Tag: submission

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INMIY, part 2

nuts4belle said:

That is interesting how when “forced” lockup goes from being a fantasy to reality it is no longer appealing. That tends to happen a lot in life and it doesn’t look like chastity is immune. Hope you snap out of it and enjoy yourself soon. It is more fun when it is a cock cage and not a ball and chain.

Perhaps I overstated it. It’s not that it’s unappealing. I’m still on board with the practice and am nowhere near withdrawing my consent. Somewhere in my head, the usual feeling that the device and I are one hasn’t been allowed to set in and rather than feeling I am in my normal state, I feel the opposite. It’s not as appealing to me, but it’s not unappealing. I’m not not enjoying myself. The other morning with Belle was fantastically intense and really fucking hot.

That being said, yes, even your life’s sexual fantasy, if practiced long enough, can become mundane.

Mykey said:

The sleep. It’s a killer. If there is one thing that kills me it’s lack of sleep. The one big downer to denial those sleepless periods.

Agreed. Typically, I’ll not sleep for a few days then, due to exhaustion, sort of collapse into sleep for a day or two. That’s what’s happened this time, too. I’ve slept relatively well the past two nights and was only woken once by the stupid penis at 4:45 each morning.

Randy/Rachel said:

Seems like a you want what you want until you have it situation to me. Enjoy it for the rest of us whose wifes didn’t like the idea one iota.

Hmm. Perhaps. However, after living this for three years and writing about it the whole time, I don’t think I’m the kind of person who “likes what I want until I get it.” It’s far more complicated than that. Also, I expend no effort trying to “enjoy it” for all those reading whose wives are uncooperative in making real their husband’s fantasies. I’m not unsympathetic to those guys, but this isn’t a porn soap opera here. It’s my life.

After Belle read the post, she said she didn’t care much for the title. I can see that. It does have a bit of an accusatory tone that I didn’t intend at all. Sometimes, the title of posts are obvious, other times I struggle with them. That happened yesterday. I wasn’t trying to send a message with it.

She mentioned the idea of a break, but we didn’t really discuss it. Even though I wrote about it, I wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Since I’m not miserable or “in a bad place”, I don’t think I need a break. I would like one, sure, but I don’t need it. She will allow me to have it or not.

Going back to the metaphor of the relationshop stack made up of layers dependent on those below them to operate properly, the D/s layer is near the top. All the stuff I’m feeling is happening in there, not lower down. This isn’t a crisis at all, just a different manifestation of my submission. Therefore, the “solution” can come entirely from within the D/s stack. That means it has to can happen on her terms, not mine.

Meanwhile, I have a doctor’s appointment today and, while I don’t expect it’ll involve any groping or xrays or anything, you never know. Belle’s left me with the key so I can take the device off before I go. I’m working from home until my appointment and am painfully aware that I have at my disposal the means to remove my encumberment and am completely unsupervised. I nearly took it off when I showered this morning but left it on knowing that the soapy, slippery shower is a dangerous place. Now, I’m sitting with my computer and thinking about working on The Portfolio which is really dangerous. I’ll leave it on. I’ve decided I’ll only take it off just before I have to go.

How does this jive with the feelings I described yesterday and above? No idea. I think it means I want to be good even when the lesser angels of my nature are whispering in my ear. In that hotel room, I succumbed to their ministrations. Today, I’m just a bit stronger. At least for the time being.

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It’s not me, it’s you

I’ve been back in the device for just over two weeks straight (not counting the 20-30 minutes I was out on Saturday morning). My last orgasm was about two and a half weeks ago (you know, the unfortunate incident). Normally, at this point, I’d be really worked up, but I’m not for some reason. Also, I’m usually loving the feel of the device and really into it. But…I’m not so much that, either. The device hasn’t slipped into that “part of me” feeling at all. I’m always quite aware that there’s this thing on me no matter where I go and no matter what I do.

I’m not sure why this is. When she put me back in it, I remarked that I felt like now I had to be locked up or I’d jack off and squirt without permission. Before, I was a willing accomplice and, for at least some of the time, wanted to not come more than she didn’t want me to come. But now it’s required. I’m untrustworthy. Somewhere in my head, a screw has made a quarter turn and I’m one of those guys. Yes, of course, it’s all still consensual. But I’m locked up now more because she wants me to be than because I want to be.

Case in point. Last week sometime, I started to think about a break and how nice that would be. A week or two or four of being like everyone else. I could go unencumbered and play with myself whenever the mood struck. Gosh, what if I wanted to come every day? Even when it was just a little dribble into the sink. Wouldn’t that be great?

And now I’m like, what? Yeah, OK, I admit I want to jack off and I’ve love to come, but a break? Aren’t we defined now by this arrangement? Isn’t it a cornerstone of our sex life? Didn’t I give her the penis forever and always? Yes, of course. But still. The idea was appealing. I even almost brought it up. And it wouldn’t be like usual when what I really want is to hear her say no. Had I mentioned it, I would have really wanted it. Had she said no, I would have been disappointed.

But the thing is, this is what I wanted, right? Isn’t this the hottest fantasy of all the chastity wankers? The woman who locks you up even when you want out. Who keeps you from yourself and your pleasure at exactly those times when you really want it. So who am I to complain? And who’s idea is all this anymore? Right now and for the past few weeks, given a choice, I’d want out. I’d want to come. But she’s not letting me. Even though my sleep continues to suffer and I appear somewhat miserable about it, the idea of letting me out has never crossed her lips. She’s liked the idea of me being locked up for a long time now, but what changed is she wants me that way and what I want doesn’t really matter to her.

So here I set. Locked up. Kinda horny. Not really loving it. But exactly as I’m supposed to be.

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By the light of the sun

It’s been bad sleeping the past few nights. I have a hard time getting to sleep (or even feeling sleepy), then have a hard time staying asleep, then have to deal with insistent erections from about 4:00 AM on that wake me up. I have a few tricks to make them go away, but the most efective is to get up and pee. So anyway, crappy sleep. Occupational hazard of the chronically denied.

Belle and I woke up at about the same time this morning as dazzling sunlight poured through our window. The device was, as usual, very tight as the penis within was doing its stupid best to get as long and as hard as it could. I whined to Belle about it. She didn’t seem too impressed, but closed the bedroom door so I could get her off. To me, it felt like a quick, hard fuck. I didn’t linger or draw it out. I got her off as fast as I could. As if the faster she came, the better I’d feel or something. But once it was over, I was in even more misery. The penis was throbbing against it’s confinement.

I whined again. This time, about how I wanted to be inside her. Yes, it was lobbying, but I do that from time to time and it’s seldom successful. But this time, she seemed moved by my predicament and got the key.

“You can go for a ride,” she said, “but you can’t come.”

I frantically fumbled with the key in the lock. The penis had subsided just a bit and I had a very short window of opportunity to get the whole thing off before it responded to its new opportunity.

“Don’t get hard, don’t get hard,” I repeated under my breath.

I got the tube off and the PA fixing out of the way, but was too far gone to get past the ring. I was either going in with it on or would have to wait god knows how long before the hydraulics would allow it to be removed. Time was of the fucking essence. Her pussy was right there, all wet, hot and inviting. Somewhere in our house were children who would soon be demanding our attention. Even the dog was antsy.

Fuck it, I thought. I mounted her and pushed the stiff penis home. It felt, in a word, glorious. The cuff ring is too small to wear absent the tube which helps keep the penis from achieving its full erect girth. When it’s not there, the ring bites even more than usual. In my mind, I could see the penis with its veins all standing out and the head deeply red and swollen from the constriction at its base. It felt weird. Not bad, but different. As if I was fucking with someone else’s cock.

After a few minutes of this, the reptile brain took charge and told me to bite Belle. Of course, that’s not allowed, but I wanted to do it badly. I wanted to totally destroy her with this miraculous wonder boner and chew on her face. It was as if my brain was being doused by a fire hose spraying pure testosterone. All semblances of submissive bunny were swept away.

I growled into her ear, “I just love fucking you,” thrust, “so,” thrust, “much!” THRUST.

As I said, the sun was pouring in and Summer is making a last stand here in the Great North, so I was soon getting sweaty with my effort. I felt my forehead bead over and the sweat lubricate our grinding thighs. I kicked the blanket back and my pumping ass was exposed. Even it was sweaty. I felt like a rutting animal. The only human thought left in my head was DON’T COME.

The ring around the penis was becoming insistent in its biting. I would withdraw completely so just the tip of the head was surrounded by sweet pink pussy, then I’d thrust balls-deep, feeling the pain of the ring, the smooth, wet action along the swollen shaft from the folds of her labia clinging and caressing, the throbbing head going deep inside her, my mouth open on hers.

Holy FUCK! I got really, really close. Really. Imagine a beer commercial where they show the bottle tipping in slow motion and the golden fluid cresting over the edge about to pour into a frosty mug, except substitute the bottle for the penis, the beer for my ejaculate, and the frosty mug for Belle’s hot pussy. Then freeze the shot as the beer has just peeked over the edge. Leave it there for ten to fifteen seconds, then roll the footage backward. That was me, heart pounding, head swirling as she said, “I think that’s it, Thumpy.”

Pause. Think. Grind teeth. Flex the penis in her pussy.

Stop.

“Yes, Belle Fille.” And I withdrew.

The penis looked just like I thought it would. Swollen and purplish, glistening with her lube. The ring deeply embedded in the base of the penis shaft. It stood there and throbbed.

“You can stay out until tonight, but then you’re going back in.”

I pulled up my underwear and took the few bits of the device I could get off into the bathroom for a good cleaning. I scrubbed out the tube and, using cold water, cleaned the penis. It was still 80% hard and the corona of the head was massively sensitive. Chilly water or no, it wasn’t going down. And I knew, were it to be left out all day, I’d be messing with it every chance I got. With lots of work and more cold water, I shoved the genie back into the bottle. The lock closed with difficulty as the penis continued its futile effort, stuffed back into the dark cold tube.

I left the bathroom and put the key on Belle’s nightstand. I went to her in the kitchen and put her hand on my crotch.

“I’m not to be trusted,” I said as I buried my face in her neck.

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Pardon

I made Belle come last night. No, that wasn’t her fourth orgasm since she decided my punishment for willfully ejaculating by myself in a hotel room, it was the first.

I admit that, in those times in which I was feeling especially needy (mostly while in bed with her and naked), I lobbied heavily for the lifting of the punishment, but in other more level-headed times (say, in the middle of the day while fully clothed and across the room from her) I felt guilty for doing so. I do respect the concept of her being able to make me pay for having an orgasm without her permission, but it was playing out kinda how I thought it would. She just didn’t seem interested in giving them to herself, even if I was right there next to her. I knew it, she knew it. So, last night, my fingers and Pink got her off.

And no, I really don’t want to feel like I got away with something, though I do. Perhaps that was the wrong form of punishment. I honestly do hope she comes up with something else.

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Consequences

Three of her orgasms. That’s what I’ve lost due to my willful masturbation last week.

Also, I’ve been informed, I won’t have another orgasm until November. That’s not necessarily as a result of the unauthorized ejaculation. It’s about the rythme she’s put me on recently. There will be two periods of travel between now and November, but both will be with someone else so the solo action described previously won’t be possible. Also, since I’ll be checking luggage on both of these trips, I’ll probably bring the protective device along just to be safe. Had it been with me last week, I wouldn’t have broken the rules.

So, did I break the rules because I’m untrustworthy and incapable of the honor system or was it something else? As regular readers know, I’ve been in similar situations before and not fallen off the wagon. Why was this last trip different? On the one hand, I was very tired and knew I wasn’t likely to sleep well at all had I not relived myself. I really wanted to sleep. I think, in balance, that was the primary motivator behind the infraction. However, as I said, I spent no time at all debating it with myself. There was a moment I distinctly remember where I was contrasting the night I knew I was about to face to the feeling of the PA rocking back and forth and my decision was immediate and without reservation. I don’t know if that means I can’t be trusted anymore. I know I would never try to sneak the device off or defeat it in some way (not that I could), but alone with an unprotected penis? When horny? I don’t know. It feels as though I can’t trust myself anymore, so why should Belle?

And in a way, I like that. The knowledge that I really do need to be locked up and that, had I my druthers, I’d be abusing myself were it not for the steel lock. Being an accomplice to my own denial has required a certain amount of reality suspension. Of course, I still need to be accommodating to the arrangement because my chastity is, at the end of the day, consensual, but now it’s got a different texture. It really is enforced. She says I can’t jack off and come without her permission so there’s a device locked on the penis to make sure I don’t because without it I might.

Is that evolution or devolution? Either way, it’s 16% hotter than before.

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Bits, bobs, etc.

I’m back in, if just for a few days. Belle let me out, as you may recall, a few days before I left on my hiking trip and even let me come (having said previously I’d get to orgasm in August). I was hoping I’d get another chance to get the penis wet before I left, but she came down with a cold and I was trying not to do the same either right before or during my trip, so excessive personal contact was kept to a minimum.

Luckily, she was in the mood (and I was way in the mood) and she let me give her an orgasm with my fingers on Saturday morning. For a second, it seemed like maybe that’s all that was going to happen and she wasn’t going let me have the pre-trip do-over, but in the end she did. I climbed on top and went to town, trying like hell to make it last, but failing as miserably as I usually do when the infrequent pussy time is granted. That orgasm was better than the one I had the week before and it’s left me wanting more, though she’s given no indication of how long it’ll be.

Last night, the steel curtain came back down and she’s secreted away the key. I’m actually pretty fucking horny right now. It was hard to clean the penis and its tube this morning because it wouldn’t get small enough to allow water to freely flow around inside there. I seem to be walking around with a semi-permanent semi. Whenever my thoughts even fleetingly head south or towards something sexual, I can feel it push against the walls of its prison.

Thursday, I head out of town for one night on business. If I’m still this horny then, I doubt I’ll be able to keep my hands off of it unless she very specifically says I’m not allowed or lets me take a device with me on the trip. Since I’ll probably be doing carry-on, it’d have to be the trusty old CB6K which I haven’t worn in well over a year.

In other news, the kids are out of our hair for the next nine days due to some construction in our house and this being the weeks between summer and school when they don’t have any daytime care options. So, up to the cabin they went with the grandparents. We won’t see them again until Labor Day weekend. I’m hoping the lack of company in the house will mean Belle hurts me or ties me up or both. I’d quite like to feel the sting of some hitty device on my ass or back or upper thighs. Maybe with some of the unspeakable nipple clamps in place…and my collar…

Oh look, there goes the penis again.

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Fleshy bits

“You look funny when your fleshy bits are out.”

That’s what Belle said to me a few days ago following her decision that I’d be out of the device and the unencumbered penis flopped around as I climbed into bed. Her reason for letting me be that way had to do with another camping and hiking trip I’m about to set forth on, though I don’t leave until tomorrow and she let me out Tuesday morning. There was a vagueness about whether or not my August orgasm would coincide with this.

The night before that, she had unexpectedly let me give her an orgasm. About midway through, she told me to get on my back and for a second I thought she was going to do something for me, but instead she threw one leg over my face and pressed her pussy down onto my mouth and eager tongue. I reached up and fiddled with her nipples while she grabbed the headboard and gyrated her hips around and lubricated the entire lower half of my face. The penis was straining in its prison as she moaned and groaned while exploring her new-found control over this particular kind of pleasure. It’s a little more natural for her, perhaps, since she used to usually need to be on top while fucking me in order to get off. In any event, she did achieve her orgasm while I laid there like one of those coin operated kiddy rides you used to see outside grocery stores.

The next day, I was out and distracted by the little meaty bit. I admit to playing with it more than I probably should have, but well within reason. I found I couldn’t very well curate The Portfolio while at work and then expect to be able to get up and walk around without demonstrating its affect on me. With the device in place, it always looks the same regardless of what’s going on inside. In any event, it and I were playing our usual game of chance until last night when she told me she would let me rub one out.

I will say right now it sucked. That was no fault of hers as she was more or less just an observer (she was feeling a little under the weather). She hopes that allowing me to come last night will give me the ability to control myself better so as to provide her with a nice ride on the erection tonight (assuming she’s feeling better). While excited for the event and eager to get going, I’m not sure I was in the proper mindset and may have rushed into it. There is a very palpable differnece between jacking off for the purpose of edging versus doing the same with the idea of coming. There was a point when I felt the orgasm building steam and I backed off in order to prolong my enjoyment (as if I wasn’t going to come) but then said fuck it and plowed forward so that when it finally started, there was a definite lack of fireworks. I did come and felt sleep/dopey/tingly from it, but it was hardly the kind of event I would have expected after being denied for two months, in either quality or quantity. I’m feeling more on edge and ready to come again right now than I was last night, so I hope she’ll give me another shot (literally) before I go. I also hope that if she wants to use the penis herself, that I’ll be able to accomodate her desire.

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Smaller boxes

My list of required activities is complete. She has written up those things I am expected to do day in and day out and also a list of one-off projects or activities. I’ve put the reoccurring things on my personal calendar so my phone should help me stay on task. Things like laundry twice a week, dinner twice a week, foot massages, etc., all have been specified in the software to remind me they need to be done. For example, this morning, my phone reminded me I’m supposed to do the laundry but there isn’t any. In exchange for that, she’s having me do the grocery shopping.

As I said, Sunday nights she’ll evaluate my performance and give me some kind of grade. A good job is expected so the only consequences of this review can be negative – rewards will not be given. It appeared to be a tricky question what these punishments should be since I get off on so many things most people would think of as bad. Threat of longer denial of orgasm is unlikely to strike fear in me since I’d be perfectly happy if she denied me forever. Really, there’s only one thing that I want more than anything else and using it as leverage against my service performance seems perfectly obvious once you think of it. I want her. I want to make her come and I want to feel her pussy twitch and spasm in orgasm. I want to taste her and feel her and smell her. Moments after she comes, I start a clock in my head for when I can reasonably approach her for another. So, if my performance is below expectations, she will not just deny my access to her, she will take care of herself without me. I will have to watch as her orgasm flowers into existence and dies away and I won’t be able to leach any pleasure out of it whatsoever. I treat each of her orgasms as a special event to be savored, but if I fail at keeping her happy outside the bedroom, it will be an opportunity totally lost to me. It will truly hurt.

Of course, there are some physical punishments I would fear. Three or four hard and swift strikes from a springy fiberglass cane would probably not be too enjoyable. I ordered one from Stockroom the other day, but for play not punishment. Also, Icy Hot on the nuts is something that is so intense for the time its happening that she’s stopped doing it to me. But, there were a few times when she used it in a corrective capacity and the experience has stuck with me. She even went so far as to make me get the tube out of the drawer in the bathroom and bring it to her for use. Yeah, I’m scared of that shit.

But denial of her orgasm is probably the easiest for her. She’ll decide how many I’ll lose and that will be that.

Some people find this entire course of action silly. Of course, I’m the husband in a modern marriage, so I should do many of the things she’s got on her list anyway. They’re table stakes. How can taking out the trash be made sexy? I’d say several things to that. One, STFU. We can do what we want. Two, you need to know Belle. She’s genetically predisposed to take on too many things. Her mother is worse and I can even see the beginning of these traits in our daughter. She will never ask me to do much of anything and instead stews over the fact that I didn’t take out the trash even if I didn’t because she did it before I got around to it. So, in a real way, this is a strategy to ensure I know what she wants me to do and for her to know I will do it (and, if I don’t, she doesn’t need to stew – she can get even). Finally, as I’ve said before, I’m somewhat selfish. It’s not like I want to take advantage of Belle, but I can get a little lost in my own thoughts and lose track of the things I need to do. She won’t remind me, she’ll just get mad. Again, I now will have real motivation to keep what she wants me to do front and center.

It’s possible, over time, that she’ll make the list a little harder. Right now, it codifies a pretty typical division of labor around the house. Also, in retrospect, she might want to add more subjective items to the list. For example, she picked up on my moodiness and disappointment of the past few days from not being able to have sex with her. I think I’ve done the best possible job I could in keeping that inside, but she could also make it a requirement of my service. No complaints, no bitchiness, no moodiness or any kind of blowback on her for me not getting what I want. She might also decide to ding me for being too pushy or obviously worked up. As a sub, I crave that kind of pushing so I can demonstrate how far I’m willing to go to make her happy. I want to be put in smaller and smaller boxes by her and achieve not only objective tasks that get little check marks next to them when complete, but also to develop mentally and emotionally into a “purer” form of submission. Into a better sub.

I write those last few sentences and I know they could cause someone to object, but it’s what I’m feeling. Maybe there’s a better way to express it. What I’m not trying to do is to have all my resistance to submitting ground out of me. There’s a frisson that’s generated when my submissive side bends to her will despite my more selfish nature’s inclination to do what it wants. That energy is what powers my sexuality now and I convert it to a different kind of pleasure. I want to learn to find that spark of internal conflict in as many places as possible. I’m not sure what I’d be like if I got to a place where my selfish nature wasn’t always bitching about how unfair life is. What I need to do is figure out how to put that in a cage and use its sturm and drang for good and not let it poison me.

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Still hard

The hardest part of living like this, for all you budding chastity/denial aficionados, is not the part where she strokes you, licks you, fucks you and leaves you throbbing hard, dripping, and desperate for more. No, that’s the good part. The hardest part is when she doesn’t let you, for whatever reason, have access to her body.

The situation should be familiar to anyone paying attention. I am locked in the device as often as possible. If it were not for real life getting in the way, it would be essentially permanent. I have no way to stimulate myself and Belle chooses to play the version of this game where she will sometimes touch me everywhere but the penis. She doesn’t see the need to let it out except when life, health, or orgasm require it. What I want more than anything is her. Her tits, her pussy, her everything. I want to ravish her.

So I’m pretty sure the last time she let me get her off was the day I got back from my camping trip, five days ago. On Sunday, we took the kids to summer camp. The oldest will be there until the end of the week, but the youngest gets back tonight. That means we had two nights of kidless living. I had hoped for some quality Belle ‘n Thumper time.

There was a bit of Thumper-centric activity on Sunday night. She put the wicked clamps on my tits and punched me in the nuts. The clamps, which hurt like a motherfucker, felt really good from the second she clipped the on. I was ready. The pain/pleasure conversion motor was humming in high gear. She yanked on the chain connecting the clips a bit which is fucking crazy intense. These things are so nasty that even shifting my position causes them to chew the soft pink nipple meat as they turn with me. It can be so overwhelming that it feels like I’m in a deep, dark cave and the only thing I see is two brilliant white lights burning in the blackness. They usually leave extraordinarily thin cuts on my skin, though so superficial that bleeding is never a question. Leaving marks is cool.

Anyway, yeah, so I have god’s perfect nipple clamps on and she starts hitting me in the nuts. There’s really no pain here, either. At least, by the time the sensation gets to my brain, it’s been transmuted into something else. I craved more than she was giving me, so I got up off my back (where she had told me to lay) so that I was on all fours over half her prone body (and yes, all this movement made the clamps gnaw and chew). I was hoping this would give her a better angle on my nuts, and I wasn’t disappointed. She balled her hand into a little fist and punched my sack, pulled tight by the straining penis in its cage. I reached down and held the tube in my hand to minimize the risk of getting the thin skin at the base of the tube pinched from her assault and to give her blows a more even base to strike against. In my head, I was begging her to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted something that would take my breath away and make me crumple over her like a doll. I wanted to feel it in my guts. But I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t ask her. Something held me back. It could have been a combination of self-preservation and residual guilt for wanting this kind of attention. I don’t know. But I never asked.

When she was done (indicated by her pulling the clips off my tits), she kind of shut down and said, “I hope you can fall asleep,” or something very similar.

I admit, I was profoundly disappointed. I wanted in her pussy. I wanted to eat it up. I wanted to feel her writhe and moan and spasm to my touch. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. I got very still and quiet.

“Thumper, are you OK?”

No. But I said, “Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not important,” I replied because, by rights, it shouldn’t be. I signed up for this. I have this thing on the penis which ensures there is nothing I can do except make her come if I want anything like a release for myself. I didn’t want to ruin an otherwise enjoyable experience by getting all moody, though I was. The best I could do was keep it from affecting her. So I ate it and let her go to sleep.

But I didn’t. I was up until after midnight and then awake at least three times with stifled erections so powerfully contained that I needed to get up and walk them off. It was a crappy night’s sleep. But that’s what I signed up for, too. In the morning, she said she was surprised I hadn’t blogged the night before. Usually, when I can’t sleep and am left feeling funky, that’s what I do, but I specifically held off until now because I wanted better perspective.

Next night, she had a work dinner thing and I had drinks with a friend. I got home about 8:30 and the house was hot but the pool looked inviting so I took a skinny dip. Our backyard is enclosed just enough to leave a bit of risk in this action, so that hit a few of my buttons. Regardless, swimming in the nude is 136% better than swimming with a stupid suit on and the water was glorious. The dusky sky reflected beautifully on the water’s surface.

Belle got home somewhat later and I was hoping that she’d want my attention, but no dice. We watched Niel Patrick Harris (upon whom she has a massive crush) on the Daily Show and she fell asleep with her hand in my crotch – palm on the tube and fingertips on my nuts. It was nice, but ultimately did nothing to give me what I needed. I wanted her fucking snatch but she wasn’t giving it up.

Finally, this morning, I woke up well after she did as usual and, before getting dressed, she sat next to me in bed and again stroked my nuts. It drove me crazy, especially when she got dressed right next to me few minutes later. The kidless window is closed now since our youngest gets home this afternoon.

So anyway, I am trying my hardest not to let this maddening lack of Belle time get me down. I am trying to remind myself that this is part of the deal. That I wanted to be out of the decision making loop regarding sex and to be frustrated and horny and denied and treated arbitrarily and unfairly. I really, really don’t want to put anything back on her because the deal is I have no right to do so. I am not entitled to her and should accept what I get with gratitude.

Yeah, that’s the hardest fucking part. And in case you’re wondering, no, it doesn’t get any easier with time.

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Nurturing the nature

No, this isn’t going to be one of those posts where I relate how difficult it is being the woebegone orgasm starved male. But, it could be and that’s the rub.

Somehow, I’m in a fantastic place at the moment. I’m horny as hell and so totally into Belle and feeling all subbie and service oriented and all the things that leave me with a filled tube and a warm fuzzy. I am painfully desirous of her, to the point where her hands on my balls last night and her stroking of my ass this morning seemed like it should have been enough to cause me to spontaneously combust. I can’t seem to get close enough to her and want every part of my body to be touching every part of hers simultaneously. I have the distinct desire to anoint all my skin with her juices and rub my entire face in her pussy. I have it bad.

But there were times in the past where I was operating under similar conditions and was miserable. It’s possible that a few random balls fell left instead of right in the pachinko game of my emotional state or it’s possible I’m just better at accepting my position and drawing strength from the things that in the past would drive me nuts. Why won’t she let me make her come? I ask that rhetorically because it doesn’t really matter. It’s still driving me mad, but I’m not resentful nor do I feel somehow entitled. Instead, the maddening denial of access to her has kindled an even greater aching craving that does nothing but emit the good kind of frustration and none of the bad. Instead of feeling like I’m missing out by her stubborn refusal I feel like she’s giving me the very thing I want so bad. To feel the need. To want. To see her being arbitrary with me. Perhaps even to deny me only to see me squirm. I am not trying to talk myself out of being happy. I only mean to set upon a pedestal the satisfaction I’m getting from my extreme dissatisfaction.

I asked Belle last night a question that I need to hear the answer to just because I need to hear it.

“Do you like me being locked up?” Sounds kind of pathetic, and I suppose that’s fair, but I like asking it.

“Oh yes, more than anything,” she answered with enthusiasm. That, of course, was exactly the right answer and, even though the tube was properly stuffed already, hearing her say that made it painfully so. Then I asked another question that popped out of my mouth rather unexpectedly.

“Do you think it makes me a better person?”

She paused a long time. From her perspective, answering this could be a problem.

“It’s OK if you do,” I said.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I think it does make you a better person.”

“I want to be better,” I replied, almost whispering, as the psychic dagger of all the emotions and urges and cravings that are my fevered condition twisted in my soul, “A better husband. For you.”

I asked her this morning (not long after she petted my naked ass for a while, so yeah, I was feeling pretty dreamy) why she paused. The reason, she said, was that she didn’t want to imply that I wasn’t a good person already. She’s so sweet. Of course, I know I’m not a bad person. Why would she have married me if I was? But I also know that I’m at heart a selfish one. I am the (perhaps) rare selfish sub. And it bugs me. I honestly do want to be a better, more service-oriented, less needy submissive male. Not only because it makes me feel better, but because it makes her happier, too. I don’t need her to tell me I’m not already good. I do need her to tell me chastity and denial makes me better and to keep me honest when, for whatever reason, I drift off.

I used to think that kink and my sexual perversions were all separate and tidy little chunks sitting next to each other. But that’s not how it works. They’re more like light refracting and reflecting and combining and shifting inside me, sometimes with unexpected results. I feel very keenly now how much I want to be found wanting. I don’t know if I would describe it as a degradation-type kink, but I want to hear that I’m not as good by myself as I am modified in the way being locked up and denied makes me. I want to know that the woman to whom I have given my submission is using it to make me a better creature. I want to feel that by being better in my position that she’s happier and more satisfied both being with me and in her life in general. I have felt this way before and lost it. I don’t want to lose it again.

To that end, I’ve asked Belle if we could institute a new routine for me. I’ve given her a little notebook to write on the first page all the things she expects of me by default. What I need to do all of the time, without being asked or reminded. Then, on subsequent pages, she’d write those things she wants me to do that come up along the way as we live our life. Situational expectations and desires of hers. I’ve also asked that on every Sunday she look at the book and make a note of how I’ve performed over the past week. Whether there are punishments or rewards is entirely up to her. I want to get to a place where my reward will be hearing her tell me I did a good job. I’d love to be punished, for sure, but setting up a system of carrots and sticks is tricky with someone like me. I might end up doing a bad job specifically so I’d get the stick.

The danger in all of this is taking a “set it and forget it” kind of approach. I think the majority of people tend to let their relationships go down that path and find themselves dissatisfied sooner or later. I, being all complicated n’ stuff, need a little more attention with regard to maintaining a proper frame of mind and emotional state. I am so thankful that I’m partnered with a woman who is willing to deal with that. The well-being of our dynamic is constantly moving so our approach to keeping it within a satisfying range of operation is something we both need to be mindful about, not just her.

Anyway, I’m rambling now. Bottom line, I’m happy, she seems happy, I want us to stay that way. After almost three years, we might just be figuring out the care and feeding of the submissive male. At least my particular subspecies, anyway.