Tag: submission

Posted on

No promises

Belle told me this morning before she went to work that I’d get to make her come tonight. Plus, I’d get to choose how. All day I thought about that. I thought about my tongue in her snatch and flicking over her clit. All day.

After work, I had to cart the kids all over hell and back and started to feel really tired. Was I going to be too tired to get her off? By about 8:00, I was running on empty but then the last kid was carted home and I changed out of my day clothes and climbed into bed and the prospect of Belle’s wet pussy seemed to be recharging me.

But Belle was tired. She took off her glasses and placed them on the nightstand. She was easing into her “going to sleep” mode and there were still kids awake and I saw the light at the end of my tunnel, which had been rushing towards me minutes ago, start to recede.

Then she turned over and closed her eyes.

“But…”

“I’m tired, Thumper.”

I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Felt heat on my face. Loss.

Her prerogative, I thought. Embrace it. You’re powerless.

Now I’m tossing and turning and so tired but the stupid fucking penis keeps swelling and filling the Looker’s cage and squeezing its insert and the very sensation of impotent frustration is fueling my horniness. I am not in charge at all and I don’t even get to complain because she gets to arbitrarily withdraw earlier commitments and I have to accept it. There are no promises. I can expect nothing. I deserve nothing. And she carries no guilt. Nor should she.

Denial is more than just absence of orgasms.

Posted on

Dishwasher domination

Following this weekend’s activities, I’m left wondering if Belle’s warning of impending orgasm has passed. I know, I could just ask her, but let’s not kid ourselves. By writing these words, I am, in a way, asking her. I don’t want to pressure her, though, and she’s not always happy when I’m asking her about her future plans. This is just passive-aggressive enough, thank you very much.

Absent any other ideas of her intentions, I assume Sunday’s after-nap funfest was exactly what she was looking for (she even texted me Monday morning praising it again) and, since she was able to get it even without having me come, I think of it as an overall success. The best part was, I did want to come in her. A lot. Totally would have had she just said the word. But now, after the fact, I’m glad she didn’t.

Over on the Twitter, poor said something that got me thinking.

I wonder, if Belle wasn’t part of my life and I had no partner, would I still be into denial? I don’t think so. I really like jacking off and, believe it or not, I really like coming. I might still like the idea of chastity because I’ve always had a nascent kink involving penis bondage and constriction, but I doubt I’d deny myself for more than an extended edging session.

And that train of thought makes me realize that, for me, denial is all about my relationship. I want to be denied because of how it makes me feel about Belle. Not because I hate orgasms. I don’t. But I do love my wife and I know denial makes me a better mate. But it’s not alchemy. That is, it doesn’t create commitment out of thin air or transmute resentment into adoration. It nurtures a seed. It’s more like an amplifier that way.

For example. This morning, I was getting ready for the gym and noticed as I was putting my breakfast dishes in the sink that the dishwasher was full of clean dishes. I had time, so I started to unload it. This sounds pretty mundane, but there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought to do it. It just wouldn’t have occurred to me. Now, it does. Not only that, but as I was putting the plates in the cupboard, I thought how pleased Belle would be to find the dishes put up and the sink clean and I actually started to pop a boner. I mean, seriously. I chubbed out (as best the L02 would let it) just by thinking about how I was doing something Belle would find satisfaction with. Then I made the bed. Then I went to the gym.

It doesn’t really matter that a good spouse and partner should be doing those things anyway. What matters is, because I’m so much more in tune with what makes her happy and so much more invested in that happiness, we both feel good about it. It’s a way to make mundane tasks a lot more interesting.

When I got back from the gym, Belle told me how pleased she was with me. So much so that tonight I could choose how I’d get to make her come. (Decisions, decisions.) All that because of the dishwasher.

Posted on

Stong-armed

We took a Sunday afternoon nap. That means, Belle slept and I kinda dozed and eventually woke up and looked at my phone until she was done snoozing.

“Is the door locked?” she asked sleepily.

I nodded. She kissed me on the mouth.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked. I was told to be ready to come out of the device but she had left me in. I had no idea what she wanted, though I figured it would likely be a quickie fingered orgasm.

“I’m letting you out.”

All right, Thumper. Game on.

She handed me the key and I pulled the covers down. I was already naked so I stuck the key in the little brass lock and turned it. The lock slid from its chamber freeing the cage from its cockring mate. Setting the lock and key aside, I pulled the cage off and felt the bulb end of the Looker 02’s urethral insert slither its way down the inside of the shaft it had secured for a week. It caught briefly in the head of the penis and then popped out. Then I pushed the thickening meat back through the ring and winced as the testicles popped through, right first then left. I was free. The steel was on the nightstand.

When I rolled back over towards her, she was naked. The penis was hard and, as I wrapped my arms around her, it brushed against her thigh. The feeling of it caused me to gasp slightly. From no sensation to the best sensation in under 30 seconds.

“How can I serve you, Belle Fille?”

“I want you.”

“Do I get to come?” The $64,000 question. I was ready for whatever she said.

“…No,” she replied evenly.

Instinct took over. I climbed between her legs and pushed the end of the aching meat against the lips of her pussy. She was dry, but I pushed in. I wanted in. She felt tight. Lack of natural lube and at least two weeks since anything had been in her. I shifted my hips to gain further penetration. I was gambling that she wanted it a little rough. A little guy-centric. A moment later, the penis found her hot and wet. She sighed.

“I have no idea why I did that,” I said.

“It feels good,” she purred, “Really good.”

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes…”

I pulled the hard shaft out and pushed it back in, spreading her gathering wetness around. I bent my head down and started to suck on her nipple while I fucked her slowly. I shifted again and pushed in as deep as I could, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and placing the other hand in the small of her back. I wrapped her in my strength and exerted just enough pressure for her to feel that I was holding her tight and she couldn’t get out. Not that she wanted to.

I thought fucking slow would let me last longer and I felt I was doing a pretty good job being as leisurely as possible. Her snatch was hot and totally wet now. Her breathing was starting to get more shallow.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered.

That was it. I can go for a long time and trick the orgasm that wants out into holding its own, but once I hear her start to really get into it, I lose my cool. Two or three slow thrusts later, I had to stop. I could feel the ejaculate locked and loaded. She wanted me to keep going, though, and wiggled her hips. That was enough to trigger a long jet to shoot out of me and into her. I had to pull out to keep it from going any further. She had said, no orgasm.

Now that I had her going, I didn’t want her to lose momentum. I quickly worked my way down to her pussy and dove in. Immediately, my mouth was full of my own seed. I swallowed it down and worked my tongue over her clit, lapping more of myself than seemed possible as it continued to leak from her. My throat was thick with it and its scent mixed with hers to fill my senses. My hands worked their way up to her breasts and tweaked her nipples as I eagerly ate her out. I wondered if this is what it would be like on those night she had her boyfriend over. Would she let me off the floor long enough to clean his semen from her before they slept in the warm bed and I on the hard floor? Would he watch or already have fallen asleep in his post-orgasmic stupor?

Belle’s hips started to buck. She was moaning and pushing against my forehead with the palm of her hand as the intensity of her orgasm crested but I pushed back harder keeping my tongue working over her electrified clit. Her legs crushed my skull and she pulled a fistful of my hair while her ass was off the bed. If she wanted to be taken hard, I was going to make her fucking well feel this orgasm.

Once it was over, I rested my face against her inner thigh and kissed at her taut tendons as she came down a little. The mixture of scents was intoxicating to me. I almost felt dizzy from all the pheromones attacking my brain. I climbed back up her body so that I was between her legs again. She took the penis in her hand and guided it into her.

Jesus fuck, was she hot and slick. Her juices, my semen and spit, and the full ripeness of her post-orgasmic pussy all mixed together and I started to fuck her. Hard. I could still smell us both in the smeared fluids that covered half my face and it drove me mad. It wasn’t long before I could feel the building orgasm and I. Wanted. It.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Ugh. Wimper.

I stuttered and stopped just long enough for it to climb back up inside me and then I had my hard, strong arms back around her, holding her tight and close. I buried my face in her neck and clung tightly to her and fucked her harder than I had in a long, long time. The lizard was off his leash and going to town. This was just fucking. Just me having my way with her. Doing her. Nothing gentle or submissive about it. I felt another orgasm winding up. A big one. The one I wanted. The lizard said DO IT but the bunny fought back. Each thrust into her caused her to exhale a little. There was no tenderness in what I was doing to her. No room for that. Just lust and desire and burning intensity.

“Come on!” I said to myself under my breath as I slammed into her. Not sure to who I said it or what it meant, but there was a stand-off inside me. Would I? Or not?

Of course not. In the end, I tensed up and then just knew. It wasn’t happening. It was like the lizard’s back was broken. Again. He slinked off and I shuddered and collapsed onto Belle.

“OK, Thumper, that’s enough.”

I panted. Gasped. Gathered myself.

“Is it what you wanted?” I asked quietly.

“Yes.”

—

We laid in bed a long time after. I felt both the feelings of sleepy post-orgasm and the raw edge of continued desire for her. I wanted her to throw me over onto my back, crawl on top of me, and fuck me until I came. I told her.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, really, I do.”

After a bit, I said, “OK, just between you and me, you can admit it now. You wish the penis was bigger, don’t you?”

She laughed. “No!”

“Yes you do. I know you do.”

She laughed some more. “Well…just a little.”

“OH! So it’s true! Now all I need to get you to do is admit that while we’re having sex.”

We both laughed.

Before I got out of bed, the Looker went back on. The fat bulb on the end of the insert pushed past the opening of the penis (helped along by the slick presence of ejacualte and pussy juice). The penis fought back and tried to grow, but that just made it all the tighter when the lock found its home and the key came out.

She held out her hand and I put the key in it. Belle got exactly what she wanted. I hope she always does.

Posted on

Fair warning

Belle warned me yesterday before knocking out ninety-four (I think we should also count those she gets when I’m not around, so it would have been ninety-five not counting her solo action last weekend) that she was close to wanting to really be with me. Nothing in between. Which means, she’s close to making me to come.

She didn’t want me to freak out and I tried not to, but it does kinda freak me out. After she came, we talked a little and I told her I was afraid to come (honestly, I’m scared of them now) and it made me nervous to think about how it would make me feel, but I was totally on board with her being in control of our sex and my orgasm and if that’s what she wanted, then that’s what she wanted. I said that I’m her submissive and sometimes that means taking me outside my comfort zone. It’s entirely within her rights to do so.

She then joked that maybe she really did need to get that boyfriend after all. To help scratch her naked guy-on-girl both coming and having “normal” hot sex itch. She’s joked about this more than once, so maybe it’s not a joke so much, but I still doubt she’d do it. Regardless, were I in a different place and a couple of decades younger, I’m not sure that’s isn’t the kind of relationship I would be right for.

In any event, we’ll see. Once the fruit was dangled in front of me, there were several moments when my fingers were two knuckles deep in her that I wanted out the Looker and into her snatch but she wouldn’t let me. No way. But then things cooled down and I fell asleep on my stomach with the steel pressing into me and everything felt right.

But like I said, it’s Belle’s world. I’m just living in it.

Posted on

Penisthinking

As discussed previously, Belle’s given me permission to go find a boy willing to fuck me. Because I so, so badly, wish to be fucked and she doesn’t want to be the one to do it. On the one hand, this is very exciting and when I think about it and the fact that she’s willing to let me have this I only feel more affection towards her than usual (yes, it’s true, going outside your marriage for sex can make your marriage stronger). On the other hand, I’ve done nothing about it. Well, not nothing.

I reached out to an old boyfriend who doesn’t live near us. In fact, he’s way over on a coast, so not even close. In chatting with him about this new opportunity I have, I mentioned how, if it were possible, I’d be more than happy to have him do me (I have mentioned him in the past here — he has a wonderfully beautiful cock). In retrospect, this was a really stupid and thoughtless thing to do.

He was the guy I was with when I figured out that I wasn’t gay. It wasn’t that clean of a realization and it took several starts and stops to figure it out. He ended up getting by far the worst end of everything. I hold him in very high regard and feel genuine affection for him — he’s still a close friend. But he loved me. In a way I couldn’t return. Now he’s gone and had a life and married a guy (who’s OK with him getting some on the side) and has kids and the whole thing and all of a sudden I pop up out of the blue saying, “Hey! I can get fucked! Wanna fuck me!?”

I would have never done this with an ex-girlfriend. I realized that after the fact. Because with them, there would be problematic feelings, etc., due to the fact that I expressed love for them at one time and they for me and how that’s a whole minefield of emotional bombs. I feel love for this guy, too, but not, apparently, in the way that would make me aware of his potential feelings or that my proposal could be more hurtful than happy. In fact, I let the fucking penis do my thinking. A trait I share with many men, but for a guy who takes such pains to explain how he isn’t controlled by penis meat, it’s a surprising lapse. In any event, I’ve apologized for being such a total fucking cad. He didn’t take it personally.

Still, there are issues. For one, he’s a long ways away, like I said. Two, he’s gay and I would be a guy without, essentially, one of things gay guys really like — a penis. Also, and most problematically, he’s a bottom. When we were together, he got off on me being bigger (except in one department) and stronger and altogether more toppy than him. Definitely not who I am today and not something I could provide if I wanted. Add those things up and you have a formula that doesn’t easily resolve. Finally, in our text conversation about this, he called the device I wear a “contraption” and said he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. That’s fair, of course, but I admit it left me feeling highly self-conscious about myself. It’s like saying, “You’re awesome, but that third nipple kind of gives me the creeps.” So I don’t know about him.

Thing is, I was never really very good at finding dates. Back when most people do that I was all worked up about whether I wanted boys or girls and didn’t spend any time learning how to get either. Now I’m kind of this third thing. Also, I know for a fact I don’t want any kind of simple hook-ups. I’m not sure I can separate my submissive nature from sex. I don’t just want a live dick inside me, I want one belonging to someone I feel comfortable with. Someone I can sort of co-opt my submission to. That’s a bigger deal than just getting laid. Whoever this mystery man is, he has to be worthy.

And, of course, unattached or in a flexible situation and OK with no emotional prospects beyond whatever Belle lets me have and OK with a guy that doesn’t have an accessible penis. Also, in my total fantasy situation, this guy is actually a couple of committed guys. I don’t know why, but that’s appealing. Not a requirement, though. I assume this guy’s going to have to be either a dom or switch looking for a little piece on the side to top. They’re going to have to get off on my denial because I will always be that way with them. Starting to seem like a hard bill to fit, indeed. But what do I know?

So anyway, here I am. Permission to engage has been received but action beyond annoying an old friend has not been taken. I’m not even sure where to start.

Posted on

Lost in the sheets

I was away from Belle over the weekend. Thursday through Monday nights. I was having a nice time, but it was miserable not to be with her. Especially in the morning when the penis was pushing against the Trainer as hard as it can and my hand only found unfeeling plastic and not a hard shaft to play with.

I wish I knew more about the brain chemistry of love and attraction or that someone would do a study on the brain of a denied male. My feelings for her are made so much more intense by the lack of orgasm. My craving for her and her warm softness so much more acute by the locking of the penis. When I got home, I was all over her and her scent and lips and curvy female form made my heart flutter.

“I have to hear you orgasm,” I whispered into her ear.

Later that night, I snuggled up next to her under the covers as we watched Sherlock and as I ran my hands down her body they found the tubular shape of Pink, her favorite vibrator. My assumption was she put it there for me to use on her once Holmes and Watson saved London from terrorists, but no.

“Is that still there?!”

Turns out she had made the bed over it the morning before. While I was clawing at a compressed needy hard-on through its plastic trap, she was pleasuring herself with the little pink vibe. I instantly saw her in my mind doing this and could hear the thrumming rise and fall as she pushed it in and pull it out of her hot snatch.

And of course, I moaned. And melted inside.

I suggested christening her new dildo but she wanted my fingers and now we’re down to ninety-six. Even though I was horned up nearly to distraction, feeling her body tense with the wave of orgasm and then go limp in the afterglow triggered in me the need to sleep. So I did.

There’s a bit more to this one, but it comes with the standard NSFW warnings, so…

Continue reading “Lost in the sheets”

Posted on

Two more

I forgot two of my New Year’s goals/notresolutions.

First, I’d like to be tied up more. Doesn’t have to be ropes since they’re technical. Could be cuffs and harnesses, etc. Just restrained. There’s all manner of lovely strappy things to accomplish such a goal. Hogties, hobble belts, and various spreader bars. Even awesome-looking shackles.

I think Belle worries about what to do with me once she’s bound me up. Sure, I’d also like to be whipped and otherwise tortured, but she could just leave me. The idea of having my wrists bound to my thighs or even just leaving them cuffed together all night (preferably while wearing a collar, ‘natch) is highly appealing. Or shackling my hands and ankles. Basically, anything where she removes more of my control is too fucking hot.

Yeah, so, I’d like stuff to bind and restrain me plus a lovely harness. Just because I think they’re sexy as hell and I’ve almost got my upper body into a shape that one would look good on me.

Have I mentioned my strappy leather kink? I must’ve. Once or twice.

Second, I want to be in a state where I want to come. Yes, duh, right? But no, not if you think about it. So many guys into denial are into denial (myself included) which means they want to be denied. Where I’m saying I want to be more often is where I want to fucking come all the time and don’t only because she won’t let me. If she said, “Thumper, now!” I’d happily spew forth without reservations.

Case in point. This morning. I was up before her and sofuckinghorny. I wasted some time on the Tumblr (which did nothing to resolve the horny thing) and otherwise ground the steel into the bed and waited for her to wake up. Eventually, she did, and it wasn’t long before she was naked and needing to choose how she’d let me get her off.

She has many options. My fingers, my mouth, the little pink vibrator, the big blue dick, the little white one, and a new addition to her stable: The Vixskin Maverick. It showed up on Friday and is the solution to her wanting to get fucked by a big dick but not necessarily wanting to let me out. Some further backstory…

Belle wanted me in the Steelheart but also wanted to be fucked and, back around Christmas, asked if Blue would work over the device. No. But, I had a thought. The penis fits pretty well in Blue and Belle’s old dildo Mr. Darcy is nearly the same size as me so what if I put Mr. Darcy in the strap-on harness he was bought for and stuck Blue over that? Kind of a sex toy turducken. We gave it a shot.

Didn’t work. Darcy, while about the same size as the penis all around, doesn’t compress the same way inside Blue. What we ended up with is a much fatter and less flexible dildo arrangement. It made her uncomfortable and I had to get her off a different way. Ah, well.

And that led to the arrival of Maverick. I chose the chocolate color because I felt the pinkish-white one looks kinda sickly and pale and the “caramel” one looks like cheap spray tan. The chocolate color is warm and rich. Really lovely. It showed up and as soon as I saw it I thought she’d think it was too big. On paper, it’s the same size as Blue. Seven inches by two. In reality, Maverick has a much bigger and more pronounced head. Also, it looks thicker. I compared the two to each other and found that they were essentially identical in proportions, though. But Maverick’s head. Holy cow. Blue tapers a bit while Maverick stays hefty all the way to its fat, flared helmet.

Funny thing, though, when I showed it to Belle. “Oh, that’s a really good size,” she said immediately. Yes. A perfect size for her, I think.

So back to this morning. Her choice. Fingers, mouth, pink vibrator, big blue dick, big black dick, or little white one. She decided she wanted me out, so it was Blue. Maverick’s christening will need to wait for another day.

After Blue had its way with her (ninety-eight to go, BTW), she let me fuck her. Again, the sensation of being inside her and feeling how much the dildo she thinks is a “really good size” stretches her beyond my ability really fucking clicks with something very deep inside me. The sensation of being second. The subtle and implied humiliation of knowing that she came so well from something so much bigger. Knowing that no matter how hard I fuck her, I’ll never touch the spots touched by her big dildos.

And sweet Jesus, it makes me want to come in her. To spray myself all over the walls that bigger dick pushed beyond my reach. To mark and retake her pussy as mine. It hurts, I want to come so bad. So I told her.

“I want to come in you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“But I do…”

Silence.

Had she said the word, I would’ve done it. Like that. But she didn’t so I didn’t.

Her goal not to let me come once this year: Intact

My goal to want to really a lot: Intact

Posted on

2014

Happy new year, pervs!

I don’t like resolutions. Just don’t like the feel of them. The built-in expectation that many or most will fail. I prefer goals. Things to work towards.

In that spirit, Belle and I discussed our 2014 goals this morning prior to getting it on. First things first. On the orgasm front, she’s reiterated her goal that I should have none. Zero. Donut. She’s on board with my goal for her: 100. That’s not even two a week. No pressure. Totally doable. So, to sum up, the ratio of orgasmic release between the two of us is infinitely weighted in her favor. As it should be.

There were some other goals exchanged. I will continue to work at being the best sub I can be. In whatever way I can. She’s decided she doesn’t want me to ask her every single day how I can serve her. Too much pressure. Now it’ll only be on the weekends. Regardless, this will likely be something I will work on for the rest of my life. There is no perfection in this regard.

Another goal of mine is to get Belle into some ridiculously sexy lingerie. Something with straps and buckles. I really like straps and buckles. Straps connected to stockings and bodices with breasts spilling out. Mmmm. Good stuff. Yeah, that’s a goal.

The goal of Belle taking a boyfriend was discussed, but she’s not interested. One man is enough for her and, at times, too much, so no way she’s going to deal with looking for another. She’s also concerned that she might develop feelings for this other guy and I say of course she would, but there’s feelings and then there’s feelings. But whatever. Moot point.

The last goal was another of mine. I told Belle I really wanted to start getting fucked. Not just by myself, but by another person. My first suggestion was she could do it, but her position on that hasn’t much changed in the past 18 or 20 years so it remains very unlikely. On the other hand, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with me getting a boyfriend/friend that is a boy to do the deed. She’s said in the past that the concept of me being fucked by another guy doesn’t seem too far removed from mastrubation in her mind. It seems as though I have been officially cleared to investigate the options.

The only condition is that I have to remain locked up. As I should be. The penis is Belle’s, not mine and not something I can give to anyone else. So, assuming I go forward with this and she remains comfortable with it, what I have to offer someone is essentially a couple of holes and some hands. No penis.

I admit that I’m both excited and a little scared by the prospect of putting myself out there. I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say on it in the future.

In the mean time, Belle and I hope you all have a very fine 2014.

Oh, and…uh…ninety-nine to go!

Posted on

Frisson

This morning, I babbled like a besotted schoolboy. Embarrassing in retrospect. I mean, all good intentions. Just…wow, what a sap I was.

Belle’s continued to leave me in the Steelheart. Usually, when holidays role around (or any kind of special event like vacataions, etc.) she’ll let me out. We’re out of town for Christmas and I assumed that this would be like every other trip of this type and she’s let me out on the first morning away and not require that I go back in until after we’d been home. I would have been justified in expecting I’d be free and flopping at least through New Year’s and maybe all the way to the Monday afterward.

But not this time. As I said the other day, she’s inclined to leave me in for a while. We had setted into a routine for the past couple of months where she’s let me out on the weekends for a little activity that included pussy time for me. That’s done for now. And the change it’s had on me is apparent.

On Tuesday, I referenced an early post where I laid out my thoughts on the then-new idea that Belle would control how often and in what way I enjoyed orgasm. In it, I said…

There is so much on the web around OD, tease and denial (T&D), and domination and submission (D/s), etc., that is very anti-male. I admit to being new to this scene, so it’s entirely possible what I’m reading is just people staying in character, but I don’t think so. Many sites written by women for women (example) make men out to be little more than sexual animals who can’t be trusted to control their urges and whose sex drives can be harnessed to make them do all manner of things they wouldn’t do otherwise. I’ve even read men on forums regurgitate this POV. Like somehow OD saves them from their inner pigs. (The notable exception, and luckily the site I found very early on in my exploration, is Tickleberry.)

The above line of thought is so alien to me it’s not something I can even pretend to be into. Again, I do not judge anything anyone else is into, but personally, I revel in my maleness. I rejoice in the differences between women and men. The fact that I enjoy sex as much as I do, that it’s as important to me as it is, that I think about it all the fucking time is wonderful. I would never want to abdicate my male prerogative to anyone else, even my beloved Belle Fille.

I was scared of letting go of my “male prerogative.” Yes, I wanted my sex controlled but I also didn’t want to “waste” any of my desire for it. I felt then strongly (and still do when I allow myself) that my desire for sex is a limited natural resource. That something should be done with it when it presented itself and that something was that Belle should let me get her off. I’ve evolved significantly since then.

I still don’t ascribe to any overt anti-male feelings, but I do feel that — at least for me, though I suspect it’s true for a lot of men – that we’re fundamentally selfish beings. It may be genetics or maybe it’s socialization, but easy access to my body and the orgasms that result tends to make me far less attuned to her and her needs. I withdraw and focus on my own interests. The less I come, the easier it is for me to recognize what she needs. On top of that, the more she keeps the penis in the device and the less attention she pays it even then, the more motivated I become in not only recognizing what she needs, but in doing something about it.

This is the mysterious alchemy of my denial. Where the competing and seemingly incompatible forces of my intense background horniness meets with my deep desire to satisfy her. They beget each other. Power each other. The more I have of one, the more I have of the other. Where their hard edges strike, a bright frisson sparks within me that I find simultaneously exhilarating and calming. Warm and loved. And loving. It makes me feel alive. When it’s really working, it’s like that scene in The Wizard of OZ where Dorothy opens the door to her house after it’s fallen from the sky and suddenly sees the world in blazing Technicolor. (It’s not like I haven’t written about this before. You have a blog that’s five years old in which you essentially write about the same thing over and over, you do find yourself walking in your own footsteps more often than not.)

I felt it last night. The frisson. I was laying in bed, Belle was fast asleep, and I was dead tired. But I couldn’t sleep. That’s the dark side to all this. That flame burned so intently that it scared my own sleep away.

For the past several days, I’ve started each of them asking Belle a simple question: How can I serve you today? She’s given me tasks and I’ve tried my best to do each of them for her. She’s left the penis in its cage where the energy radiating from the plutonium decaying in its heart can be put to good use. She’s let me make our sex all about her. I’ve asked that she hold me truly accountable for the things she asks me to do. And that makes me very happy.

In a way, I suppose trying to live as the best service sub I can is a little like being a priest (says the atheist whose first exposure to Catholics was when he married one — and ohbytheway, “service sub” is a phrase I would have run from five years ago). You strive for a goal and sometimes you make it and sometimes you don’t. But you’re dedicated to it and want to do the best you can. That’s how it is with me. I not only want to see the things that will make her happy and her life more enjoyable, I want to be motivated to put my own desires aside so that I act on what I know I need to do. Unintuitively, the more generous she is with me, the less motivated I become. The more I start to expect the generosity. Expectation is the enemy of gratitude and leads to disappointment and resentment.

So yes, what I know now that I didn’t then is orgam denial and femdom and chastity can make at least some men better people. Men like me. I never could have imagined feeling this way. I have had my sex drive harnessed — happily — and now I want the saddle and the crop and the spurs and to be ridden around like a pony. And it’s what I was blubbering on about this morning. I feel so lucky to have a woman like Belle who, while never signing up for anything like what she got in me, has figured out how to adapt and even embrace our dynamic. She’s worked through her own socialization issues and found the difference between my desires and my needs. And I love her so much for it. I am so grateful.

Posted on

Size matters

“I wonder if we could use Blue over the Steelheart,” my Belle asked me this morning.

Alas, no, I doubt it would work. Without the stiff penis inside, the penis extender is too floppy and would collapses in on itself when pressure is applied around it. The Steelheart is too short to give it any support. It may also be too fat to easily get up inside there and, even if it was, the contortion that would place on the penis trapped within might be too much to handle.

The point of her question is two-fold. One, Belle’s interested in keeping me locked up more often than I have been recently. Pretty much the only reason I need to regularly get out is to provide Blue the internal structure it needs to be useful to Belle. Since she also said to me this morning that she could see keeping me locked up is good for me, it’s hard to know when she’ll let me out. She does love Blue, so I suspect the next time the penis sees the light it will be to wear Blue.

Which leads to the second point of her question. Belle really likes big dick. She has a hard time being up front with me about this. It’s sweet, really. I don’t think she wants to hurt my feelings. The size of the penis is something I can do nothing about, of course, so if she admits to me she likes them bigger than me, won’t that be terribly damaging to my ego? Well, yes, but I’m OK with that. Truly.

That’s not to say, of course, that I wouldn’t like a bigger dick. Of course I would. And knowing that I’m not big enough to really get her off does burn. Luckily, I’m not only a physical masochist, I’m a psychic one, too. That is, even though I once told her I didn’t want her to demean me, in actual fact, I totally kink on humiliation. If I’m not big enough, I want her to tell me that. I want her to remind me that it’s only because I’m not bigger that she needs something like Blue in the first place.

Our entire marriage, she’s always gone out of her way to tell me how much she liked the penis. During sex, she would just come out and say it. I never asked or prompted. This is in the context of knowing her first husband had a really big dick and now knowing how well she enjoys Blue. So I have to wonder who she was trying to convince. As I said when introducing Blue, I think what’s closer to the truth is that I’m not too small. But that doesn’t mean I’m just right.

So anyway, she should feel free to own what she really likes and also feel free to use that information to tease me. I like that kind of hurt as much as I like feeling the sting of a flogger against my ass. Also, as I’ve often said, I think the purpose of sex is to get her off. It’s primarily a vehicle for her enjoyment. Therefore, knowing that we’re using something that so well achieves that goal makes me very happy.

Getting back to her original question, no, Blue won’t work while I’m locked up, but I’ve found a potential answer. Vixen makes a lovely dildo compatible with a harness called Maverick. It’s proportions are essentially the same as Blue’s: 7″x2″. I showed it to Belle and she asked if they made anything close to my size. Yes, I told her, they did and we had it. We even have a name for it. Mr. Darcy. We bought it about three years or so ago and, I reminded her, she didn’t much like it. And it was pretty much exactly the same size as me. So we’ll be trying Maverick.

Yee-haw!