Tag: sex

Posted on

Minnesota nice

An edited text exchange between Belle Fille and me from Wednesday night:

BF: Hi. How about some hot vibe action with I get home?

T: Um, you betcha.

BF: Be naked and ready.

T: Give me 5 minutes warning.

BF: I will. Can I be on top?

T: You can be wherever you want, but what’s that got to do with vibrators?

BF: There might be guests.

T: WTF?!

There were no guests. She was just fucking with me. She was at another work dinner function thing and apparently felt like playing with her rabbit’s head.

As I heard the garage door opening, I hurried around the room, turning off lights and lighting candles and stripping down to just my skin and attached plastic. I laid her two vibrators out on her side of the bed and then reclined on my side, as ordered: naked and ready.

After settling into bed a little while later, she opened her nightstand drawer and removed the key on its chain.1

“I want my cock tonight, is that OK?” she said as she unlocked the device.

“Of course it is,” I replied.

“Of course it is,” she repeated, more slowly.

Luckily, I had earlier given it a really good cleaning, so it didn’t have the rest stop men’s room bouquet it sometimes has at the end of the day.

“Here’s what I want. Tonight, I will demonstrate my control over you by not having control. You will make me come any way you want. And, when I’m done, you can come. Call it my passive-aggressive dominatrix style. It’s Minnesota nice. In fact, when you write about this on the blog, I want you to call it Minnesota Nice.”

“OK,” I replied, worried that people not in Minnesota wouldn’t know what Minnesota nice was. “When you say I ‘can’ come, does that mean I have a choice?”

“No. You must come.”

“Oh. OK.”

I hadn’t been expecting this. I assumed (for whatever reason) that she’d let me come on the weekend. I hadn’t been mentally prepared for needing to bring myself to a place where I could come at all. I started some general pleasuring stuff while trying to rally the troops, but found that I couldn’t get it up. I don’t know if it was the 20-some days of orgasmless existence or the almost two weeks of chastity or what, but I could not get it up. The poor, neglected, abused little dick just flopped around, insistently flaccid.

I didn’t let it freak me, though. I moved over her body and let my torso and legs lay against hers. This kind of large-area skin to skin contact hardly ever happens anymore and feeling her smooth warmth all up and down my body fired off a few critical synapses. I still wasn’t hard, but I could feel it coming. To help it along, I started to rub the head of the cock against the lips of her pussy. She made little sounds at this which also helped the momentum. Soon, her biocock was at full mast.

Once her wet heat enveloped the cock, I sensed that there was a chance I could get her off without coming. Maybe it was the total surprise of the event, but I felt my own orgasm was far enough away that, with sufficient mental discipline, I’d be able to control myself. I started a slow and steady stroking while flicking my tongue over her nipples. The slightly contorted position works in my favor as it helps to take my mind off the action below. I focused as much of my mental energy on her nipples as I possibly could, doing my best to not feel myself fucking her at the same time.

After a little bit of that, it became apparent that I’d have to come up with another strategy. I needed a distraction. As usual, I turned to baseball. Very specifically, I started to thing about my favorite team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. The Dodgers have been playing some really good ball lately. Now that Manny’s back. In fact, they just swept the Reds at home which is something like 11 or 12 straight home wins…

fuckfuckfuck, don’t come!

GREEN GRASS! They play on the green grass of Dodger Stadium, built by Walter O’Malley in Chavez Ravine the year after he moved the team west from Brooklyn. Such a beautiful stadium nestled up in the hills, beautiful green hills. I remember as a kid watching the nearby firefighter’s school do practice water drops on those green hills during the games…

fuckfuckfuck, DON’T COME.

MANNY! I’m really not a fan of Manny Ramirez anymore. Not since the whole drug thing. I mean, I gave those hated Giants such shit when they played Barry Bonds even after all his drug stuff went down. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t feel the same way about Manny. Besides, the Dodgers totally rocked while he was serving his suspension. Who needs him and his $24 million dollar salary…

Ooooooh GOD, don’t come!

I kept up a steady rhythm, not very fast but not too slow, and didn’t have to stop once (though a few times I missed a beat while finding something else Dodger-related to think about). Finally, at about the time I started to worry about how the Dodgers would get past the Phillies to advance to their first World Series since 1988, she started to make sounds like she was going to come. She shifted her hips and I could feel the head of the cock touching her cervix and it was getting harder and harder and harder to hold back the now completely inevitable orgasm.

“OH! Good job, Thumper!” she exclaimed in my ear. That’s it. She had come.

BING!

One and a half strokes later, I was coming, too. Big, fat spurts of three week’s worth of ejaculate. It felt so, so good. She told me how proud she was that I was able to hold it back. Very impressive, she thought. And I admit, I was pretty happy, too.

After I collected myself, I went to the bathroom and was struck by the overpowering smell of semen. It’s such an infrequent part of the action and I go so long without smelling it. Maybe it’s because it was aged and concentrated or something, but the smell of male sex was everywhere.

Back in the bedroom, Belle asked me to hand her Pink.

“Didn’t you come,” I asked, momentarily horrified by the thought that I had misread her and come before she did.

“Yes,” she said, “but I want to try this. Call it an experiment.”

“I’m all in favor of experiments,” I said as I handed her the discrete little vibe. The thing is, Belle never comes more than once. Like, ever. Her’s are more like men’s orgasms in that once she’s had one, it takes her a long time to build back the ability to do it again. Also, she’s usually unable to enjoy sexual stimulation right after due to over sensitivity. This was a very unusual event.

As she was using it on herself, I laid there and reflected on how that moment, right after I came, was so different than the other times I had been forced to watch her pleasure herself. It was interesting more than it was hot. None of the previous feelings of neglect and pain and injustice. But then, I noticed how nice her tits looked from my perspective and I started to wonder if the vibe slid in easier and felt different since she was lubed up with my recently expelled come. I felt a stirring in my groin.

As she continued to use the vibe, her face contorted several times into expressions I’d more easily associate with pain than pleasure. The sounds she made were more like those of someone being hurt. My Belle’s no masochist, so this made it even more unusual. Eventually, she came, but not as boisterously as she had the first time. I’m not sure if this is going to be a regular occurrence now or if it was just a one-time thing.

So now I’m back out of the device and the boulder of orgasm denial has rolled all the way back down to the bottom of the hill. Being allowed the one fantastic orgasm has left me feeling the need for another more than the three weeks of not being allowed to come. Weird how that works.

—

1 Yeah, I thought she was supposed to be hiding it better, too. ↩

Posted on

Dev and Thumper talk

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thumper: i think i did

Thumper: that was it

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

Thumper: natch

Dev: yeah

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

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

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

Thumper: totally

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

Thumper: if only she had let it lie

Thumper: “pushing the dildo”

Thumper: snerk

Dev: lol

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thumper: so i can’t stop

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

Thumper: but it isn’t

Thumper: not really (Yes, it is.)

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

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

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

Thumper: she was actually “making” me come

Dev: yes

Thumper: seriously against my will

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

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

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

Thumper: that’s it

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

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

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

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

Thumper: god, that’s smart

Thumper: that’s it exactly

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

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

Thumper: hmmm

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

Thumper: nope, she’ll never switch

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thumper: of testing me

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

Thumper: god, that would be cool

Dev: …which is how she handled it last time

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

Thumper: icy hot

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

Thumper: at least the way she applied it last time

Thumper: fuck, that hurt

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

Thumper: god no

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

Thumper: without the pain, too…

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

Thumper: oh, yeah

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

Thumper: true

Dev: to me

Thumper: it helps that you’re a female

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

Dev: Not at all

Thumper: sweet

Thumper: thanks

Dev: 🙂

Posted on

Hung over

I have a headache. I woke up with it. I hate that. I’m pretty sure that what I actually have, besides the headache, is a bit of a hangover. This is because I drank two mojitos last night. Two. I’m such a fucking lightweight. If, in an alternate universe, you ever wanted to do unspeakable things to me, just pour, say, three mojitos down my throat and I’m all yours. How can two (admittedly strong, but still just two) sweet minty drinks leave me mildly hung over? It’s because I never went to college to learn how to drink properly, that’s how.

Also, I did not sleep very well again last night. One reason is I don’t sleep well after drinking (even when “drinking” is only two stupid drinks). The other reason is I haven’t had an orgasm in two weeks (yes, time flies – it’s already been two solid weeks). The other reason is I’m back in the plastic. Oh yeah, that’s what that feels like. And that. And that. Oh, it’s two in the morning! Fuck.

Belle started her period yesterday and, since it used to be the rule that I would be locked up when she was bleeding, my incarceration date moved up by 24 hours. She brought the CB6K into her bedroom in it’s spiffy zipper case and tossed it at me. Instead of running off to the bathroom to put the thing on, I did it right there on the bed in front of her. I should have made a bigger deal out of it (and probably turned off the TV) because I kinda found having her there to witness it hot. Almost too hot, if you know what I mean. All the little bits and pieces (and their skin-grabbing nooks and crannies) fit a little tighter than when it’s just me and the bathroom mirror sharing the moment.

She put the lock in place and held it closed, but before squeezing it shut, she looked into my eyes and told me to say my phrase. My mantra. The words that represent my commitment to our relative positions. I hesitated. There’s still a part of me, down deep, that resists the submission. And at that moment, when I’d placed that thing on my manhood at her direction, just before she closed it for god knows how long, and she told me to say to her the words that give her the right to make me do it – to take away my control over my own body and my own pleasure and to really and totally focus everything on her…that’s a powerful moment. The lizard within tries to rise up, but it’s pointless, really. It tries to stop me and succeeds only in delaying the inevitable moment when I willingly accede to her request and devote myself to her service. I give the lizard points for trying, but the outcome was never in doubt. I hope he always fights it because, you know, that internal struggle that happens every time is where the hot comes from. Feeling the lizard strain, yet inevitably buckle, as I give her the gift of my submission is my springboard into headspace.

After the lock went click, she told me to rub her feet again. We’re doing a lot of that recently. It’s become an almost daily event. She had wanted me to paint her toenails (and really, what screams stereotypically subby husband behavior more than toenail painting?), but thought my dexterity too much deteriorated by my excessive swilling (if two drinks can be called swilling), so she settled on foot rubbing. I gave her ten minutes on each foot which is about as long as I can go before my hands start to cramp. Being down at her feet, pleasuring her with my hands in a nonsexual way, feeling the fresh encasement around her cock left me feeling very nicely headspacy.

Afterward, I laid next to her in the dark and pressed my naked-except-for-one-important-thing body into hers. The plastic tube was doing its job and I was trying to settle in for sleep when she raised her top and exposed her breasts. I almost couldn’t believe my luck and latched on to her beautiful nipples.

Now, before I go any further, I’ll warn the squeamish to go read another blog. If you stay with me past this point, you are giving up your right to complain in the comments. Capiche?

I started to finger her clit, figuring since it was the first day of her period that anything more athletic was off the menu, but moments after I started, she whispered , “I want to feel your tongue on my clit.”

I did not hesitate. Not for a second. It didn’t even really occur to me that there was any other course of action I could take except to go down on her, period be damned. I positioned myself between her legs with my hands reaching up to continue playing with her nipples and started lapping at her clit. I knew I had to stay relatively north due to the fact that she was wearing a tampon. Not that coming into contact with it would have squicked me out or anything, but I’m not sure “tampon licking” is high on her list of sexual triggers. I did feel the string a couple of times, but can’t say there was any other indication of her state I could discern. Just being there, worshiping her pussy – the source of all her power – was intoxicating to me.

Her thighs started to clamp onto my head and she arched the small of her back off the bed so I slowed my tongue and increased the pressure with which I held it against her. Her orgasm came and we both moaned.

The difference between having a freely flopping cock after such and experience and a stifled one is dramatic. Had I been free, I would have had a lot more angst and bubbling desire for more action. But since I was encased, that was it. It was over. I could feel the drop-off in energy that’s almost like a post-orgasmic feeling. In way, I guess it is post-orgasmic, just not my orgasm. Of course I was still horny and the cock was still trying its best to be hard, but I felt sleepy anyway.

“Thank you, Mistress” I said to her as we spooned. “Thank you for letting me do that to you.”

“You’re welcome, Thumper. Thank you.”

And with that, we slept.

Until I didn’t.

Posted on

The new bunny

While at the the cabin a few days ago, I decided that Belle needed to step up from the basic, entry-level vibrator we got for her several months ago to something more full-featured. Don’t get wrong, Pink is a terrific little vibrator, but it’s just that. A little vibrator. As I said last time, Belle’s orgasms need to be as “frequent, spectacular, and celebrated” as possible. Therefore, I figured it was time to upgrade the hardware.

Never having needed a vibrator myself (simple slabs of latex shaped like various porn stars’ dicks were always enough for me), I used Belle’s best friend’s experience to help me pick one out. No, I didn’t call her up and ask (that’d be an interesting conversation, wouldn’t it?), but I did remember Belle relating to me that she had and was very happy with a rabbit-style vibrator. Shopping around, I found that the issue with many of these kinds of vibes is that they’re friggin’ ugly. Either they look like they were slapped together out of random parts or their design suggests they were left here by visiting space aliens (sometimes, both). I wanted Belle to have one that looked like it was made by Apple. Sleek, clean lines, well made, and pretty. Yeah, those are the expensive ones.

I settled on this model. It was pricey but well-reviewed and, of course, Belle’s worth it. Its smooth, dolphinesqe form appealed to our shared aesthetic, but the real clincher was that the clitoral stimulator looked exactly like a little pink rabbit bowing to the power of the clitoris. Sold. Unfortunately, since we weren’t home and I didn’t think a UPS guy showing up at the cabin with a plain, unmarked box that I quickly ran back to our bedroom with would look all that great in front of the in-laws (assuming UPS would even deliver that far back into the boonies), Belle was denied trying out her new toy until last night when we got back.

Upon opening the box, I was initially impressed with the thing’s heft. It’s not really big, but it’s got some density to it. I’d say it has about a half inch more insertable length than me and is maybe a quarter inch wider than me. This worried me, not because my fragile male ego wouldn’t be able to deal with her preferring it over my original equipment, but because she’s always going on and on about how she thinks I’m the perfect size for her and doesn’t want anything bigger, yada yada yada. As far as I’m concerned, this thing should be better than me since, you know, it vibrates and the head rotates and shit. It’s got R&D and modern microelectronics on its side. All I have is a few million years of evolution. In any event, I want her to dig it. If she ends up liking it over her cock, so be it.

So anyway, once the boy finally went to sleep, we broke out the new bunny. From what I’ve read (I may not have mentioned previously, but I don’t actually have a vagina of my own), rabbit-style vibes are a little trickier than others in that they stimulate multiple regions at once. While it’s possible for me to use little Pink on Belle with great affect, it would be harder for me to use the new bunny without actually seeing its successful application by Belle on herself since each pussy is unique, like beautiful snowflakes, etc. I prepared the sleek dildo with a bit of Astroglide and handed it to her.

There were a few candles lit, but the majority of light in the room was from the near-full moon streaming in through the open windows. With the cool blue light of the vibe’s controls mixing with the clean, white light of the moon on her skin, she began. At first, she fiddled with the controls and played around with the different vibe settings and head rotation speeds. She found a combo she liked and settled on the correct angle of attack before doing something I had not expected. My personal experience with artificial dongs involves their rapid, piston-like movement through well-lubricated orifices, but once she found the sweet spot, she closed her legs on it and just left it there. I guess that makes sense in retrospect since her clit was being stimulated on the outside while the head of the thing was rotating from within, but I though there’d be more athletics.

Nevertheless, she seemed to really be into it. At one point, she pulled her top up which, I’ve learned, is her way of telling me to suck her tits. Of course, I was way happy to oblige. My punishment from last week’s unauthorized orgasm was over, so I was free to play with myself, but she had neglected to give me permission to take off my clothes so I was more or less covered in all the strategic places. Skin on skin contact with her was better than anything I could do to myself.

Shortly after I started sucking and playing with her nipples, she came. It sounded good, but not the most sky-shattering orgasm I’ve ever seen her have. As soon as it was over, she removed the vibe and said, matter-of-factly, “It’s definitely bigger than you.” And I think that’s good. She made all these sounds about how it wasn’t better, only bigger, etc., but ultimately, the size was not a problem for her.

After she came, I was seriously horny. I’ve been out of the device for three weeks now and unenforced denial is very, very different from the other kind. If I had been locked-up, I’d have been feeling some discomfort from the stifled erection, but wouldn’t have had any specific urge other than to boil in my own hormones and wait for them to be internally consumed. Not being encumbered left me with a throbbing erection enhanced by a solid chrome cock ring around its root. I wanted to jack-off so bad I could taste it.

“Please, Mistress, can I jack-off?”

She said yes because she’s so very good to me. While she put her pajamas back on and got up to pee, etc., I laid there, underwear pulled down around my thighs and Astroglide poured over her cock, and beat the fuck out of it. It felt so, so wonderful as the bulbous head of the cock slid under the tightly encircling fingers and the remainder of my foreskin stretched up and over the ring through my PA on the reciprocal stroke. I came very close to shooting several times – the last when she was laying next to me rolling my nipple between her thumb and finger – before a great feeling of selfconsciousness came over me. She was sleepy. Her eyes were already closed. Instead of focusing on her and whatever post-orgasmic needs she had, I was instead selfishly stroking myself for no reason whatsoever except to indulge my animal lust (since, of course, I wasn’t going to come). My desire to continue was shed from me like a dirty t-shirt and I got up to clean off her new toy and put it in its proper place.

Posted on

Stupid penis tricks

I think this is neat, though I assume you’ll find it gross. I figured out yesterday that, if I remove my PA jewelry and pinch the head of the dick closed, I can pee just fine through my piercing. What do you think, future HNT material?

I only mentioned that because it made me think of this post’s title and I wanted to use it in the worst way.

More talking last night. We are doing so much talking lately. Mind you, I don’t have a problem with talking. Shit, I can write a 2,000 word blog post like nobody’s business, so talking certainly isn’t a problem. I over analyze and bellybutton gaze with the best of them.

Turns out Belle is still processing anger and hurt from six months ago when I was her lousy cheating husband and not her fuzzy little bunny. I respect that and want to do what I can to help her, but I simply cannot comprehend where she’s coming from. Where we are now is so much better than where we were prior to The Troubles. Personally, I have never felt more love for Belle or been happier in my marriage. In addition, I’m more sexually fulfilled now than at any time in my life. Not exactly satisfied since, you know, that kinda of goes against the paradigm and all, but my sexual relationship with Belle is more honest and open (even with myself) than any I’ve ever had (and, in my younger years, I had plenty). I am so very happy.

But Belle still has sadness. Moments of great sadness. And I can’t understand it. I can’t relate to the time travel required to revisit the hurtful, painful times in the past. Right now is wonderful for both of us (she says), so why dig up when things sucked? We know why the affair happened and what we needed to do to fix it. It’s been fixed. We’re not the same couple we were nine months ago.

I used an oyster analogy. Oysters get sand in them and it pisses them off so they do what they do and eventually what they get is a pearl. It’s a lovely, wonderful thing (at least to us humans) that all started with an annoying, painful thing. And it’s still in there, beneath all the layers. It never goes away. I get that. But it’s built upon and eventually becomes the foundation of something so much better. That’s our relationship right now. At least, that’s how I see it.

I’m not dismissive of Belle’s feelings. I try to talk her through them and do what I can to be supportive. Any time she needs to cry or talk, I’ll of course be there doing my best to understand.

Somehow, we ended the conversation with her still wanting the back rub she asked for before we went to bed. I was tired, and figured she was, too, but I had the oil and the towels and the hands, so rub away I did. I was really horny at that point. The slick oil on her naked back, the erection held securely by its chrome cock ring pressing against her ass and back…it was heaven. Again I found my hands moving against her skin and the feeling that I was masturbating in my mind. Somehow, the similarity of the motion combines with my heightened arousal and I feel like I’m jacking off. She really has become the focus of my sex. When I touch her, when I pleasure her, when I get her off, I’m touching, pleasuring and getting myself off.

When the massage was over, she again surprised me by asking for Pink, the little vibe. It was still in my drawer from the last time she used it, so I was able to get it pretty quickly. I never actually turned it on, though, because after a few moments of feeling my fingers, she announced she wanted to get off on her cock.

“I want to feel my cock in me. I want to watch you suck my tits while I ride my cock. Can you handle it, Thumper?”

“I think so,” I stammered.

“There is no think. Do or do not,” she replied, channeling Yoda.

“I can do it, Belle Fille,” I said with more confidence than I felt. To hedge my bet, I let my fingers become more insistent hoping she’s come that way and I’d avoid the risk of an unauthorized orgasm.

No dice. She really enjoyed the finger action, but nonetheless rolled me on my back for her main event. As she slid down on top of me, I tried to think about anything – anything – other than what was happening. After a little bit, I felt the familiar tingle and placed my hands on her ass to slow her down. She stopped for a moment and the urge passed, but then she started back up again.

And almost immediately, the tingle started back up again. I tried everything I had read about postponing orgasm. I bore down and applied internal pressure to the general area and that helped a little. Doing so caused my abdominal muscles to tighten, which she felt.

“What are you doing, Thumper?”

“Trying not to come.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh…OK…I guess.”

“Good, because I’m going to fuck my cock for a good long time…”

Mother.

I knew I was doomed. The tickle grew and started to coalesce. Orgasm was imminent. I placed my hands back on her ass and pressed down, trying to make her stop. She did, for a second, but then started gyrating over the fully engulfed member.

“Oh god! Oh no! I’m going to come!” I was pleading for her to stop, but she wouldn’t. I felt the wave crash over me and a half dozen thick spurts of ejaculate surged out of me. I tried to fight it, to a point, but she was still gyrating. I was helpless. It was as if she pulled the orgasm from me, totally against my will.

A few moments later, she rolled off. “Give me Pink,” she said. I ripped through the bedsheets and under pillows trying to find the damn thing. My head was spinning with the sudden release and the guilt and the feeling of disappointment. Finally, I found the vibe and made a move with it toward her pussy.

But she grabbed it out of my hand. She pressed the button and I heard the thrumming little motor sink into her semen-lubed pussy. I left my hands off her until the very end and then it was only to rub the nipple closest to me. She didn’t push my hand away and finally came in a cascade of “oh, fuck”s.

She said afterward that she didn’t care if I came. It wasn’t her concern. She was getting her pleasure and that’s all that mattered. She didn’t feel like stopping so she didn’t. Very simple. I, of course, think there needs to be ramifications. I have no idea what, but I really need to feel the consequences of coming when I’m not allowed or, ultimately, it won’t mean anything. Then again, she knew what she was doing. Knew I was helpless to stop it. I don’t know. I’m confused.

In the mean time, I’m still pretty horny. And feeling guilty. I wish I had last night to do over…

Posted on

Hot WiFi action

With regard to my recent observation of how hot the idea of Belle having a paramour makes me, I thought I’d share some thoughts about a couple of sites I found by sifting through the incoming links to this blog. One of those led me circuitously to another blog called Hotwifing Exposed (which, at first glance, reads like it might be a technical site dealing with the intricacies of WiFi networking). They don’t link to me directly, but the blog Subservient to Her does, as well as to Hotwifing.

There are two relatively recent posts on Hotwifing that deal with his and her perspective on the same encounter. I have to admit, reading them got my blood pumping in a way no porn has in quite a while. Seriously, I could feel my carotid artery throb. Heat rose in my face and the old plastic pal in my pants was doing its job, double time (I was packing at the time, but not right now). No doubt about it. This shit gets me hot.

Asking Wikipedia about hotwives redirects to an article about swinging, which is considered an umbrella over it all , I suppose. The distinctions are subtle, but the primary difference between cuckolding and hotwifing is, from what I can tell, that the cuck is much less a player in the wife’s escapades than is the husband with a hotwife. The cuck is deeply subservient to the wife and her other sex partner while the husband with a hotwife isn’t necessarily (though Ben, the husband from Hotwifing, does refer to his wife’s lover as the “alpha”). I don’t pretend to grok it all, but that’s my impression.

These differences are easily seen in how the two talk about having sex with their wives. Here’s how M, of Subservient to Her, describes the end of a recent (and rare) sexual encounter with his wife:

As i rolled off of Her and kissed Her breasts and shoulders in thanks, the reality of the situation began setting in. It had felt wonderful to have that experience with my Mistress and i felt gratitude, but i also felt some regret for having soiled Her glorious Cunt with with my lowly, filthy seed. For Her to receive it seemed beneath Her somehow, and the meaning of the moment was clear to me…She loves me and recognizes that i am working hard to be Her good little slut-slave. She wanted to reward me, even if it meant letting me fuck Her with my poor little excuse for a cock…and even if it meant allowing me to sully my True Mistress with my cuckspew.

Wow. I mean…just wow. I’m sure M’s a great guy (he’s commented here before, so he must be), but it’s so hard for me to understand his POV that he might as well be writing in a foreign language. I DO NOT JUDGE, but I also cannot relate. For me, a big part of my turn-on is derived from the idea that I am totally worthy and by all rights should be able to fuck Belle to my satisfaction, but that she doesn’t let me. It’s not so much a concept of relative personal worth as it is power exchange – hers absolutely over mine.

In comparison, here’s Ben from Hotwifing:

I have to admit that when I got back upstairs (record time after locking the door behind Jerry) the first thing I had to do was lick Anna’s pussy. Not a first, but boy was it wet. I couldn’t hold on long though and was soon climbing up between her legs to feel the indescribably beautiful silky smoothness of a pussy full of Jerry’s cum. Anna was super aroused by the time my cockhead arrived at her cervix and she was pulsing away around my shaft. I could clearly feel the extreme wetness of the puddle he’d left deep inside her. We had the most delicious, slow, intense, grinding fuck, making good use of what you see in the picture above to ease the motions, and it all ended in our speciality simultaneous orgasm as she hoisted her knees high up to let me in as deep as I can go and I offloaded her second injection of cum in the evening.

This guy, I get. No fucking around with personal pronoun capitalization, no self-deprecating comments, and no doubt that he absolutely gets to fuck his wife (at least as soon as the other guy’s done, anyway). The sex Anna gets from the other man actually increases both their desires for one another.

Each of these relationships seem to be rooted in a desire to give the female as much sexual satisfaction as possible and, in both cases, the women end up with a lot of power over the men (though in the case of Ben it’s negotiated away while in the case of M it’s just given).

Steve over on Glow Inside touched on hotwifing recently and came to an entirely different conclusion than I have:

I have absolutely nothing at all against it if other couples decide that the woman can go out and get screwed senseless while the man says at home locked up and waiting for her to come home. I can happily fantasize about there being women in the world who are like that. For some reason, that’s hot.

But I cannot fantasize about being the guy in that situation without everything going pretty soft and and unresponsive down there in Dickland. And if it won’t work in a fantasy, it certainly isn’t going to work in real life. There…that’s my totally phallocentric view of the whole thing.

In a previous post, I posited that my ability to get off on the idea of Belle having a paramour might be rooted in my focus on ensuring her satisfaction (and not only in the bedroom) over mine. However, Steve’s got that in spades (more than me, certainly) and he’s unable to find a way to get exited by it in real life, but I am. So, what is it about a person’s mental state that allows them to be stimulated by the prospect of their partner getting it from someone else? What combination of kinks is required to get hard (or wet) from the idea? Certainly, confidence is required. Confidence in one’s self but also in one’s relationship. Obviously, Ben and Anna have a great deal of confidence in their relationship (and it appears the swinging has only made it stronger). But, does M have confidence? On the surface, one might doubt that he does due to his obvious inferiority POV, but I suspect that in practice he and his wife have a very strong, if admittedly non-standard, relationship.

Well, that’s all I have for the moment on this topic. I’ll stop processing it in public now…

Posted on

The rabbit returns

I’m back. Miss me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gentle,” she reminded me.

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

“I can’t decide,” she replied.

“Your cock is available,” I reminded her.

“I don’t want to hear your lobbying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“I promise not to come.”

“Liar. You’ll come.”

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

“Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says it’d be a boyfriend?”

Oh, fuck!

Posted on

Cut me, Mick.

Belle gave me a signal on Friday that she was going to let me out on Sunday. To be honest, when I know my release is imminent, I start to lose patience with wearing the device. As long as the release date is nebulous and uncertain, I’m able to maintain an attitude that allows her to keep me locked-up indefinitely. I knew (or, at least, was fairly certain) she was going to let me out by Thursday before I left on my trip, but once I knew the actual date, I really started counting minutes.

In any event, the package was nice and tight Sunday morning when I got up to help relieve some pressure. Belle stopped me before I left the room and removed her lock from where it had hung for all but 15 minutes over the previous two weeks. In the bathroom, I slid my still-swollen member from the tube. The feeling of slithering out of the thing after a long period (and especially when more than a little erect) is hard to describe, but the sudden onrush of sensation on sensorially-deprived flesh with so many tightly-packed nerve endings is dramatic. The cock looked more than a little like Rocky Balboa in that scene when he asks Mickey to cut him. Red, shiny, puffy in odd spots (where the shaft is exposed between the ring and the tube, where it protrudes through the vents, and where the head balloons through the slot in the end), and generally somewhat disfigured from the angle of the tube and the presence of the KSD-G3. He looked a mess, but little trooper that he is, was ready for action (not unlike the Italian Stallion). After I wiped a week of tubal grime off of it, I went back into her bedroom.

“It looks so weird to me like that now,” she said after instructing me to remove my pajama bottoms. “I’m used to it being all locked up in plastic.”

“Yeah, me too,” was all I could muster in response.

Moments later, I was lapping at her nipples and fingering her and wondering when she was going to make use of her recently available toy. She rolled me over and mounted the battered yet unbeaten (literally) meat. The warmth of her took my breath away. I focused on her breasts and thought about anything other than how wonderful it felt to have her moving over her cock. Apparently, it felt good to her, too.

“This is what I wanted,” she whispered in my ear, “to feel my cock…”

It’s the talking that always does it to me. I can stay in my little zone, but once she starts talking, I lose my concentration.

She started to chant, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” as she approached orgasm.

That did it. I was so close, too.

“Oh no. Oh no, I’m going to come!” I warned, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to…”

“Come with me,” she said, finishing my sentence, “Come (thrust)…with (thrust)…me…”

And I did. And it was glorious. My first really enjoyable orgasm in two months. I didn’t even try to stop it. I just let the feeling wash over and out of me and into her. I emptied myself in a half dozen fat, juicy squirts.

Posted on

The bad bite

It’s been much cooler than normal here in the great northern wastes for the past few days and that’s left Belle with cold toes at bedtime. Therefore, she slides them up my leg and buries them in my nutsack, then has me close my other leg over them to warm them up. Sometimes she wiggles her toes. Happy to be of service.

That’s how last night started. Toes in my nuts. Happily, it was all up from there. We kissed quite a bit and I said many things, mostly related to how exceptionally happy she makes me, how beautiful and sexy I find her, how lucky I count myself to have a wife who will manage my orgasms, etc., etc. I was feeling pretty emotional. She really is the most wonderful mate any subbie bunny could have.

The kissing got more intense and that eventually led to her squeezing my toe warmers nuts pretty hard. I told her, breathlessly, how badly I wanted her to hurt me there.

“I am trying to hurt you,” she said. “That doesn’t hurt?”

“Well, yeah, sure, it’s uncomfortable. It feels really great, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like I want to be hurt.”

Which led to a quick tutorial on how to inflict pain to Thumper’s testicles. First, I gave her a little tour of each area and its relative sensitivity. The back of my nuts are the least sensitive. The bottom only slightly more. Sure, you can hurt me there, but you’d really need to give them a good thwack. The front of the sack (the part shielded by the tube hanging in front) is good territory. Much more tender than the previous two sections. It is hard to get to with all the plastic in the way, but totally worth the effort. Finally, I showed her the ultimately tender areas on each side. Also difficult to get to due to plastic and the fact that I have legs. A well aimed, forceful shot on either side will leave me squirming.

With that out of the way, she started flicking each testicle with her finger. Starting lightly and then with more intensity. It was good. Jolts of pain shot through me, but only a little of it lingered. And that’s what I’m looking for. Lingering, aching, internal pain. She’d be hard pressed to give me that just by flicking her finger, so I showed her how encircling the sack with fingers pulls it tight and exposes and entraps the two testicles like a couple of shaved bunnies in a cosmetics testing facility. Then she started hitting them. Again, more gentle than necessary at first, but with more force as she went on. She did create some lingering pain before it was over, but god, I want so much more. I want to know just how much pain I can take there. How badly can she hurt me? I hope she ties me up and tries to find out. Soon.

All the nut slapping had me lathered up (“Is it hot in here?”), so when she eventually gave me the green light to pleasure her I had a pretty good head of steam behind me. I was in my feral sex beast mode and wanted nothing more than to consumer her essence. All that energy that previously would go into getting the dick wet has nowhere to go and occasionally goes to my head. It’s not too surprising then that not too long into it, while I was sucking her nipples like a newly born calf, she cried out.

“OUCH! That hurt!”

“What? What I’d do? I’m sorry!”

“You bit me! That hurt!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Please, I’m sorry! Are you OK?”

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be hurt.”

“No, of course not. I’m so sorry!”

“This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

SMACK. She didn’t hit me, but it felt like she had. Of course, she was right. I had lost control. I let my animal lust get the better of me. I don’t recall biting her, to be honest, but I had been struggling with the urge ever since she started smacking me around. I felt horrible. Really horrible. Not only had I hurt her, I had let her orgasm become more about me than her. Too much an outlet for my desire. As I said, I lost control. Totally.

After that, it was as though she had thrown a big wet blanket over me. Before, I was lost in a buzzing headspace of pure sex, but after I was totally cognizant of my every action. Total control. It was all very measured and gauged toward what would give her the most pleasure. I still feel very guilty for hurting her.

The orgasm was intense. I don’t really understand how it works inside her, of course, but she said it could have been so intense as to actually be painful, so she backed off of it a bit. She had already had too much pain. Ironically, the pain she caused me came back to her through my heightened desire.

Early this morning, I laid in bed, tube throbbingly full and waves of repressed sexual energy reverberating through me. It’s been a quite some time since I’ve been so horny. So abjectly, pathetically, profoundly turned on. The cock was flexing rhythmically almost all by itself. I could will it to stop, but it would start again if I wasn’t concentrating on it. It was as if some autonomic process was trying to push out ejaculate, because eventually I felt a surge of fluid leak out. Nothing like the amount in an orgasm, and nothing at all like an orgasm, but a good little slug.

I feel like I’m in uncharted territory, and it’s still another month before she’s said I’ll be able to come again. She makes me so, so happy.

Posted on

Seperate and unequal

There is a definite correlation between my sexual frustration and level of energy I’m able to put into the blog. More frustration equals more blogging. The more she lets me come, the less I have to say here.

So, since I’m here, I must be frustrated, right? In fact, Belle hasn’t let me come in about a week and on Sunday she put me back on the CB-6000. Then she took off to New York until Friday. So yeah, I’m getting there.

In fact, she let me come three or four times in the period around Memorial Day, but none of the orgasms were especially good for me. Either I was fighting them to allow her to come first or I was wearing my shiny new chrome cock ring which, it turns out, is tight enough that it restricts the flow of the ejaculation in an uncomfortable way. It’s dead sexy and makes the cock harder than it would normally be, but the spunk doesn’t fly as much as it kinda oozes after slamming into the hard metal’s constriction. It’s better than a ruined orgasm since I do get a portion of the emotional release, but it’s far less enjoyable.

As usual, I’ve found myself in a bit of a post-denial funk that sets in after she’s let me come a few times. I’m curious to know if this is primarily a mental thing or if it’s due to the release of all the hormones that’ve built-up during the denial. Whatever the cause, I am happier, more energized, and more connected to her when I’m not achieving orgasm. I don’t remember if I wrote this already (or just thought about writing it), but I’d like to figure out a way to maintain and level out these feelings. Since one orgasm after two to three weeks without usually doesn’t totally satisfy my cravings, I’d like her to try limiting me to a single spurt next time she lets me. Yeah, I get so fucking horny, but at the same time, I like it. The lows suck, but the highs are fantastic.

I’ve also been thinking about how she lets me come. I’m really pleased that she’s recently started to use the cock to get off, even when I’m not going to come (and even when I’m otherwise locked-up), but when she eventually does let me come, she always lets me do it inside her. This is, of course, entirely her prerogative, but in thinking about it, it does elevate my orgasm to the same level as hers since they happen at about the same time, in the same way, and look a lot like lovemaking. I do want to make love to her, but my sexual satisfaction is totally unrelated to that act. In fact, we make love at least a couple of times a week, but I only come about every tenth time. So, when she lets me come inside her, it kinda punctures the idea that my sexual release is less important than hers. Coming inside her during the act of making love knocks me out of my sub headspace.

There was one time where she let me fuck her and come, but she kept her breasts covered, didn’t come herself, didn’t let me pay attention to her in any way, and kept the lights on the whole time. It was less like lovemaking and more like maintenance. That time, I stayed in my headspace. In fact, coming like that put me deeper into it. I wasn’t being treated like a sexual equal and we weren’t sharing an emotional experience, she was just managing me. Also, in that case, she didn’t follow it up with more orgasms in the coming days. It was a single spike of sensation. In short, it was awesome.

So, to sum up what I’m saying, I’d like her to keep me to a single orgasm per release. Really make it an event. Also, I’d like my orgasms to be seperate and unequal to hers. Yes, I fully admit that this might strike some as topping from the bottom, but try to remember that Belle and I are still new at this whole Dom/sub thang. I need to give her feedback, right? She’s not coming to this dynamic with tons of experience (nor, for that matter, am I).