Tag: submission

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Token

“I kinda like watching you squirm. When you’re like this.”

Belle said that to me last night as we were laying in bed and I was looking up at her, imploring her to allow me to share in her orgasm. It was a no-go, but she let me dangle just long enough for me to get really squirrelly.

“Whimper,” I replied.

A little while later, after I had internalized the hormones from earlier, I thought about how I’d like to work myself over with the Njoy pur (and whatever else struck my fancy). But, as I’ve mentioned before, Belle doesn’t let me do anything sexual with my body without her permission. No ass play, no self-administered nipple torture, no solo activities of any kind (other than the consumption of porn). I have to ask first.

“So, how’s this work?” I asked. “If I want to play around by myself. Do you give me permission in advance…?” I trailed off.

“Sure. You don’t have to run off and do it as soon as I say yes. You can do it whenever you want.”

Which is a relief. The only thing more embarrassing that having to ask your wife if you can masturbate (even with a locked cock) is having to then scamper off and lock yourself in the bathroom…where she knows what you’re doing.

“So will I have blanket permission for a certain period…or what?” It seemed to me that it made sense to let me have permission to take advantage of whatever private moment I could find, but how would she know when I was done? Seemed like I could find a way to abuse that arrangement.

“We need a token,” I said. “Something physical that I have to get from you that allows me to play with myself that I can give back when I’m done or that you can take back when you want to.”

“Like the little reward tokens at daycare?” she joked.

“Pretty much exactly like that, yes.” I said. “Can I have the token now?”

“What token? We don’t have one.”

“I don’t know. Can’t we have a virtual token or something for the time being?”

“OK, sure. You can have it. We need to pick something.”

“Agreed. Thank you, Belle Fille.”

Then she more or less fell asleep. I almost drifted off, but, as usual, my buzzing sexual background radiation woke me back up. I was laying there, spooning into her, wide awake. And still in my pajamas. She had forgotten to give me permission to take them off. Damn.

I rolled over and read porn. Lots and lots. Kristen again, but also Nifty. Nifty is mostly gay stuff and I’m finding recently that my pendulum is swinging back in that direction. As I peruse the Tumblr porn tsunami, I tend to linger on the gratuitous cock shots. I don’t have any particular urge to do anything with them when I see them, but not having a hard cock of my own to appreciate, I’m draw to these others instead. Fat ones, fatter ones, soft(ish) ones, hard ones, smooth ones, hairy ones, flying ones, big ones, really big ones – all kinds. I’m a little obsessed. I stare at them, slack-jawed. Sometimes, when I get like this and I’m all locked up and can’t see a real live hard cock for myself, I feel kinda like a third sex. I don’t have what they have. Instead, I have this hard shiny thing that gets really uncomfortably tight from time to time.

Anyway, I’d read some porn, then roll over to try to sleep. But my brain would keep working and I’d be drawn back to the iPad to read just one more story. Well, that one wasn’t all that good. Maybe just one more. Fuck the device is tight. This is killing my nuts. OK, time to sleep. *sigh* I’m not tired. Damn, iPad’s back on again. And so on. I eventually did drift off about 2:30 or so only to be woken by a late-summer thunderstorm. Belle woke up, too, so I spooned back into her again, just as I had done hours earlier.

“You can take off your clothes, Thumper,” she said  sleepily as she rolled over.

“Thank you, Belle Fille.”

And then I slept.

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Extend and revise

Even though I spent a lot of time writing yesterday’s post (well, relatively a lot of time – truth is I’m usually just kinda banging them out), I’m not sure I adequately captured the point I wanted to make.

Yes, I am much better recently at coping with the fact that Belle’s totally in control of sex. No, that does not mean I’m not still trying to get down her pants whenever she lets me get away with it. I said something about giving up my right to sex and that’s not entirely right. I still expect we’ll have sex, but that’s because she’ll want it, not me. What I’ve given up is any right to being a party to deciding if and when it’ll happen. I might come on to her and try to get her interested, but it’s entirely her decision. She has the right to shut me down whenever she wants and I have the right to deal with it.

The thing I especially want her to try to get over is worrying about disappointing me. It kills me to think she’ll feel guilty. Even if she says we’ll have sex at some point and she decides she’s really not in the mood when the time comes, that’s OK. My disappointment is an unavoidable side effect of the dynamic. This will be hard for her, I know, but I’m being really and truly genuine.

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Evolution

The hardest thing to deal with regarding this whole enforced chastity thing (at least the way we play it) isn’t being physically locked or not coming for weeks and months or anything like that. The hardest thing to deal with, for me, has been really and truly accepting that she has control over my sex. All the time, no matter what. I’ve struggled with that over the nearly two years (seriously? has it been two years already?) since I gave her the cock, sometimes more successfully than others. Lately, though, I feel like my ability to deal with this reality has improved.

Fundamentally, I’m a fairly self-centered and selfish person. Not to a fault, but my default POV regarding any situation is usually to ask how it can be made to benefit me. I am, to put it bluntly, spoiled. It may be partly the effect of being an only child, but I don’t thing it’s that simple. In any event, top that with a healthy frosting of control-freak tendencies and mild obsessive-compulsiveness and you end up with a person who has to try very hard to see when he’s being selfish.

But that’s what I have always been with regard to sex. Even before Belle, but especially after chastity entered our lives. Before, if I was in need, I could take the situation in hand and resolve it (and resent her for not being a part of it). Now, that’s simply not possible. She’s the sole focus of my sex drive. On occasion, all that pent up energy has led me to become too pushy. Too much focused on my urges and not enough on hers. So much so that I’ve forgotten our deal. The deal I proposed and wanted.

At the end of my last lock-up, there was a period in which we had no sex. Maybe 10 days or so. I really wanted it, but she never responded to my advances and made none of her own. I don’t know what the deal was, but anyone in a relationship knows this happens from time to time. In the past, something like that would have seen me building up pressure like a propane tank with a faulty safety valve. Eventually, there would have been words and hurt feelings and all kinds of nastiness. But not this time. All I needed to know was that she hadn’t forgotten me. That she knew I was still there and still dealing with the consequences of what I had given her. That was all. Somehow, that was enough to help me deal. Oh yeah, I still wanted to feel her hot wet pussy and eat her all up, but the feeling was in stasis. Waiting for her to need it.

This is a big deal. Somehow, all the months of denial – from ejaculation and access to my own body – have made me lose the feeling of being owed sex by her. As if it was an entitlement. It is not mine anymore. I have willingly given up my right to it. And I know it. I can feel it.

Frankly, the thought that I’d someday be in this place scared me. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought truly submitting my sexuality to hers would mean I’d lose mine. That by not acting on my urges or by insufficiently acknowledging them, they’d go away. Or something. I don’t know. What I do know is that submitting (or “surrendering” as the cool kids are calling it 😉 ) is really hard.

This doesn’t mean I’m still not horny as hell. I am. I’m all kinds of horny. But I’m not going to pressure her no matter how bad it gets. I will still struggle from time to time, but I know that this is how things are supposed to be between us. I feel like I’ve reached a high ground and, when things get bad, I’ll only need to find it again and not wonder if it exists at all.

The thing I really want Belle to know with regard to this is that she should never feel guilty. Not even a little. When she feels that way she tends to close up, get quiet, and let it fester and then it blows all out of proportion. I want her to know she can manage our sex lives in any way she wants. That I really want her feel the freedom to do or not do anything. I will be OK.

And if I’m ever acting like I’m not OK, please remind me of this post and tell me I’m just being a spoiled brat.

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Unchaperoned

Belle and I were apart for the first few days of last week. She was at home and I was in the north woods compound hanging with the family and enjoying the few remaining summer-like days we in the higher latitudes have left before hellish winter descends out of Canada.

Not long after leaving home, I started to feel a twinge in the tube. I knew immediately what it was since I’ve felt it before. The corona of the glans will, from time to time, become irritated and inflamed. I have no idea what causes this, but it usually means I need to come out of the device while things sort themselves out.

This time, though, I was on my own. Belle was 250 miles away. It was just me and my emergency key. I tried extra flushes of warm soapy water thinking it was maybe a hygiene issue and was able to tough it out the first night, but by midday the next, I couldn’t take it anymore. I popped the lock on the emergency key and used it as intended. I admit there was a moment when I worried she had perhaps mixed up the keys between the two locks, but the little brass mechanism turned and slid free of the two steel parts. Shortly afterward, so did I.

And, just as I thought, the corona was not happy. Angry red splotches covered the left edge where the PA fixing made contact with the skin. Slightly less angry-looking marks ran across the top. Very unsexy and very sensitive. All that day I could feel the affected skin move across the fabric of my underwear. Not painful. More like extreme over stimulation.

So yeah, I was out. When Belle called, I told her the situation. She didn’t say much other than she hoped I felt better (or something like that). I had been in for over six weeks with only about 15 minutes of out time and, as usual, everything felt weird. When I went to bed, I put lotion on the complaining area and was annoyed I had to wear underwear since the free and flopping meat coming in contact with the sheets was unacceptably distracting.

Of course, I was very much aware that I was alone and unchaperoned with a very needy cock (damaged though it was). I said to myself I wouldn’t play with it when I took the device off, but there it was like a snake describing all the positive attributes of the fruit I wasn’t allowed to eat. I’m weak, it goes without saying. I admit I failed. I had to reposition my grip to avoid the damaged part, but was able to wank the serpent. I didn’t come, but was surprised at the how quickly and in what volume I was leaking.

My sleep could be described as fitful at best. It seemed like it was hard all night. I woke up several times rubbing it through my underwear or with the underwear pushed down below my balls, fisting the stiff meat. I was awake, but also not. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t. That I was breaking rules. But honestly, I couldn’t stop myself. I have a great deal of respect for the guys who can go indefinitely sans device. That ain’t me.

By about 24 hours later, the redness was a bit better, but the pain was totally gone. In the light of the day, my subbie bunny reasserted itself and, pain or no pain, decided the cock needed to go back in the tube. I left the PA fixing out, though. Honestly, I don’t need the fixing. Playing with the merchandise unlocked is one thing, but I could never defeat the device and cheat with it on my body. That’s a line I won’t cross, even though the Steelheart is easily escaped. In any event, not being sure I had had enough recovery time, I thought it best to remove possible irritation points inside. Worse case, I figured, if the discomfort came back, I’d take it off again.

But the discomforted didn’t come back. Not at all. The 24 hours out was all I needed, apparently. Belle, expecting me out, was happy to see me back in when she showed up. I told her I had been bad and she verbally chastised me for being weak, but gave me points for proactively reasserting her control.

Saturday rolled around and I was heading home, but Belle wasn’t. I’d have another night and most of a day by myself. I removed the tube in order to make a visual inspection and saw that everything was back to normal. The cock was its pale, hairless mole rat self without any marks. I put the PA fixing back in and left the key where Belle would find it.

Everything is back the way it belongs.

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Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

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A sub is a sub is a sub

Mykey said, in regard to Sarah Jameson’s new book and my little review of it:

What’s more I find her somewhat lacking in self knowledge. Her claim not to be a domme? She likes being in charge of many aspects of their life including their sex life. She is in most peoples vernacular a domme, albeit not a full blown control everything one. Her husband is submissive. Maybe not in all areas or even most but handing over power to your cock and sex life is an inherently submissive act. Regardless of how macho he is elsewhere in his life in that respect he is in most peoples definition submissive. Her dislike of the image of sub and Dom in her mind blinds her badly and that comes across in her writing.

And I agree with him, to a point. I also think that Sarah and John are in a D/s relationship and her steadfast refusal to acknowledge that is based on her particular definition of “male submissive” which is, in turn, based on her apparently limited exposure to all the various types out there. Mind you, I also have limited experience. I’ve just been into this stuff for about the past two years and have only met, in person, a few people like myself. My entire worldview on the subject is based on the internet and personal communication via email and the like.

That said, I think Sarah and I have a similar point of view with regard to what’s “good” male submission versus what’s “bad” (all the usual disclaimers about not judging others and only wanting consenting adults to find happiness apply – if what your’e doing floats your boat, screw what I think). To me, there is no value in submission if it’s being given by someone who feels they’re inferior to their partner. It’s only because I am not inferior to Belle that subjugating my sexual expression to her is sexy. The same thing could be said, I’m sure, for Sarah and John. She describes him as “strong, assertive, confident” etc., and she has no attraction to the he-slime-not-worthy type. Me either. How different, really, is what I’ve given to Belle when compared to what John’s given Sarah?

In her newsletter from today, Sarah said this in response to what I said yesterday:

I’d also say we might have different definitions or models of what we see submission as actually being. My control of John is strictly confined to the bedroom.

Does that make him submissive, sexually submissive, or sexually surrendering?

I’d say the last of these, especially as when we make love he’s as aggressive and lead-taking as ever, unless I’ve taken it into my head to be. The only difference is he doesn’t orgasm – EVER – unless and until I say he can. He’s not forever asking me if he can do “this” or “that”. He’s just like he always was, but sans orgasm.

That sounds a lot like what Belle and I have. Yes, we’ve played around with taking it to a higher level, but we seem to have settle not much further along than Sarah and John. Belle gets to boss me around a bit more than Sarah does with John and she controls when I’m sexually agressive, but not that I am. Otherwise I’d say we’re 87% the same.

I find it interesting that she makes a distinction between “sexually submissive” and “sexually surrendering”. To me, that sounds like semantics. They’re the same. Later on, she says, “It’s just that I don’t find submissive men attractive sexually. And that’s about all we can say about it, really.” I think she doesn’t find the idea of a sexually submissive man attractive. In fact, she finds John plenty hot. If a thing runs like a horse, sounds like a horse, and in all other ways resembles a horse, it’s probably not a zebra.

She finishes up by saying:

I suppose it all comes down to labels and they’re never very useful when you try to examine a continuum. We can see the extremes easily enough, but at which point does one become the other?

I agree! My only wish would be for her to stop using one big label – “submissive men” – to describe one subset of that group.

Lastly, I want to say this disagreement I have with Sarah doesn’t mean I still don’t wholeheartedly recommend her book (and blog and newsletter). I have lots of friends with whom I share significant disagreements (mostly political) but I’m still able to appreciate the rest of them. We may never see eye-to-eye on what constitutes submission, but the fact remains that she’s produced one of the best resources available on the subject of male chastity.

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The one without a title

I asked Belle last night if she only keeps me locked up because she thinks I want it. For instance, if I said I really didn’t care one way or the other about the chastity thing, would she still keep me in the device? Or what if I said I’d really rather not be in the device, but was leaving up to her if we’d still use it, would she leave me in?

Yes, she would leave me in. She likes me in it and has no intention, apparently, of it not being an integral part of our relationship. That made me feel good, not just because I also like it, but because the suggestion here recently that I’m inadvertently (or not) dominating her through my kinks has been bothering me.

To recap, I seem to have three main kinks:

  1. Masochism
  2. Bondage
  3. Sexual submissiveness

Belle, it should be noted, does not have the opposite of any of these. She’s not a sadist and she’s not interested in being anyone’s domme. I’m quite sure none of these things were ever on her radar prior to my bringing them up.

Note that “enforced male chastity” is not on my list of kinks. I left it off because I think it’s an expression, to one degree or another, of the other three. I don’t think of it as a kink in an of itself. When Belle places me in chastity, there’s a moderate amount of both physical and mental suffering which feeds my masochism. I’m denied access to parts of my body which feeds my desire for bondage. Finally, control over my orgasm (or even my ability to self-gratify) fits neatly into my submissive tendencies.

So, you can imagine how happy I am to hear that she’s also really into keeping me locked up because it’s where my kinks intersect with her interests. It’s our unexpected common ground and she’s there because she wants to be. In fact, I probably couldn’t talk her out of being there if I wanted to (short of opting out entirely from the arrangement, something she knows I don’t want to do).

Of course, I still really want to be tied up and bound on occasion, I’m still pretty much a pain slut, and I love to feel like she’s in total control of our sexual relationship. Any desires I have beyond the chastity to indulge these passions fall outside her normal operating zone. Going there for her is sometimes uncomfortable and threatening.

I admit there is within me a conflict when it comes to asking for special attention to my kinks when I’m supposed to be the sub. Subs aren’t supposed to ask for things. They’re only supposed to gratefully accept what their dominant partner gives them. But what about when their partner isn’t dominant? It’s because of this internal struggle that any charge that I’m topping from below causes me to immediately assume a defensive position. I do the very best I can never to do this. In fact, not wanting to be too prescriptive is what caused me to suggest to her to reach out to the readers here for advice.

Asking her to follow me into the darker recesses of my sexuality has caused me a great deal of guilt and embarrassment. If you don’t understand that, then you’re probably one of those people who embraced your kinks from a young age and have never had to reveal them to an otherwise vanilla partner. Good for you. However, that’s not me. I thought I was more or less over those feelings, but I have to admit that I’ve been feeling them again lately. “Topping from below” to me means “asking them to do something they don’t want to do” which, in turn, immediately throws my weirdness into sharp relief. Hence the guilt, shame, etc.

No, I do not think I’m weird. I know now that everyone is weird, to one degree or another. I’m not even sure the word “kink” means anything anymore. But our societal conditioning runs deep. And I know Belle. And I feel bad asking her to indulge me. And I feel worse when she tries and fails. And I feel even worse when it’s suggested I’m being unfair to her.

I have no idea where I’m going with this. I should probably just stop. The fact remains that our relationship is strong and we continue to learn and evolve together. I can’t ask for much more than that.

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Bottom topper

The other day, I asked for suggestions as to how Belle could approach her freaky-deaky husband as a woman who did not share or otherwise “get” where he was coming from with regard to his freaky and/or deaky proclivities. I did this for Belle and with her understanding because I prefer to think of this blog as a two-way street where I can dump info but also pick it back up from others.

As I said in that post, the deal was she had tried to do a little sumthin’ for me even though she was tired and probably should have just gone to sleep. I didn’t enjoy it and she figured that out and then we were left with the stale smoke of confusion and hurt feelings hanging over the bed all night.

The prevailing thought of those who left comments seems to be that I, as the submissive side of the couple, was topping from below by 1) saying that I wasn’t enjoying what she was doing, and 2) suggesting that she needed to enhance her repertoire of Thumper-centric activities. I honestly don’t understand that POV.

Let’s assume that I, not really being in the mood for nipple clipping and ball smacking, hadn’t made my discomfort known. Then, let’s assume she escalated the activity to include even more intense play, all the while I was suffering and really not enjoying myself. Then let’s say I was forced to use my safeword. Is that topping from below? Can calling an end to a scene that’s not going well for me seriously be considered the most egregious thing a sub can do?

This kind of thing has happened before.

I understand the position I’m in as the submissive. I get that I’ve ceded control over what happens to her. I like that. But surely I haven’t abdicated all responsibility for giving my partner feedback as to what things I like and what things I don’t. I do intuitively understand the difference between those things that are uncomfortable, painful, and push my boundaries but are still on the right side of a healthy dynamic versus those that aren’t. Is anyone suggesting I should just take it all, no matter how it feels to me?

The other night was just a bad idea. She wasn’t all that much invested in the scene. To me, it felt like she was just going though the motions because she was obliged to do so. That turned me off and made it impossible for me to enjoy it. I know it’s complicated and I know that to Belle this could be perceived as mixed signals. I don’t know what to do about that. I can only say how I feel and trust that we’ll figure it out (as we have in the past).

I’m not writing this post to drop the smack-down on my readers who left their opinions. I want those opinions, even if I don’t agree with them or understand where they’re coming from, because it’s only through this kind of dialog that I can form my own.

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Q for you

Yesterday at Target we got this super cheap back massage thing. It looks like an iMac from back when they were still fruit colored. Anyway, I mention it only because I used it on Belle’s back last night and it made me wonder how many people buy these cheap things and then use them in “off-label” ways, if you know what I mean.

After Belle’s massage, she was pretty loose and sleepy. I knew it and so did she. That didn’t stop her from attempting a little Thumper-centric action, though. It was really very thoughtful, but I’m a pretty good read of her condition and knew she didn’t have in her the energy I was going to need. She brought out the little chrome clothespins and stuck them on my nipples. They hurt. And not really in a very good way. My hands were clenched and my arms were drawn up over me (and my nipples were hurting) as she proceded to slap my nuts around. At another time, in another context, all this would have been good, but it wasn’t the right time. I wasn’t feeling it. I wanted attention. Something strategic, not tactical. It was like, “OK, I’m going to clip your nips and then knock your nuts around a little because I know you like that but then I’m going to sleep.” Sometimes a boy wants to be romanced a little before he’s slapped around.

She could tell it wasn’t going well (which was it, the balled up fists or the crossed arms?) and we had a small talk. She immediately felt vulnerable and inadequate while I tried to be supportive through my disappointment. The issues we were having (the ones always bopping along just under the surface) are multifold.

  • First, my sex – that is, sex for me from her – is complicated. It requires thought. It requires effort. It’s not something you can just roll over and do unless you’re practiced. There are props involved much of the time. If you’re sleepy and don’t really want to move much, you shouldn’t think you’re going to have meaningful sex with me. She was too tired last night (and most nights) to expend the resources necessary to really get me off. Plus, she’s not a real fan of stuff in the bed while I’m fairly dependent on it.
  • Two, since she doesn’t ultimately understand why I get off by being bound and hurt, she has a hard time finding the right motivation from which to act. She just can’t grok my POV. Everything she does is kind of trial and error. A good example is how, when she flogs me, she’ll sometimes go right into hitting me really hard. That’s no good because I like to get a bit of a buzz going before she moves in with the heavy stuff. But how would she know unless I told her (which I have)?
  • Three, she doesn’t have support. She has no friends with which to talk and she doesn’t read any of the books or view any of the websites. Everything she does she has to figure out for herself. See point number two for the obvious issues with that. I can give her ideas, but it’d be nice to see her riffing on her own. That’s pretty hard when the only reason you’re doing it is because your freaky husband wants you to.

I’m not ragging on her. Not on purpose, anyway. She knows this stuff. We’ve talked about it. She was way more weirded out by everything than I was. But what to do?

I suggested she come here and ask the readers for suggestions. What could she, a relative newbie and essentially vanilla woman, do to her perverted, masochistic, submissive, locked-in-chastity husband that would make him happy and not freak her out? She demurred. I don’t know why, but she’s never shown a lot of interest in writing for the blog. So, I said, what if I do it? What if I ask the question? She as fine with that.

So I did.

Posted on

Little words

I stand next to her bed and pause a moment before getting in. I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t expect. It’s a privilege.

In the light of candles, I can see her look up and nod. I have permission to undress. I remove my bedclothes and lay them over the footboard neatly.

As I ease my almost naked body into her bed, she says, “You look good locked up.”

I gently grind the steel tube attached onto my body into her thigh. I can barely help myself. I’m so glad she likes how I look. I’m so glad she likes how I look wearing the chastity device.

—

I wake as I do every morning at about 5:15 AM, steel ring biting into my straining morning wood. I spoon into her as she sleeps next to me. This morning, the extra steel rod inside the tube that goes through the ring that’s been pierced through the head of her cock that keeps it permanently and securely trapped is pinching me more severally than usual. It happens sometimes. A fold of skin ends up where it usually doesn’t. I’ll have to check that later. Maybe even ask that we remove the extra security for a few days.

In any event, I’m not going back to sleep and, while I want to touch her badly, I also don’t want to wake her this early. She’d be very unhappy about that.

I get up and take a long leak which deflates the hard meat pressed into the tube. Then I attend to a few things and make her coffee for when she wakes up. I can still feel an odd pinching in the tube.

Later, when she’s awake, I’m back in bed with her, arms and legs wrapped around her warm, still sleepy body. I want her so bad. I want to devour her. It’s been so long. A little whimper escapes me.

“It’s good for you to suffer, Thumper,” she volunteers.

Whimper. “It’s so hard,” I reply.

“I know,” she says, “I appreciate how hard it is.” Her hand plays idly with the hair on my forehead. I whimper again. Her little words cause me to burn inside. Cruel, beautiful words.

Pinch.