Belle: It was wrong of you to ask yesterday.
Me: I know.
Belle: But I may make you. How do you feel about that?
Me: It’s up to you.
Belle: Say that again.
Me: It’s entirely up to you, Belle Fille.
Belle: Don’t ever forget that.
She continued on telling me that this was for her. Not me. She wanted to feel it, not give it to me. A little while later, after I had warmed her up in the usual ways, she was on top of me and I had her tits in my face. I was twenty miles from coming, then five miles, then 100 yards, then three inches all in about four seconds. While I was coming, she kissed me all over my face.
The last time I came, it was spectacular. This time, pathetic. No, seriously. Like, half an orgasm (volume-wise, as well – just a little spurt). I was ready, mentally, but apparently not physically. It’s not how I would have chosen to come (with her on top) but, as I said, it’s entirely up to her.
She hadn’t come yet so she rolled off of me and finished herself off with Pink while I listened and played with her nipples. Last night, she checked in with me to see how I was doing. In truth, I’ve been in a bit of a funk for a little over a week. Not too horny, not really jamming on the denial thing. She had let me out and I had been that way for five days or so, but that’s not what caused it. I didn’t really care if I was out or in (but, perhaps due to the pathetic orgasm, I have resisted being locked up since). We had relatives in town so maybe that had something to do with it. In any event, I don’t really feel like I came but also don’t feel all that Thumperish, either.
Belle commented that fucking me really wasn’t as great as she was expecting, either. She thinks she’s become more accustomed to my getting her off with my fingers. Maybe she’s been “trained” to prefer what our dynamic allows, too. That she would rather have my hand than the penis does, I admit, cause some stirring in certain places.
I can’t stop looking at this (ridiculously NSFW) picture. It fires on so many of my kinks. That cock, apparently twice the heft of the penis — the beautiful pussy, ready and available but also absolutely not — the perspective, as if sitting at the end of the bed watching — the fucking look on her face, “I told you…this is what I want.” Even his stubbly chin is hot.
GAH.
Plus, I’m unlocked. Bad combination. Much suffering. I’m going to have to lock myself back up…
I have mentioned in the past how terribly hot (HAWT, I TELL YOU) I find chastity and denial in an all-male dynamic. Maybe it’s because one part of the pair does not get exactly and specifically what the other does, is required to do exactly what he may crave is done to him, and submits to an act he may wish he could perform himself. Female sexuality, while something I’ve tried to make a special study of, remains a bit of a mysterious black box. I know what inputs will usually result in which outputs, but can’t tell you how the mechanics operate. Male sexuality, though, I get. All the way down. Even more than male-female chastity and denial play, male-male seems to be nearly perfectly a ying-yang type of dynamic. At least to me.
This is why Schnoff’s is my current favorite denial blog (let’s not get too hung up in semantics, but I think of “chastity” as including hardware, though you all and Schnoff are free, of course, to call it whatever you or he wants). I love that he writes about real life and the ups and downs and stuff in between including steamy sex and, I think, he and I are driven by many of the same internal motivations. Obviously, as I’ve said before, we are all special little snowflakes when it comes to our personal sexual profile, but I see a lot of me in him. Don’t make me break out a Venn diagram.
Recently, Schnoffy boy posted several things that’ve resonated with me. Just today he related his and Bear’s July 4th activities and, oh yes, I wish for you to read them because they were niiice. Near the end, there was this bit (emphasis added)…
After, Bear remarked that sometimes he couldn’t tell.
“Tell what?” I asked.
“You are so eager,” he explained. “I sometimes can’t tell where your excitement for your own stuff ends and your excitement for my stuff begins.”
It may need explaining that dog play was Bear’s idea, as a pivot from pony play, and I went along with both ideas eagerly after an initial “wait what now?” reaction of a day or two.
I don’t know any more that where my stuff ends and Bear’s begins is an easy distinction to make, and told him so. My eagerness is real. My desire to please Bear is my stuff, and so dog play becomes my stuff, because it’s his stuff.
Personally, the most rewarding thing my deeply submissive soul finds in essentially permanent denial of my orgasmic release is how it draws Belle’s wants and needs and sexual pleasure so hard against mine that they’re deeply and permanently imprinted there. Like when you sleep funny on the corner of a pillow and wake up with it impressed on your cheek or when you take off tube socks and still see their relief on your calves. When you pull her sexual desires off of mine, you’ll still see them there. Obviously, we’re two people with separate and distinct motivations, but I want very badly to make mine assume as much as possible what is hers so that they’re indistinguishable.
Schnoff related a sizzling frot session in his latest post that I was easily able to relate to even though I’ve never performed the act described. It’s a core tenet of my sexuality that I want very badly to be the vehicle to the sexual pleasure of others. I get my pleasure by giving it to them. That’s only accentuated as I get farther and farther away from my last orgasm (or further and further, if you prefer). Sometimes, the act includes my own direct pleasure, sometimes it’s reflected, but theirs is always my priority.
Or, at least, I want it to be. When I start to feel like I’m getting too selfish or focused on my own stimulation through contact with Belle, I start to feel…bad. Not a good word, that, but the best I can do. Guilty? Some combination. I don’t want it to be about me so when it is it all kind of curdles. There’s a line I can approach (sticking my ass up while sucking her nipples so that she can play with my dangling balls and stuffed device) but anything more overt starts to feel weird (when she ignores the obvious opportunity, that can be just as good for me).
I mention that because Belle’s got into the habit of letting me have some pussy time once a week like clockwork. I’ve found myself focusing on that and thinking on it too hard and becoming expectational of it. Like a dog that’s treated too often and get’s pushy when he’s not given a Scooby snack after he does his business. I haven’t become pushy, but I could feel the sense of entitlement building and didn’t like it.
I shared this with Belle along with the suggestion that she make me earn pussy time. Even if it means I’m not out for weeks or months or only out to give Blue a firm core and then right back in. I don’t want to feel like I’m getting sex for my own sake. Of course, saying that opens up a bit of submissive’s dilemma for me because often she wants to feel like she’s being fucked. So it may feel like it’s just for me, but it’s not. It’s also filling a need she has (literally). I don’t want her to deny herself this pleasure. Maybe she should specifically tell me when I get to fuck her why it’s happening. Either because I’ve been a good rabbit or because she just wants to feel the penis in her. I’m pretty sure I could remain in the right frame of mind if I knew she wanted to feel me inside her and end up approaching it not unlike Schnoff’s frot session.
I saw on the Twitter the other day someone post a link to their blog where they talked about whether masturbation could be considered cheating on one’s partner. I didn’t click the link so can’t give them credit or even see what they said because at the time the topic didn’t seem that interesting. But here I am still thinking about it.
First off, for me, yes, masturbation would be considered cheating. I’m not allowed to do it. I consider it something I used to do back when I had control over the penis. That’s gone and along with it went my right to jack it whenever I want and the resulting orgasms. So I do personally consider at least masturbating with the penis to be a form of cheating. But that’s just me.
But that’s not the only kind of masturbation one can do. This morning, I took advantage of the last school day (and concomitant child-free time we’ll see in our house for a while) to scratch an itch only a big fat dildo can get to for me. I had a grand time and would probably still be doing it even now if not for the demands of work, life, etc. Is that cheating? At one point, Belle told me I had to have permission to do even that but I don’t bother asking her anymore. She’s made it clear that she’s not interested in working with me on my need to be someone’s hole so, when the craving gets to be too much, I’m my own. I do not consider that cheating since the activity involves my deeply-seated need to seat something deeply inside my ass. It’s a thing she’s not interested in so I’m not withholding anything from her. And, since I don’t come at the end, I’m not depleting my reserves of sexual energy in the slightest. Quite the opposite.
But what about you, oh dear amorphous blob of the average sex blog viewing masses? Is masturbation cheating when you do it? That all depends. If you’re the lower-case consonant in a power exchange dynamic like I am, yep, without explicit permission, I’d say it probably is. If you’re the upper-case consonant, nope, you can do whatever you want since the rules are yours. (I generalize and assume, of course.) But if you’re not playing the D/s game, I would say that I’m inclined to think excessive masturbation is a form of cheating.
Back in the Bad Old Days of our relationship, when we never had sex (OK, not never, but like maybe once every couple of months at best), I would jack-off regularly. I’d leave the bed, go into the den and edge myself for as long as possible looking at and reading porn until I spewed all over. Masturbation wasn’t the thing that caused our problems but it exacerbated them. The more I jerked-off the less interested I was in Belle and working on our issues and the greater the gap between us grew. I became angry and resentful and that led to all kinds of nasty stuff which, in turn, led to where we are now which is glorious so I’m not bemoaning that it had to happen. But we were lucky.
So yeah, in the specific case I laid out above, I think masturbation is cheating the relationship. It may be the case that people with extraordinarily high sex drives or the young can pull one out in the morning and still have enough left at the end of the day to make their partner feel special. Obviously, there are no absolutes. But you know what kind of person you are and where your relationship is. So you tell me. Are you cheating yourself and your partner when you take care of yourself? Are you using easy access to your wiggly bits as a way to ignore other issues and/or obligations?
I guess, at the end of it all, I can’t say if it’s cheating for you. Context is everything. Personally, I think people in relationships would be better served by pleasuring themselves absent their partners as infrequently as possible. But I’ve said things like that before and gotten in trouble. Oh well. I still think it…
According to our friends in science, women like bigger and fatter cocks than the average man can offer.
No, for real. A study conducted by the UCLA Sexual Psychophysiology and Affective Neuroscience Laboratory found that women, when presented with phalluses of various lengths and thicknesses, on average chose six and a half inches as their preferred penis length. That was their preference for both long-term relationships and one night stands. However, women chose slightly thicker penises as their preference for the quick hook-ups.
On the other hand, The Journal of Sexual Medicinerecently found that the average American penis is 5.6″ long with 4.8″ of “girth” (which I assume is circumference). That’s almost an inch shorter than the female preference. The article on the UCLA study didn’t say what the girth preference was, specifically, but I’d assume 4.8″ of circumference is also on the low side of things. For those keeping score, the penis on me is nearly exactly that long but about a tenth of an inch less girthy.
These findings, of course, come as no surprise to me (or Belle who, after reading the article, said, “I could have told you that.”). I’ve gone to — ahem — great lengths to find a phallus Belle finds to be maximally pleasurable. In every single case, these other cocks are bigger than the penis. Like, a lot bigger. The one we have that’s nearly exactly the same size as me never became her favorite. So while Belle has enjoyed the bigger ones, she’s always found them to be too long. That led me to getting her the Vixskin Buck. Buck’s a full inch shorter than the Maverick or Blue but still the same circumference. More than an inch and a half more girth than the penis offers. A 25% improvement.
Vixskin Tex, Buck, and Maverick
We’ve only used Buck twice. Once right after he arrived and again this weekend. The first time, Belle claimed it was the “perfect size.” Not too long and nice and fat. (Aside: It really helps in finding the right cock for your wife when she to loses her inhibitions in telling you the one you have is not the one. Once past that issue, the search gets pretty efficient.) Then Buck sat unused for several months. Belle doesn’t seem to like to wait for me to get the strap-on strapped-on so when she wants to get fucked by a big cock the task usually goes to Blue. Since she’s in charge of the action from on top, the excessive length is easily controlled. In any event, poor old perfect yet neglected Buck came back out of the toy drawer on Sunday. Belle had let me out of the Steelheart just moments before. I had never used a strap-on while unlocked before and she wasn’t sure it could be done.
At first, after feeling the straps slide into place between my ass cheeks and cut across them from the weight of the dildo in front, the penis got quite hard. But it sat beneath Buck and was pushed down and away, bent at the root. Physically disrespected by her preferences. I rolled back over and put my hand back in Belle’s hot pussy and sucked her tit while my other hand reached down and squeezed the hard penis against the firmer and less forgiving shaft of the dildo. The sensation of feeling the difference between the two was one of those things I suspect you’ll either immediately understand as a guy (or woman) who gets off on this kind of thing or you will totally fail to understand as someone who just doesn’t.
The penis felt especially thin and inconsequential compared to its fatter, heftier rival. That was simultaneously humiliating and and terrifically erotic. Humiliating with a particular finality in that it wasn’t from a situation I was placed in or from a name I was being called or anything like that. It was a humiliation rooted in who and what I was. I will never, ever have a penis the size Belle prefers. That burns. Really. But in that fire is found a kind of physic torment and pain that triggers my cognitive masochism. It stung like a switch across my ass but also felt so, so good.
The last two times we used dildos on Belle (this one and the last time Blue came out), she told me she didn’t want me to put any lube on them. Both times, she failed to orgasm from the effort. That’s a disappointment, but a good lesson. Belle climbed up on my and put Buck inside her and fucked him hard and long but could never get the right feeling from him. She climbed off and told me to fuck her from above which I dutifully attempted. All the while, I could feel the tip of the still-hard penis brush against her inner thigh at an odd angle. Still, no dice. I took the harness off and suggested she let me try something different. I placed a small amount of water-based lube (Astroglide gel) on Buck and manually fucked her with it while flicking my tongue over her clit. Occasionally, I’d feel the big cock slide by as the tip of my tongue came into contact with it. Eventually, she came nice and hard with the dildo buried inside her and my tongue pressed onto her clit.
I figured she’d have had enough penetration for one day but allowed me to fuck her anyway. “It’s not like I’m going to feel you,” she said.
Unf.
I slipped in easily, but not as easily as I do after Blue or Maverick have been to work. I think, if my Belle was the kind to fuck around with other guys, that I’d eventually be able to tell how big their cocks were just be being allowed to stick the hard penis in her. Buck had left her far more open than I would have and pushed the depths of her pussy out of reach of the penis, but I was able when thrusting very firmly to feel the very tip graze against the opening to her cervix. Even though Buck and Maverick/Blue are supposed to have the same diameter, I find the latter leave her feeling more fucked than the former. I suspect that’s because Maverick and Blue are fatter over a greater length of shaft than Buck. Following them, the penis has no chance of hitting bottom.
In any event, she let me fuck her longer than I thought she would. I was able to keep my own orgasm at bay and only got really close once. After, while laying in each other’s arms and nuzzling and cuddling, I told her how important it is for me to hear that she likes those bigger cocks over the penis.
“I don’t want you to feel guilty saying things like that to me.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” she replied. She asserted that we would need to spend more time finding the right combination of dildo and technique. That “perfect fit” I can’t and never will give her.
Later that night, as she was drifting off to sleep, she asked me groggily how long I could stay locked up. The question left me feeling extraordinarily submissive and it was difficult for me to form a coherent answer. I stumbled over it just before she fell asleep. The next morning, I gave her a real answer. The only possible answer. The one she must have known before she even asked the question.
I was hanging out in the shower yesterday quirting water through the Steelheart as I do. This is the usual moment when I can tell how I’m coming along from a lock-up male perspective. How am I feeling about it?
This particular morning, I was doing pretty good. “Pretty good” in this case being defined as being so horny and frustrated that just the feeling of the water surging around the locked meat (specifically, how it swirled over the corona) felt so amazing as to cause the contents of the steel tube to swell and block additional water from getting around in there. MOAR WATER!
As an aside, I know I’m not supposed to play with it, but does this count? It’s incidental to the act of cleaning it which is necessary. I dunno. The way it swells up in there kind of obviates the issue, anyway. Once it starts, it self-seals and stops.
And, you know, a normal guy in my situation would be wanting out of the fucking metal as quickly as possible but I, as any careful reader of this blog knows, am not normal. I had the feeling of being totally right with the world. I was exactly where I needed and should be. Inescapably locked, terrifically horned up, truly desperate for some kind of pleasurable sensation from the penis, yet hoping she’d keep me like that forever. Hoping that when we have sex this weekend, it’s with me in the device and one of her dildos in her.
This morning, after a very loud thunderstorm moved through and knocked our power out, I got her off sans dildo but still locked. She came twice in fairly rapid succession which is unusual for her. After, I climbed on top of her and pressed my stifled, steel-clad erection into her and she said, “You’re not getting out.”
I squirmed and hummed inside. I wanted two totally opposite things but got the one I deserved. I told her how lucky I was to have her along with some other things.
Yesterday I was Tumblin’ and came across an animated GIF of a woman reaching around a man to jack him off. He was standing and she was right behind him, leaning against something. They were both totally naked. The image was looping over the few frames where the guy was shooting his load. I found myself unable to scroll past. His ejaculate leapt from the end of his cock in a graceful arch and his face showed both the knitted furrow of pre-orgasmic concentration on his forehead and the gasp of release on his lips as they parted and his load surged out. It was…intoxicating.
I don’t know what it was about this specific image, but it really affected me. The more I watched it (and I must have seen that guy shoot a couple of hundred times, at least), the more I became him. I felt her grip around his hard shaft and the hot slug of goo push it’s way down the heart of his cock and release into the air. His balls tighten and prickle, the hitch in his breath as the orgasmic release hit his brain. The weakness in his knees as he slumped back into her warm breasts. Over and over and over.
UUUUNGH.
And I was like, Fuck, I want to come. I really do. I want to feel that. And the weight of the finality of never feeling that again really hit me. I can’t say to myself that, sure it’s been a long, long time, but it’ll happen someday. Just wait. It’ll happen. Because, no. I have no reason to think it will.
I told Belle about it last night as I was laying on top of her and rubbing the free and very hard penis into pelvis. I told her how badly that image made me want what he was getting. How great I felt the loss of orgasm at that moment.
And she said something along the lines of, “Yeah, that’s nice. Too bad for you it’s never going to happen again. I know what’s best for you.”
My balls were already churning but that kicked everything up to eleven. I may have whimpered. I felt like I was at the bottom of a very deep well all the water crushing down was her and her control over the penis. And while it was difficult to accept, it also seemed so right. That’s where I should be.
I told her it was worth it. That she should take all the orgasms I’d ever have for herself. To use that energy to maintain me how she wanted me to be.
Belle and I talked this morning about me going outside our relationship for things she doesn’t want to provide. She reiterated that my permission to do so remains. So, worries of drama or other calamities by some were unfounded.
Her guidelines are a little clearer now. For one, she doesn’t want my dalliances to interfere with our life. They should be on my time. That complicates things a bit, but life is complicated. She doesn’t necessarily want to read about what I do and wants any blog posts on the subject to be behind a jump so she can ignore them. She also wants to retain her privacy and anonymity. Finally, and as she’s already said, the penis will always be locked up. That’s hers. She said it turns her on knowing that even in that kind of situation she controls it.
An unanswered question for both of us is how this might affect our dynamic. Since she’s the most important thing in the world to me, all I can promise is she’ll always have primacy in all things. Whatever relationships I develop alongside ours will be subordinate. Based on my previous experience with extramarital relationships, I think I can say my feelings for her will not diminish (and might even increase), but this is new territory for both of us. A lingering possibility in all this is that some day she might want something outside our marriage. I told her I don’t feel I have any say in that. In my mind, she controls both what I’m allowed to do with my body and what she does with hers. She mentioned that she thought it was funny, after all we’ve been through and after all these years, that we’d both find things we can’t give the other. She can’t/won’t give me a certain flavor of sexual experience I crave and I…here I expected her to say I wasn’t well enough endowed, but it’s that I’m not able to take her (and, maybe a little because of the size of the penis). I can’t fuck her and use her and come in her the way she wants. She craves being topped and I’m not a top. Maybe someday, she’ll let herself have what she craves.
In any event, she said she doesn’t have any problems with me seeking outside activities. She’s surprised in how little the prospect bothers her. At first, she figured it would be a very transactional thing. I’d find someone to fuck me and that would be it. But neither of us are capable of transactional sex, I don’t think. I need to have some kind of connection to the person, even if it’s not romance. Even so, she’s perfectly comfortable with me proceeding.
After that talk, we had lovely, leisurely sex. She told me up front I wasn’t going to come out of the device. She let me out Saturday morning so I could fuck her with Blue (which, she reports, “doesn’t even feel that big anymore”), but I had to put another device back on before I got out of bed. At least she let me in without Blue after she came. However, this morning I was left in the Looker 02 while she writhed under my fingers.
She came nicely and while she was basking I did my best not to grind the locked penis into her. The L02’s insert was choking the stifled erection and I told Belle how badly I wanted out so I could enjoy her. “You’ll have to wait,” she said. I replied that part of me hated that answer but another part of me knew it was best for me.
She didn’t let me fuck but she did allow me to lick. I moved down between her legs and sucked on her clit and inhaled as deeply as possible her essence. It was the first time I’ve ever gone down on her where I wasn’t trying to make her come. I was able to just enjoy the feeling and taste of her on my lips and tongue. I rubbed her wetness all across my face drenching me from my nose to my chin.
The other day when I picked her up from the airport, I experienced something probably only 17-year-olds and perpetually denied guys feel (at least as strongly as I did). She was in the car with me and I was happy to see her but at some point I felt it. Her pussy. It was there, too. I could sense it. Feel it’s gravitational pull. It left me feeling a little light-headed and with a chest full of butterflies. It intensity of it left me digging my fingers into her thigh which, I realized, was itself so close to it’s radiative heat. I so badly crave her pussy now that I’m not allowed to play with the penis and pretty much only come out of a device so I can fuck her. It’s like the other side of the coin from the penis now. She has me very well trained to be in tune with it.
Eventually, she started to warm to what I was doing. Every time I flicked her clit her leg would twitch until I was attacking it like it was my everything (and it is). She told me to get Pink so she could finish herself off while I sucked on her tits.
She came for a second time and I was left squeezing my swollen nuts.
I’ve started a new Tumblr. One more brick in the global Thumpermedia empire. Of course, there’s the original Portfolio. When I first started curating it, I said it was a place to “collect pictures I like, but also the occasional story or even video. It’s not going to be just any porn that turns my crank, but specifically the porn that, for whatever reason, speaks to me as a submissive bisexual male.” I tend to pick pictures of men being used for sex by other men, beautiful women being beautiful, hot guys being hot, guys going down on women because pussies are awesome, and men being subjected to a variety of torturous hotness from both genders. It may appear to be a bit of a hodgepodge at first glance, but if I can place myself somehow in the scenario depicted, I will usually reblog it. For me, that’s critical. I really like to associate with the image personally in some way (and it’s not always obvious what that way is from the outside, I’m sure). Also, I’ve made the editorial decision to never show men ejaculating on the Portfolio because duh.
The second Tumblr I made was the Pit Stop. Pure dude pit porn. Very little deep thought put into it except I really have a thing for dude’s armpits. Cumshots allowed, though not the main point of the site so infrequently found.
The new one is called At least she lets you watch. This is another case of where the value of the porn for me is accentuated by trying to place myself in it. Due to my submissive tendencies, I tend not to really get off much on the images of women being fucked or otherwise appearing to be “bottoming” for a guy. But, I found that once I viewed these images through the lens of my nascent cuckolding kink, they suddenly become about a hundred times hotter for me. But they don’t fit on the Portfolio because images of MF sex there tend towards those where the woman appears to be in charge or I find the sex to be more reverential or respectful. On ALSLYW, I can freely post images of woman being complete sluts and loving it because the implication is she’s doing it with someone who’s not her husband. Convoluted, perhaps, but that’s how it works for me. Also, of course, the more cumshots the better. Especially if it’s all over her face or tits. Oh, yeah.
In a way, I think consuming porn is like going through a bucket of differently shaped pegs and seeing if they fit into any of one’s differently shaped holes. Some slip right in, some can be forced, and other just won’t work. It’s interesting to me how a simple internal change of perspective can make a peg that otherwise won’t fit suddenly work even though the peg itself hasn’t changed a bit.
Second random thing is Belle’s departure this morning for her two-week Asia trip. Much sadness. However, when I got home from the gym, she came out of the bathroom and told me she had a job for me. She gave me Pink and told me to give her new batteries so she wouldn’t have to worry about the little vibrator not working while she’s gone.
Funny story about that. We took Pink on vacation with us (and used her, too) and, upon leaving for home, I packed her in my suitcase. The suitcase went into a Jeep and then onto a ferry and then stacked in the back of a cab before being handed back to me at the airport. When I picked it up, I felt what I though was some kind of machinery vibration coming up from the ground. Thought it was weird, but didn’t stop to consider it more than that. Then, once we were checking in and about to hand over the luggage to security, I felt the vibration again. And it hit me. Pink was happily buzzing inside my suitcase. Right in the middle of the check-in area, in front of the kiosks and airline agents and fellow travelers, I laid the suitcase on its side, popped it open, and rustled around inside until I found the vibrator. It was hot. Probably a good thing I turned it off. No idea how long it had been going (had to have been a while based on its temp) or if anyone around me noticed what I was doing (doubtful), but that’s why Belle wanted me to swap out her batteries. So I dutifully shuffled off and tended to my wife’s vibrator so she could get herself off without worry while I was left at home with a locked up penis.
Belle leaves the country on Thursday for two weeks. I hate these trips, though to be fair, she hasn’t had to take one like this in a while.
As I said, and regardless of how good I’ve been recently, she’s not about to leave me alone with the penis. There’s a complication, though, in that I have tickets to the baseball game both tonight and on the day she leaves and they’ve recently installed metal detectors there. Not sure if they’re the walk-through kind or the wands (I’ve been wanded in the Steelheart before without detection). Therefore, I’m in the Trainer, but I really don’t want to be in it for the entire time she’s gone. I’d rather spend some time in the Jail Bird, actually (it’s been a while), or whatever device she says she wants me in. We’ll have to figure out something regarding keys and swapping devices and such.
In any event, she’ll be gone and I’m feeling pretty horny lately so last night I was lobbying hard for some pussy time even though she just came twice over the weekend and was generally tired and ready for bed. I didn’t push too hard. I wanted to leave her plenty of room to opt-out. Mental anguish over my subordinate lot in life would have been good, too. I was mentally prepared for that, but it didn’t happen. I presume she felt a little sorry for me and she eventually pulled back and said, “Make me happy.”
I went to work on her in the ways that usually induce happiness on her part. I was in the Jail Bird and felt the erection push hard against the bars while her pussy grew wetter and wetter. I didn’t want to rush as I was enjoying myself but I also wanted to be respectful of her desire to go to sleep soon. After a little of this where is seemed as though she wasn’t progressing as fast as she wanted, she asked, “Would you go down on me?”
And I’m like, FUCK. YES.
For the record, she never needs to ask if I’ll do this. Any day, any time, any place. Point to the pussy and push down on my head and I am so there. Eagerly.
It was hard work getting her home (her refractory period is more than just a few days after two orgasms in two days), but we got there. I lingered, kissing the inside of her thighs and resting my forehead on her mons and breathed deeply, letting her pheromones penetrate while she basked. It’ll be a while before I’m there again and I wanted my fill for as long as she’d let me.
I was a leaky mess after. And I did that thing where I spooned desperately into her and got thisclose to falling asleep before jolting awake. I guess that’s hormones. Happens more often than not after I get her off and I’m left locked. Eventually, I did sleep, but not until after some melatonin. Probably got about four hours.
On balance, four hours of sleep in exchange for pussy juice all over my face seems like a pretty fair deal.
