’t say for certain is whether it was an actual orgasm or not. It was at least ruined, at most only partial. I didn’t really feel like I had come immediately afterward, but in the days since, I seemed to have lost the feeling of being denied for a month. I feel like I’ve gone back to the start of my denial, but it’s also the case that my trip knocked me pretty well out of my headspace anyway, so that might be a coincidence and not a result of Wednesday’s emissions. In any event, I didn’t have permission to do any of it, so I count it as a failure on my part.

On my way home yesterday, I found my hand dropping to my lap and absentmindedly tracing the flare of the CB6K’s head and subtle curve of its hard, short shaft under the fabric of my pants. While doing so, the words “my new cock” drifted through my head, unbidden. I’ve worn it so much over the past month with only a few short periods of freedom that it’s almost become an extension of my body. Combined with the enforced nature of this most recent stint and the way in which the new chrome device hides the thing it protects, I find that I really do feel like my current state is my normal state. It’s like she’s taken advantage of the fact that I’ve given her the cock to have it enhanced, improved, replaced with something of her own design. Something she likes better. Thanks to her, I’m not like other men. I can’t do the things they can. But she likes it this way, so I do, too.

I crawled into bed with her as soon as I got home last night and felt myself slip into a warm bath of sub energy. I tucked my head into her chest and wrapped my arms around her waist, feeling the heat of her body. I was very happy to be back there, in my place, as her Thumper. She gently pushed her knee against the hard cage that had been a constant reminder of my position while I was gone. I was home, I was happy to be with her, and I’m anxious to get back into the swing of things.

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Free ride

“What, exactly, are your intentions?” Belle asked as I laid next to her, naked, running my hand up and down her inner thighs, careful to avoid touching the area in between them as I had not been given permission to do so.

It was late (for Belle), around 10:45 or so. She had just finished up some work after entertaining a girlfriend at our house for 3 or 4 hours. She and her friend sat in the living room (after having been driven inside by desperate late-Summer mosquitoes) sipping their wine and talking about people they used to work with while I cleaned up the kitchen, set up her coffee for the morning, attended to the dog, etc. It felt nice being a service to her, letting her focus all her energy on her friend, removing any stress she might have with regard to the messy kitchen. I felt…in my place. Happy. In a routine.

“I have no intentions,” I replied, “I’m just doing this because it feels good for you and makes me happy. I expect nothing.”

“Well, aren’t you being the good sub tonight,” she purred, “I just wanted to know if you had an objective.”

“I always have an objective,” I admitted, “But I also know my place. If you want an orgasm, I’d be very happy to give you one. But it’s your call, not mine.”

“Hmmm,” she said in her lazy, getting ready to sleep voice, “Someone must have slipped you some truth serum or something, because you’re speaking the truth.”

*Ache.* I love it when she talks like that. I felt the cock start to respond in it’s expected manner. I felt warm inside and kept stroking her legs.

“OK,” she said with some finality.

“Time for bed?” I asked, “Want me off?”

“No, I want an orgasm.” Hooray! “But nothing dramatic. Just a nice little ten minute deal because I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”

“OK, I’ll send the circus monkeys home.”

She exposed her breasts to me and I clamped on while rubbing her mound under its thin fabric, feeling her heat already starting to build.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Being in this position – servicing her desire while mine is left to grow unattended – feels so right and good now. It is as things should be. This is how we make love. Her orgasm is our orgasm. I crave hers more than my own.

After about five minutes of action, she was wet and moaning in encouraging ways. We were headed in the right direction and I knew I’d be bringing her to orgasm well within her ten minute requirement.

“How’s my cock?” she asked.

“Hmrph?” I asked, mouth full of nipple.

“How’s my cock?” she asked more insistently.

“Um, kinda hard,” I replied. Truth is, I was thinking more about getting her home than the condition of the penis.

“Hard enough for me to ride?” I reached down and felt the erection. Not stone-hard, kinda squishy on the outside but with a nice solid core.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m going to ride it,” she declared.

I rolled over on my back and she climbed on top of me, took the cock in her hand and guided it smoothly into her. I took advantage of my ready access to both nipples and continued to lick, suck, and tease them with my tongue and fingers. I flexed my hips to create a counter rhythm to hers until I felt our skin was sliding freely and she used her legs to adjust the position of mine, pushing them further apart. After she had established her rhythm, moving up and down at whatever speed and depth worked best for her, I stopped moving in an attempt to extend my resistance.

As usual, my mind went to baseball. No idea what I’m going to do when the season’s over, but thoughts of player slumps and team standings were enough to distract me from her increasing speed and rising passion.

After a respectable period of time, she came. Really, really came. Her biocock never twitched. She was able to ride me as long and as passionately as she wanted with no distracting orgasm of my own. She collapsed on top of me, panting and glowing, basking like crazy while I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

“Good job, Thumper,” she exhaled.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.”

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Out for the weekend

Saturday morning, Belle says to me, “We’re going to have sex in a few minutes after I have a little more coffee.”

“And what do you mean when you say ‘sex’?” At that point, I was wearing a chastity device still brimming with morning enthusiasm.

“The normal kind. I’m going to unlock you because I want to have my cock.”

“OK,” I replied. Sounds good to me, I thought.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked. I guess we’re still in communication mode following last weekend’s issues.

“I’m fine with it. Do you want me to come?”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you come.”

Silence.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means, given a choice, I’d rather you have a point of view on the matter. Even if you don’t, I’d like you to say you do. It doesn’t really work for me if you don’t care one way or the other.”

We’ve had this conversation before, but apparently she forgot. She decided I would not get to come. I offered to go clean up from my week or so’s imprisonment and she got the key while I pulled down the covers and exposed the device. She fiddled with it.

“It won’t go in,” she said.

“What do you mean it won’t go in?”

“The key. It won’t go in.”

“Are they the right keys?”

“They’re the only little keys I have.”

“Here, let me try,” I offered.

I took the little key and lined it up with the keyhole. It wouldn’t go in. I turned the key around. No dice. They were the right keys, but for some reason, they weren’t fitting into the lock. A mild wave of panic came over me.

I tried forcing the key, but it’s just a little wisp of a thing and I was afraid of breaking it in the keyhole. After some consistent pressure, it slowly slid into place and, begrudgingly, turned. The lock popped open. The little brass lock with the sharp edges – the lock that originally came with the CB6K – had corroded.

With the lock open, I went and removed all the polycarbonate from her cock, cleaned it up, and shaved off the stray little hairs I couldn’t get to with the device in place. I walked back into her bedroom.

“Wow,” she laughed, “it looks so different like that!”

She wanted “normal” sex meaning I got on top and fucked her. I spent some time working her with my fingers hoping to get the ball rolling a little before I was expected to give her an orgasm with the cock that wasn’t allowed to come. She was good and wet by the time I put the cock in her, but I kept my mind on other things and my tongue on her nipples, trying not to hear the sounds of ecstasy she was making as I stroked in and out of her. As I pondered the Dodger’s playoff chances and whether or not it would be better for them to be playing as the division leaders or from the wild card spot, I noticed her breathing and sounds of pleasure begin to indicate she was getting closer to our objective.

“Deep, Thumper!” she yelled, “Deeper!”

Obediently, I fucked her more deeply, driving the cock all the way in as far as I could. Her approaching orgasm was the freight train while mine was the little roadster racing for the railroad crossing. Either she was going to cross first, sending me smashing into oblivion, or I’d get there first and sneak one in right in front of her. I was rooting for her.

She started to come and, as soon as I knew she was well over the falls, stopped all motion hoping and holding my breath against the orgasm I knew was astonishingly close. Regardless, I felt the cock start to pump its payload into her, but without the motion, missed the full sensation of a normal orgasm. Laying next to her afterward, I felt myself somewhere in between a real orgasm and a ruined one. I sort of half came.

A little while later, I was at my workbench putting several drops of 3-In-One into the keyhole. When it leaked back out, it was brown with rust. I put more oil in it and worked the lock until it felt smooth and easy. That oil came back out clear.

The rest of the day found us shopping, going to a movie and then to dinner, enjoying our time without kids (they’re with the in-laws all week up north). Our plan was to watch another movie at home, but soon after we got in the house, she informed me we were going to have sex again.

In bed and naked, I started to rub my face against her body through her pajamas. I worked my way down until my face was between her legs, kissing and biting with my lips the soft warmth of her pussy behind the thin fabric. I buried my nose in her, deeply inhaling her essence and felt the cock harder than it had been in a long time. I pulled her bottoms down and started to devour her, licking and sucking at her clit, rubbing my nose and face in her juices. I may have “half come” earlier in the day, but it had done little to lessen my arousal.

I changed my position so that I could reach up with both hands and play with her nipples, leaving my face deeply planted in her snatch and the hard cock grinding into the mattress. I was hungry for her pussy and it, apparently, was hungry for my tongue as her hips were bucking and her juices were flowing freely, running down my chin. Her eventual orgasm seemed much more powerful than the one from the morning and she clamped onto my head with her thigh muscles, forcing my nose and mouth into her and cutting off my oxygen. She was coming hard, so I kept my tongue in motion as her legs painfully pressed against the sides of my head.

I couldn’t breath, my tongue was cramping in effort, and sharp pains were shooting through my jaws as she squeezed me, but the orgasm was remarkable. I could feel it. Its energy radiated out of her pussy and into me, filling every corner of my body with its power. Her orgasm was our orgasm, and it felt deeply satisfying.

She finally released me and I laid with my head on her inner thigh, face still close to her pussy, panting and feeling her orgasm ringing within me. This feeling of attachment to her pleasure is one of the most satisfying side-effects of orgasm denial. Somehow, her sexual satisfaction can transfer to me leaving me feeling a kind of post-orgasmic high, though doing nothing to diminish my arousal.

I moved back up towards her face wanting to be closer while we basked in the afterglow. I was careful to move the cock so it pointed down and lay against her labia instead of accidentally entering her. After a few moments, she told me I could go inside her, though not come, of course. I hadn’t expected this and wasn’t prepared. The cock was already losing its stiffness in the aftermath of the orgasm she had just had, but I ran its head up and down her outer lips and it was ready for action after just a few seconds.

And then I fucked her. I fucked her and fucked her. Like an animal. All there was in the entire world was her pussy and the cock that was plowing it and I wanted to keep doing it forever. I started to grunt with every downstroke and felt myself nearly get lost in the action. A thin tendril of control was all I had to pull myself back from the edge, just a few strokes short of orgasm. I slowed, but tried not to stop. I felt the orgasm retreat, but not my desire to fuck her into a quivering puddle. The driving male need to fuck fought with me. I withdrew from her, placing me face against her stomach, and I felt the power of my desire buckle under the weight of her absolute control. The animal within howled in protest and I moved back up, trying to get back inside her.

“That’s all you get, Thumper,” she said. From deep inside, I started a low, long moan of anguish. Not in protest of her decision, but from the agony of my internal conflict. I would not feel her heat wrap around me again.

Later, I laid with my face against her chest and fell asleep with remarkable ease. Happy, horny, and satisfied.

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Twice on Sunday

Sunday morning I woke up very eager to please Belle and told her as much.

“I want to make love to you,” I said.

“How are you going to do that? I wasn’t going to let you out today.”

“We don’t need that to make love.”

“But what are we going to do?” she asked.

“Have sex. You know, the kind of sex we have now. The kind that doesn’t require the cock. There are so many options…” I trailed off as I planted sweet little kisses along her jaw and neck.

“Hmm. That’s confusing to me,” she said, “We need to call it something else. You can’t make love to me when you’re locked-up.”

“OK, how about saying I just want to make you come?”

“I’m good with that,” she said.

My thinking with regard to calling it “making love” versus just saying “making you come” was to help close the divide between what she likes and what I want from sex. For me, when she lets me pleasure her, it’s every bit as meaningful as when she lets me fuck her (whether or not I come), but I think in her mind, those acts are very different (one perfunctory and one-sided, the other romantic and inclusive). I’d like her to start equating all of our sexual encounters as acts of love making because that’s how they feel to me, even the ones where I’m left throbbing and frustrated. Guess I’ll keep working on that.

“Why do you want this?” she asked. I assume this question stemmed from of our recent bout of communication.

“Because I’m horny,” I admitted. “I’m horny and need to feel you come. You come for both of us now. And, of course, I want you to feel pleasure. And I need to feel you feeling it.”

I suppose a really good submissive would have led with the second part of that, but I just said the first thing that came to mind. I was on her because I was horny and wanted to feel the release of our (her) orgasm. Even if we were having “normal” sex, I’d still be initiating because I was horny and wanted to fuck her, right?

“OK,” she said, “Close the door.”

—

Sunday night, I rubbed her feet while watching the Mad Men premiere. When it was over and the TV was off, I started kissing her again. Not sure what I expected to happen since she had just come that morning, but I like the contact even when it doesn’t end in sex.

“You know,” I said tentatively, “When you leave me locked-up – when you deny me for a long time – I feel more cared for than when you don’t. It makes me feel loved.”

“Really? That’s an odd thing to say.”

“Well, I know it’s harder for you to deal with me with I’m like this, so when you do it you’re demonstrating the willingness to maintain me. I like how that feels. Like I said, it makes me feel loved. Special.”

We then had a brief exchange where she accused me of previously saying it wasn’t harder for her when I’m locked up, but, as I wrote here on Saturday, I totally acknowledge the extra effort it requires. Since we never got a chance to talk about it, I was never able to clarify my position on that. I think that helps explain my negative reaction to what happened later that night…but I’ve already covered that ground.

In any event, I was distracted by some part of her and just enjoying the access (even though it was through her pajamas) until she tapped me on the head with something hard. It was Pink, her favorite vibe.

“Do you want me to use that on you?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” she said, “You’re fine where you are.” She slide the vibe into her pajama bottoms and I heard its low thrum as she clicked it on.

“Do you want me to do…anything?”

“Nope. I’m good.” I could feel the vibrations radiate through her and into the mattress.

When she was done, she reassured me that the solo action wasn’t the result of anything I had done wrong. She wasn’t punishing me. It was just how she wanted it.

“You know if you could, you’d do the same thing yourself. Sometimes, that’s what I want, too,” she explained.

What I find remarkable about this is the old Belle Fille (the one married to the old Thumper – the ones who hardly ever had sex) would have never masturbated in front of me, let alone do so with no expectation that I’d have any role or reciprocal attention. It was what she wanted, pure and simple. I was not necessary and, due to her growing sexual confidence, felt no guilt with regard to my frustration whatsoever.

I think that’s beautiful.

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The unwanted orgasm

“Indefinitely” lasted until about 2:30 this morning. We had had a brief conversation about her comment to my last post where I basically expressed my confusion to her in person, told her I felt as though she had switched her position from the night before and made it sound as though I had put words into her mouth. But we never got to discuss it further – for me to also say I understand the extra effort denying me requires – since the kids needed to be put to bed and she fell asleep in my daughter’s room. I tried waking her a few times, but she wasn’t moving. So the issue was left hanging and I went to bed in a sour mood.

Around 2:15 or so, she was back in bed and on my side, arm over me. I was dead asleep and still conflicted about the strange way the day ended, but my hormones got the better of me and I felt the tube pressurize.

“Are you asleep?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, feeling the thick, hard root of the erection beneath the CB6K’s ring.

“I’m going to unlock you.”

What? “Why?” I asked.

“Because I want to have sex with you.”

Fair enough, but there was a sinking feeling in my chest just the same. She opened and removed the little brass lock and I removed the device. My trepidation had done little to lessen my erection and the sensation of the tube sliding off the hard meat caused me to sharply suck in my breath.

I turned to her, now totally naked, and she said, “And I want you to come.”

The sinking feeling sank faster.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked.

“I don’t want to come,” I replied.

“I’m ordering you to come.”

“It’s only been a week.” Actually, not even a week.

“I know.”

I started to run my hand over her, under her bedclothes, feeling her smooth warmth. But there was a heaviness laying over me. I really, really didn’t want to come.

“You’re in charge,” she continued, “I’m just going to lay here and enjoy it.”

Well, if I’m in charge, then I don’t get to come, is what I was thinking. My hands and mouth went to work. Emotionally, I was feeling very uneasy, but the hormonal sex lizard didn’t really care. The cock was achingly hard and insistently pressing into her leg. But it was not my intention to use it unless she ordered me to.

Her moaning and writhing became more pronounced. “How do you want to come?” I asked, knowing I had her right where I wanted her.

“I don’t know. That feels so good.”

No argument from me. I kept fingering her. Eventually, she came pretty good. No cocks involved.

As she lay there basking, I thought I could get out of the required orgasm I really didn’t want to have. But no. She opened herself to me, silently inviting me to mount her. I lined the head of the cock up to her wet warmth and drove it in. Of course, it felt heavenly.

“Do I have to come?”

“Yes.”

I started to fuck her, but felt myself in a strange in-between space. On the one hand, I was fucking, which was good (really, really good), but on the other, I still really did not want an orgasm. These two parts of me agreed to disagree and her control was the deciding vote. I kept going. Eventually, I came. It felt different. Like it was someone else’s orgasm I was only observing or something. The euphoric wave was missing.

Afterward, she had her arms around me and asked how I felt.

“Like I came.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Her executive coaching skills at work.

I pondered the question but decided 2:30 in the morning was the wrong time to get into it.

“Why did you make me come?”

“Because I wanted to take the edge off.”

“But I like the edge.” It’s kinda the whole point.

And then we drifted off to sleep.

This morning, I find myself once again (yet totally unexpectedly) doubting the path we’re on. I feel she released me and ordered me to come last night because the whole thing had suddenly become to much stress for her. We never really talked about what her comment meant, but she knew there was potential complication there based on my initial reaction. In order to avoid that, she pulled the release cord. All the way.

The cultural paradigm of appropriately satisfying sex says what happened last night was all good since we both came. The thing is, though, I find more satisfaction and a greater feeling of love from her when she doesn’t let me come. Telling me to have an orgasm is easy. Making me wait longer – to control it –  is hard. She took the easy way out. I suppose I could have put my foot down and refused to come, but really, what’s the point of that? It’s only sexy for me when she’s not letting me do it, when she’s asserting control. It’s entirely empty when I do it to myself. If I had done that and not come after she told me to repeatedly, I would have started crying and everything would have gone to hell. No doubt. I guess, at the end, it came down to two unsatisfactory choices for me. Avoid orgasm and be left with a pyrrhic victory or at least submit to her wishes, even though I didn’t want to.

If her reflexive reaction to this kind of thing is to pull the plug when it gets hard, should we even be doing it? It seems obvious to me she doesn’t really get anything out of leaving me frustrated. She doesn’t seem to be getting any kind of rush from controlling me the way Tom’s Mrs. Edge does in their relationship. She’s just doing it, letting it turn into this thing she starts to worry and stress about. I don’t want that for her. This is supposed to be fun.

I’m sure she feels that giving me an orgasm is a good thing, but I don’t want it. That is, I don’t want it as long as she doesn’t want me to have it. If she really doesn’t care either way and is only humoring me, then I’m investing a lot of emotional energy and enduring a lot of frustration for nothing. Maybe we should ditch this particular kink and find another outlet we can both enjoy fully.

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Good night

Tuesday just kinda sucked from all kinds of angles, none of them related to Belle. I found myself at the end of the day in a frame of mind not unlike the one I would have found myself in a year ago – distracted by external factors and not emotionally present with Belle or the kids. It pissed me off. While that was normal ten months ago, it feels oily and distasteful to me now. We went to bed and I was still distracted. It’d only been about five days since I last came, so I’d only just begun to feel the return of of the effects of denial, but the distraction of the day totally overwhelmed that. My sex drive – a nearly constant companion for so many months – was absent. I wanted it back.

Belle gave me permission to take off my clothes and I immediately latched on to her. I didn’t really feel it at that point – in the old days, it would have been easier to just let her fall asleep – but with each kiss I planted on her face and as my hand passed over her body and across her skin, the desire to feel her have an orgasm started to incrementally build. I sensed she wasn’t entirely there and had she told me to get off so she could go to sleep it probably would have sent me into an emotional funk, but she didn’t

I finally asked, “What can I do for you, Belle Fille?”

“You can give me an orgasm.”

“How would you like to come?” I asked as I involuntarily pressed the stiff erection into her thigh. I wanted to fuck her now. A lot.

“With your fingers,” she said. “I like your fingers.”

I was not disappointed. The subby bunny was coming out of his burrow and the need to feel her pleasure was more pressing than worrying how it came about.

As I started to work on her, little waves of warm energy pulsed through my brain. This was right. This was good. She would come. I would not. She would feel satisfaction and fall asleep easily. I would not. She clearly wasn’t worried about my frustration or the hard cock pressing into her or what it meant or would do to me afterward. She felt no guilt. She wanted me horny and unsatisfied. This was about her pleasure.

For me, the best part of giving her that orgasm was at the end when she took a handful of my hair and used it to roughly pull my head from her nipple. No words. Just an abrupt motion that said, “That’s it, tool. I’m done.”

I didn’t start the evening in my “zone of denial”, but I was there by the end. I was desperately horny. She allowed me to enter her after her basking and glowing period and it felt fantastic. Of course, I was never going to come. I never got close. But the fucking. Sweet Jesus. I just adore her pussy. Every bit of it. Every tiny, little, wet, hot bit of it.

While she was indulging me with access to her body, I told her things she already knew. I said I never, ever wanted to come again outside her presence. I told her how thankful I was for her accepting control over my sexual release. How happy it made me.

Eventually, it had to stop. She told me the ride was coming to an end, but the struggle within me over the idea of pulling out was difficult. Millions of years of reproductive evolution was screaming within every fiber of body to keep going, but my mind – the part that embraces her control – eventually got the upper hand. I withdrew from the warm confines of her body and felt the cold air of control wash over the hard, wet meat.

Yep. It was a good night.

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It’s all good

It’s totally predictable now. Orgasms = diminished urge to blog about not having orgasms. Interestingly, my interest in non-orgasmly focused topics goes up. If this blog covered other aspects of my life, then I’d still have something to talk about, but since it’s so focused on our sex life, it suffers when she lets me come.

My last post was very hard to write simply because I lost the desire to write about it. Looking back, I’m not that happy with it, but there it is. Belle let me come again on Saturday morning, but it wasn’t her idea. I was feeling pretty frisky, what with the unencumbered man meat I was sporting, and I made that friskiness known by climbing up on her and gyrating said man meat into her. Subtle, I know. Not exactly respecting her personage, but I totally would have cut it out if she had told me to. And that’s the thing about respecting her personage. I know I get more sex (or, what passes for sex for me) when I can come on to her. The trade-off is, she’s under less pressure to give in and is therefore happier. I’m left recognizing situations in which I probably could get her to let me do stuff, but I’m forced to let them pass due to our agreement. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying. That’s what accepting her control means, right? Saturday morning, though, I pushed the limits knowing she was in a good mood and we had nothing much to do and the kids weren’t all in our face or anything. She indulged me.

I did not intend to come as I did not have permission, but I let my concentration slip as she approached her orgasm and came anyway. I kept right on pumping through it which caused the head of the cock to burn in oversensation, but she needed to come still. Afterward, she told me I could go but, you know, I already had. How do they not notice? I’m literally spraying fluids into her and she can’t feel them? Oh, well. Coming accidentally didn’t make me feel all that bad because I now know I really can control my orgasm, even after more than three weeks. It’s just a matter of practice. Lots and lots of practice.

In the days since, I’ve felt wispy feelings of denial start to creep back (which might explain why I’m here). She’s been playfully touching her cock and saying little things at random times and that helps a lot. Last night, after she told me to get naked, she gave it the most gentle little strokes as she fell asleep  – like petting a small animal – with random thwacks at my nuts mixed in. It was nice. Very nice.

In general, I’m feeling really, really good about where we are now. It’s like we’ve settled into a nice little groove. I feel her control with me all the time. The idea of coming absent her go-ahead is alien to me now. Plus, I’m not all freaked about how my feelings have changed since I know it’s temporary (and the 10-14 days after the orgasm give me the highest high anyway). She seems very comfortable in her role and, as I said, is being playful about it. In short, things are awesome.

Nowhere to go but down, right? 😉