Tag: submission

Posted on

Zoning

I am, right now, this second, totally in the zone. I’m feeling controlled, horny, and submissive. Belle asked me why and I told her I had no idea. After some thinking it over, I actually have a few thoughts…

  • I haven’t had a real orgasm in five weeks. I know, I had a kind of a thing a couple of weeks ago, but I’m not counting that. There was an emission, but no orgasm. An actual toe curling pleasure squirt has not come out of me since January (though the last time she allowed me to come was on Valentine’s Day). It may not be en vougue to admit it, but being denied and encased can contribute to my subbie vibe.
  • Belle’s exerting her control pretty well right now. Bossing me around, expecting me to serve and obey, etc. She just got her period which means she’s really not feeling like being pawed all over, but last night I was pretty much begging her to be let out so I could play with the cock and she told me no. She did say, though, that if I managed to finish all the laundry today she’d let me out for a little edging tonight. It feels good to be managed. Powerless.
  • Belle’s totally on board with the 100 days thing. She won’t give me permission to come until a hundred days from the 1st of March. I was already a few weeks into being denied when she picked that date as the start of the 100 days, so technically it’ll be more than that when, on June 8th, I’ll have permission. We’ll see if I can make it that long. In any event, the challenge is invigorating.
  • All that, plus she obviously enjoys leaving me in the device continuously. She strokes its surface and comments how smooth it is, tells me how sexy and sleek it looks – better than what it contains. And she’s not just saying that for my benefit. She means it. I am now essentially a permanently chastised man, only let out when she wants to use me, and that’s fucking awesome.

*happy*

Posted on

HNThumper XIV

Underwear is a tricky thing. If you’re trying to hide the odd bulge in your crotch because the pants you’re wearing are especially “showy”, then I’ve found tight briefs to be the best bet. However, I’ve also found that the better a pair of underwear hide the device, the more uncomfortable they are. Holding the device down between your legs, squashing the balls into the tube, etc., can leave you feeling rather abused by the end of the day.

If you’re looking for maximum comfort, then I’ve found a simple string thong to be best. The pouch supports your package just enough but doesn’t push it around. Of course, the trade off is that it does nearly nothing to hide the device (it’s almost like going commando, which I’m not a big fan of in chastity), but the difference in comfort is noticeable at the end of the day.

This discussion, of course, is all a flimsy artifice to give me an excuse to post a picture of me in my underwear. Click the jump for the moderately NSFW image (and then click again for a slightly more risque reveal).

Continue reading “HNThumper XIV”

Posted on

Random updates

My blogging performance has been substandard of late, so here’s a few random nuggets of information to get my wheels turning again…

—

I got the replacement lock to the Steelheart yesterday. This time, I noticed that Dietmar rounded the sharp brass edges before he sent it. Not sure if this is a change he made based on my review (or comments like it) or if the first one I got was an anomaly, but I was pleased to see the change. I’m also pleased now to be wearing a lock with two keys! Belle changed it out last night.

—

During the week she let me out of the device, there was a morning where my sexual appetite combined with the free erection caused me to snuggle aggressively into Belle. She, wanting to sleep a bit more, kinda rolled over and placed her hand directly onto the hard cock. And then fell back to sleep. Her breathing was deep and regular while mine was more shallow and quick while, for a relatively long time (like, twenty minutes), her hand just sat there and the cock underneath would soften slightly then harden again, over and over. I’d flex it just a little to get more stimulation, but I was afraid if I did it too much her hand would have rolled off of she would have turned over or something. It was torture. But, you know, I’m not complaining.

—

Belle had told me she was going to lock me back up on a Sunday, but the Sunday rolled around and nothing happened. Then, she said it would be Monday, but similarly, Monday night saw no locking. It’s not that I was anxious to be locked back up (after about a week, I like the freedom), but her laissez-faire attitude left me feeling a little anxious. When she doesn’t act decisive in her control – when she appears to not take it seriously – it tends to make me feel more insecure and unhappy. I know this is more my issue than hers, but I can’t control how I feel. I shared with her this observation and she had me in the device the next morning.

—

She fucked me just once during my time out and it resulted in an unauthorized emission. I’m not calling it an orgasm because I fought it really hard and clamped down when it started and basically ruined the whole thing (based on the fact that it didn’t feel like an orgasm afterward). I made it right up to the end when she was coming and I thought I was home free. Letting my attention wander for just a split second let it happen.

In any event, I was yet again disappointed in myself for not being able to better control my autonomic functions. The night before, she had said she was going to make me wait a hundred days for my next orgasm and there I was 24 hours later having a barely-controlled squirt that was about as close to an orgasm as a guy can get without actually going over the falls. This led us, more than a week later, to talk about our differing feelings about these events. On the one hand, she just wants to fuck her cock. It’s what she wants and she doesn’t really care what happens as a result of her getting it. I understand that and respect it. On the other hand, I’m not supposed to come and when I do (or get as dangerously close as I did that night), she doesn’t seem to care. There’s next to no consequences and most of the time she doesn’t even say that much about it. Just like not seeming to care when I’m locked up, not seeming to care one way or the other if I come makes me feel like I take this more seriously than she does. This is a difficult place for my inner submissive rabbit to occupy.

I’m not sure we have a solution, but at least we’re talking about it. I feel just as bad suggesting she shouldn’t get her cock when she wants it. I don’t want to deny her anything, let alone the thing I gave her to do with what she wants. Maybe it’s a question of defining consequences so when I fail to control myself, I still feel dominated as opposed to sneaking in a freebee.

I guess the bottom like is I need to feel like she wants to dominate me at least as much as I want to me dominated. This hardly makes me unique. I’m not questioning that she enjoys our dynamic. In fact, she told me the other night she never wants to go back to the way things used to be. Either I need to be in a place where I more consistently accept the way she approaches her end of the deal or she needs to make a few tweaks around the edges (or maybe a little of both).

Posted on

Double punishment

It’s late. I should be asleep.

Last night, I forgot to make Belle’s coffee so this morning she had to wait for it. I got up as soon as she told me, but still, she didn’t get her first cup until after her shower. Tonight, she told me I would be punished.

After the kids were down and out, she told me to take my clothes off like she does every night. I got up, stripped, and started to get back in when she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Then, she showed me the tube of Icy Hot. I immediately started to whimper and whine. I told her how sorry I was for forgetting the coffee, that tomorrow’s was already set up, that I wouldn’t forget again. Didn’t matter. She already had a dollop of white paste on her fingertips.

I knelt on the bed and she reached under me. I felt her smear the greasy, cold liniment across my scrotum, stretched firm by the stainless steel chastity device. She laid back and opened her arms, inviting me in. I placed my head against her chest, still waiting for the first blast of heat. Once it hit, setting my balls on fire, I started to pull away but she held me close to her, face smothered in her breasts. I moaned, panted, and writhed the best I could, but she held me tight. One wave of fire would subside to be replaced by another, each time she held me firm and unable to move. Eventually, the waves of pain started to recede more quickly and crest a little lower each time, though the effects of the Icy Hot continued to linger.

She let me go, and I got back on my knees, legs spread, face to the mattress, letting my tender balls hang in the cool air. I cradled them and probed them with my fingers. Poor little things. It wasn’t their fault I forgot to make the coffee.

“Where’s Pink?” she asked.

“In my drawer,” I said, “but I’m afraid to use it on you. I have Icy Hot on my hands…”

“Get her out.”

I reached into my drawer and handled the little pink vibe as lightly as possible. “Give it to me,” she said, holding out her right hand. She had used her left to apply the Icy Hot.

The vibe disappeared with her hand under the covers and I heard the low thrum of the vibe’s motor kick in. I moaned some more. It had been days since Belle allowed me to pleasure her and I felt the need badly, especially after my punishment. I put my mouth on her shirt over her nipple.

“Did you ask?” she said sharply.

I retreated, still on my knees, sore sack suspended, and pressed my ear against her so I could hear the vibe better. The sound of its thrumming rose and fell as it slid it in an out of her. I could see it in my mind, wet with her juices, parting her full, pink labia, pressing against her clit. I wanted to feel it myself so badly, to press my mouth against her, to lick her soft folds.

“Please, can I do something?” I asked. She said nothing. Her head was back, jaw sharply defined in the candlelight, lips parted. She ignored me.

The rise and fall of the vibe’s motor increased its rhythm and Belle’s hips started to gyrate next to me. I closed my eyes and imagined how it would all feel under my hand, vibrations running up my wet fingers, her nipples hard in my mouth. The stainless tube was now filled and the tightness of the meat caused the Icy Hot to flare back to life. My crotch was on fire as she came quietly.

After a few moments of basking, she wordlessly handed me the warm vibrator. I replaced it in my drawer and she turned over, already half asleep.

And that’s why I’m here now, writing it all down for you.

Posted on

New approach

The nice thing about having a blog people actually read is all the helpful comments (in addition to the comments with helpful intentions).

In response to The 10/100 plan, Maymay (who uses nice big words like “homeostatic“) suggested that perhaps we should be focusing on stimulation rather than orgasm as a way of fighting off a drop in my libido.

…I’d rather try conditioning towards edging, not orgasming: cut the denial time in, say, fifths, but make those 10 orgasms into 10 almost-orgasms instead, spread evenly throughout the 100 days. So for example, have an orgasm or two on Day 0, then edge (but don’t orgasm) on day 20 two times. Edge twice again on Day 40, again on Day 60, and two last times on Day 80. Then enjoy an orgasm on Day 100.

Actually, that makes a hell of a lot of sense. Several things have changed since Belle first took control of the cock, but one of the most important is that she leaves it locked nearly all the time now. It comes out when she wants to use it for her pleasure, but then puts it back in immediately afterward. This leaves me with few opportunities to be directly stimulated since she orgasms far more often from my hands and mouth than she does from the cock. As I mentioned previously, the cock will often not even rise to the occasion during these events since it’s been trained that its participation will usually not be required.

The point I’m trying to make is, perhaps the issue isn’t that I’m not coming enough, maybe it’s that I’m not getting enough stimulation. Tom summed it up.

Maintaining interest while in chastity depends upon a mix of tease along with the denial. Without the tease, denial is merely frustrating.

Belle and I talked it over and she’s decided to let me out occasionally for the purpose of allowing me to become stimulated, but only when she’s present (even though she doesn’t necessarily need to be the one doing the stimulating). I think this is a smashing idea since now, if I feel the need for stimulation, I’m left to either trying to get her to have sex (i.e., to get what I can from her orgasm) or I’m driven to porn (which can be nice, but just isn’t the same ad direct stimulation and, I’ve found, it can sometimes enhance the bad side of my frustration). By approaching my stimulation as a separate (and, presumably, much less frequent) activity, it allows her pleasure to happen exactly when she wants it to and will, hopefully, allow me to be more focused on giving her the absolute best time possible.

I feel like every time we hit a bit of a bump, we talk it though (sometimes, with help from my readers) and try to figure out what to do about it. Sometimes, we drift aimlessly, move laterally, and even fall backward (though not very often), but we’re both committed to making this work and looking for the way forward. At no point in our 12 year marriage have we been more focused on each other and our relationship. Being with Belle is the best.

Posted on

Supreme irony

All this yakking about “feeling blah about the denial, oh woe is me, yadda yadda yadda” and actually laying out the 10/100 plan to Belle last night has, ironically, left me pretty turned on. A lot and all of a sudden. I had the sleeping disorder that’s a signature symptom of excessive horniness and tossed and turned all night. I woke several times with ephemeral erotic visions drifting though my sleepy mind and a tube so full my balls felt like a bouquet of purple pansies grasped too tightly by a desperate, sweaty fist. So, yeah, I guess it’s back. Teh hornies.

Not only that, but the submissiveness is back, too. The desire to serve her. To do hard things. To make her as happy as possible. Frankly, that’s been at a very low ebb lately. I’ve been going though the motions, but not getting any of the fluttering in my stomach that goes with it. This is how I felt when I committed myself to her service in the first place and it feels good.

So now the issue is that today’s supposed to be my date. That is, today’s date was written on a little slip of paper randomly drawn out of a hat several months ago. That means I’m supposed to come. Now that I’ve found my mojo, though, I don’t want to. Like, I really don’t want to. I am, right now, where I want to be (the best place for both of us, I think) and it’s taken two weeks to get here. If I come now, that denial boulder will roll down to the bottom of the hill. Maybe I’ll find myself horny again right away because sometimes it works like that. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe it’ll be back to Funksville. Who knows?

And what of the 10/100 plan? Should we still try it? Am I only turned on because there’s the prospect of 10 orgasms spread over 5 days in front of me? If that were suddenly withdrawn, would my mojo go with it?

Posted on

The hills are alive

No, I haven’t posted in a long time. Well, I’ve posted twice in the past two weeks, but they weren’t real posts. Of course, I come to you today with several theories to explain my lack of motivation (like, you just knew I would, right?).

At some point along the way here lately, I’ve become somewhat self conscious posting about what I’m feeling. Part of it is the charge that’s been leveled at me (with some justification) that I over-analyze stuff. Guilty! I mean, this is my fucking blog, right? So what’s wrong with me writing what I want or what feels right to me? If I want to gaze longingly into my navel until I fall in, who’s business is that? That’s how I should be thinking, but it’s hard not to think about all of you, my audience, and what you want from me. I suppose that’s a trap a blogger should avoid. In any event, I’m going to try to get over trying to live up to your expectations since, as hundreds of individual people, that would be impossible.

The other thing is, prior to my last orgasm, I have to say I was sort of blah about where I was and what Belle and I were doing. When I write things here, I’m speaking to Belle as much as to myself and I guess I didn’t want to leave her with the impression she was doing anything wrong. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that sometimes, things just don’t click. Constantly elevated levels of hormones are not a cure-all and can’t be expected to leave me in a permanent state of euphoria. It was helpful to see Steve in kinda the same boat at the same time. It’s obvious that a big part of how denial makes one feels in mental and not just hormonal. Even so, for pretty much the past month I’ve not been feeling very submissive at all. Not really all that into the chastity thing.

Since Valentine’s Day, when she last made me come (“made” since I really didn’t want it), things have been looking up. I’m a lot hornier than before. I can feel the latent energy of my desire collecting in my extremities. I find moments passing by where my need to grasp the cock is so palpable it sets my teeth on edge. Following a chat the other morning, it seems clear that Belle’s intention is to leave me in the device all the time and only let me out when she has plans for its contents. So, apparently, we have reached that “be careful what you wish for” point (even though I hate that term) where she likes the chastity device more than I do.

In any event, I also realize that the beneficial emotional effects of denial can’t be expressed as a simple line graph that always goes up the further I get from my last orgasm. Besides the attitudinal factors, it’s clear that my body has been rewired as a result of withholding orgasms. It’s not producing hormones like it once did and, even when I’m in the middle of having sex with Belle, doesn’t always respond as vigorously (which is, I think, where the urban legend of enforced chastity ruining a man’s ability to have an erection comes from). This isn’t bad, it just is. I can’t depend on the hormones alone put me in a happy place. If you think about it, it’s not unlike that period after you fall in love and start to settle into a relationship. After the happy little cherubic Cupids leave, the work is in maintaining a healthy frame of mind during the ups as well as the downs.

And that gets back to not talking about how I’m feeling. This blog, as I said way back at the beginning, is my journal. Being that, and assuming I write what I’m feeling at any given moment, it’s going to give Belle (and, of course, you) much more intimate insight into what I’m thinking moment by moment than if it were the old fashioned diary-type journal, written on nice velum paper and secured with a little lock. The trick is for Belle (and me) to not feel like we need to address every little valley I enter since it’s not realistic to think my emotional state will always and forever be Julie Andrews cresting the hill and throwing her arms open to celebrate the majesty of life in the Austrian Alps though song. Sometimes, it’ll be not so great. Sometimes, it’ll suck. To expect anything else is silly.

Posted on

Service update

I can hear you asking yourselves, “I wonder how that whole service sub thing’s going over there at Maison de Belle Fille?” You are, right? You’re totally asking yourself that. I can hear you.

OK, well, even if you’re not, here’s the list of things I said I’d do back when I introduced the idea a little over a month ago along with a note as to how I’m doing:

  • I will make all the beds every day.
    With the exception of the days I was traveling recently and one day where I just ran out of time in the morning, I’ve done this every day. I’ve made my 11-year-old son make his own, but that’s more about turning him into a productive member of society than it is anything else.
  • I will make her coffee every day.
    This I do. I’m supposed to set it up the night before and I’m getting pretty good at that (especially lately), but there have been days when I forget. In those cases, I get up with her alarm and make it then. I think once or twice in the past month (excluding days I wasn’t home), she made it herself, but in general I’m pretty good at making sure she’s got her coffee when she wants it.
  • I will feed the kids breakfast every day.
    This one’s fallen by the wayside, for the most part. Belle gets out of bed before me as does my daughter who, as soon as her foot hits the floor, wants food. Belle makes it for her. Then, she usually makes the boy’s food, too. I don’t know if she’d rather me make it, but at this point it’s almost always her.
  • I will take the dog out every morning.
    Like the coffee and the beds, I’m pretty good with this one. She’s occasionally offered to do it for me, but I don’t recall her doing it for me because I hadn’t done it yet more than once or twice.
  • I will do all of the laundry, including folding and putting away.
    This is my biggest issue. I get around to the laundry, but not as often as she’d like. Also, I’m pretty bad at putting it away once I’m done folding it (like right now – there’s a basket of it staring at me from the corner of her bedroom). Of all my expected service tasks, this is the one in which she’s most often had to involve herself by either starting loads or even folding them for me. I find it really hard to stay focused on it and, with four people in the house, it’s a never-ending task.
  • I will pick up both kids from school at least twice a week.
    Nailed it. I get them Tuesday’s and Thursday’s and usually at least one other day in the week. I think this makes her life easier in that she can finish up things at work and not have to bring them home with her. In any event, I’m lucky I can pretty much set my own hours and leaving right at 5:00 is hardly ever a problem for me.
  • I will prepare a majority of the dinners and be primarily responsible for all the dishes.
    I do this, too. I did notice, though, the day after my last orgasm that I didn’t hop to it quickly enough and she ended up making dinner that night. She still makes dinners on the weekend sometimes when they’re more of a special event and will volunteer to help me clean up during the week, but I feel this is essentially my responsibility. I own it and immediately start thinking about what we’re going to eat as soon as I leave work. In the old days, this was never the case. I hope this opens up a lot of time in the evening for Belle to do whatever she wants.
  • I will take out the trash and recyclables and make sure they get to the curb on time.
    This one’s also kind of fuzzy. Last weekend, she did it herself early Sunday afternoon for Monday’s pick-up. She didn’t need to, but did because the garage door was open and everything was just there. This one’s tricky in that there is no exact time it needs to happen as long as it’s out by Monday morning. If she wants me to do it, she should let me.

I’ve discovered a couple things after this month. One (which I already knew), Belle just isn’t all that good with receiving service. It goes against her natural disposition. Mind you, she’s gotten a lot better and let’s me do most of what I’m supposed to, but she’s just as inclined to do something herself than to remember that it’s my job (or to just tell me to do it). Sometimes, this bothers me because it feels like she’s not accepting my gift of service, but I also know she’s trying and getting better. Truth is, a lot of my service tasks have just become part of the household routine now. Nothing wrong with that.

The other thing I’ve learned is how much I really like having her boss me around. Rika says I should do all these things in anticipation of her needs, but when she tells me to do something it puts me in a warm and fuzzy headspace. This weekend she said she liked ordering me around, so hopefully she’ll use that technique more for anything she wants above and beyond the default list of tasks she wants me to do.

I still find myself recoiling when she asks me to do something (ie, “Would you mind…”, or “Could you…”) and when she thanks me for doing it. I don’t want her to ask. Or course, I will always do whatever she says. I’d rather she just say “I want you to…” or even just “Do it.” And instead of thanking, I’d rather she tell me how good a job I’ve done (or not). We’ve talked about this and she knows my preference. Sometimes, she does it my way, sometimes not. I’m working on accepting it in whatever way says it since, like everything else, it’s entirely up to her. There’s a lot more good going on here than otherwise for me to get all hung up on semantics.

So anyway, we were hanging out in bed the other night and Belle told me, when considering my performance to date, that she wouldn’t give me better than 70%. That’s a C, right? Not so good. And it’s all because of the fucking laundry.

I need to try harder.

Posted on

48 hours of freedom

Wednesday morning, I flew out of town on business. Obviously, one cannot simply stroll by the crack staff of TSA agents at the airport, with their specialized training and advanced technology, with about a pound of hard steel swinging between one’s legs. Even though Belle threatened to make we wear the device on my trip, she took it off me Tuesday night (since I had to get up at the ridiculous hour of 4:00 AM).

I suggested she could put me in the CB-6000 since it’s passed through airport security a couple of times now, at least once when she made me wear it on a business trip last year (upon which, this happened). She said she wouldn’t do that, though, since she’s such a big fan of the Steelheart now and thinks the CB-6000 is ugly. So I was released on my own recognizance. And, for the most part, I was good.

In fact, I was really good on the trip since I was dog tired by the time I hit the sack. One of the more boring hotel nights I’ve had. Next day, I was up fairly early getting ready to leave, but still managed a little wanking. When I promised to be good, I said I would never have an orgasm without her being present, but she didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to fiddle with the merchandise. And I didn’t come. Not even close.

So anyway, the thing I found kinda interesting was Tuesday night, before I left but after she unlocked me, I woke up to find myself jacking off under the covers. I think I was doing it in a dream, or maybe I was dreaming it because I was doing it, but whatever the case, there I was jacking away on my totally free and very hard meat. Similarly, I woke up in the middle of the night in the hotel room grasping it, though not jerking it. It’s like my lizard brain wants any opportunity to reunite with the most important thing in its universe, with or without the cooperation of my conscious mind.

When we met up last night, she told me I was going right back in (especially since she already suspected I had my hand in the cookie jar), so I asked her to put it on me (typically, she tells me to put it on and I go do it – she’s only involved when she locks it, and even then not every time). It’s been kind of a thing I’ve been thinking about lately. She agreed, though in practice I had to put the ring on and, once she got involved, the cock swelled up until it was too big to put in the tube. There was a baggie full of ice on hand to deal with that totally predictable event, but it was still a tight squeeze and I needed to align the pins on the device and seat the tube properly for locking. Had she tried it, I would have been bleeding before she got the key anywhere near it. Lots of skin bulging out to get caught.

So now I’m back in. To be truthful, I’ve been in so much lately that being unlocked makes me feel incomplete. I’m not at all surprised to have been so focused on the cock since it’s unencumbered presence is such a rarity nowadays. She told me over the weekend that my next release date is February 27 (almost a month since last time) and I have every reason to believe that I’ll be locked pretty much continually until then.

Posted on

All in one night

Based on a true story. 😉

“Get naked and give me the clamps,” she said. Then, after a moment, “And the floggie croppie thing, too.”

I did as she said, then climbed back into bed.

“Lay on your back.” I did. She attached a butterfly clamp to my right nipple, then the left. She tugged on the chain connecting them to test their grip. Twin lasers of sharp pain lit up in my brain.

“Roll over. Get up on your knees.” I did. She found my balls with the wide end of the crop. I could feel the hard, smooth leather cold against my scrotum. She held it there for a moment in an almost soothing way. Then she started to hit me. Lightly at first, then harder. Then harder. I took as much as I could, my ass rising into the air a little bit with each whack, before pulling my right leg off the bed and away from the blows. She yanked down on the chain attached to my nipples and pulled until my face was against the sheets.

This cycle repeated several times. Between attacks on my testicles, she’d pull and twist the chain, searing the soft pink flesh with the bite of the clamps. The blows to my balls didn’t make the kind of deep internal pain one usually associates with the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. It was more like surface slapping, but uncomfortable just the same. Difficult to take.

Finally, she took the shaft of the crop and shoved it roughly into my mouth, holding it there like the bit on a horse’s bridle. She pushed my head back and away from her while simultaneously pulling the chain closer. My back bent sharply as I tried to lessen the agony on my nipples, but it wasn’t enough. First the right clamp, then the left ripped off. I cried out as she removed the crop from my mouth, collapsing on the bed, whimpering. Nipples throbbing, balls stinging.

—

“Now you’re going to take care of me.”

“How?” I asked quietly. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“In the usual manner,” meaning with my long fingers and soft lips, “but have Pink ready just in case you’re not enough.”

I took the little pink vibrator from my dresser drawer and placed it under me to get warm, just in case. Then I ran my hand across her body, stopping on the mound of her pubis. I could feel the cleft of her pussy lips, hot beneath the fabric of her bedclothes. I exposed her breast and started to lick her nipple.

She moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s good, Thumper. My tits were hot for you. They missed you so much.”

I licked and sucked one while fingering the other. Her moaning deepened while her hips gyrated beneath the sheets. My free hand wandered down and slipped under her draw string. My finger found her snatch, soft and radiating heat.

She moaned again. “Of, fuck. God, Thumper, my pussy missed you, too. It’s so hot and wet. Hot and wet for you, Thumper. Does that make you hard? Hard in your steel tube? Knowing how badly my pussy wants you? Knowing you can’t have it?”

This time, I moaned. I felt the relentless steel bite into the base of my swelling erection.

“I want you to eat me. Now.”

I moved over her, stopping to lick her opposite nipple. Her hips rose up and she ground her crotch into the steel trap on my manhood. Her trap and her manhood. I dropped down and placed my mouth against her pussy, lapping it like a hungry animal. My hands reached up and played with her nipples.

“Get pink,” she gasped, “Put it in me. All the way in.”

I turned the little vibe on and fumbled trying to get it in her. In the dim candlelight, I couldn’t find the right spot fast enough for her. She grabbed it out of my hand and slid it deep into her pussy right before my eyes.

“Like that,” she admonished, “Now leave it there.”

I went back to licking her clit, my chin bumping up against the end of the humming vibrator nearly disappeared inside her. As her pleasure increased, she started to whisper, “oh, fuck” again and again. Faster and louder as my tongue worked rapidly and my steel-clad erection pressed hard into the bed. She started to say something, but clamped her legs onto my head, shutting off my ability to hear her.

She reached down and grabbed twin handfuls of my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, bucking her hips up to meet me, tension and energy building throughout her body. Then, she stopped…holding it. Holding. At the top of the crest, her orgasm coursing through her, my tongue stationary and pressed against her in the way she’s taught me. Then, release. Her legs relaxed and she let go of my hair. I removed the vibe and pressed its little button, turning it off. Everything was silent as she basked, glowing.

—

“Get on your back,” she told me again. I did. I could still taste and smell her. My nose, mouth, and chin were all wet and redolent. She was moving next to me and then was doing something with the device. I realized she had the key and was looking for the lock.

I’m wasn’t sure what this meant since she told me just that morning that I wasn’t going to come for another 27 days, but there she was, apparently trying to unlock me right after her orgasm. In the 12 years we’ve been married, I can count on one hand the number of times she’s come twice in one evening. I couldn’t imagine why she was doing this.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I”m doing,” she said, still struggling to get the long key into the brass locking mechanism.

“Don’t break it in there.”

“I have a spare.”

“Yeah, but if you break the key off in the lock, I’ll never get out of it again.” Besides, I think, I have to fly on Wednesday. How will I ever get through the metal detector with this thing forever locked onto me? Then it occurred to me that she may be unlocking me early as some sort of reward. Oh!

“Can I do that for you?”

She handed me the key and I quickly removed the lock, handing it and the key back to her. I pulled off the tube, the metal rod that secures it to my piercing, and the ring. She immediately started playing with the freed cock which, unfortunately, was still flaccidly stunned to be suddenly out in the open air. After a few moments of rhythmic attention, it began to lengthen.

Then, fully hard, she stopped to climb up onto me. She lined the cock up with her swollen, slippery pussy and it slid in easily. She said nothing so I had no idea what was expected of me, but I knew better than to think this was for my benefit. I tried to put my mind as far away as possible from the sensation of her sliding up and down on the stiff shaft.

She was plainly enjoying herself and, except that I was servicing her breasts while she was fucking me, didn’t seem to care much for what I was doing. I tried to hold still and not reciprocate so as to help minimize the sensations I was feeling and was pleasantly surprised at how well I was holding off. As she got closer to her second orgasm of the evening, she started to get vocal and this time I didn’t have her legs to help muffle the sound.

Hearing her so vociferously get her rocks off on me brought my own orgasm into being. Just like that I was grunting and exploded inside her – zero to 60 in one second.

As soon as she felt me start to come, she cried out, “FUCK ME!” and boy did I. A millisecond later, she came all over again.

—

She got back into bed and found me totally unmoved from the position she left me a few minutes before. She propped her head up on her elbow and said, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about that one.”

“I don’t,” I said, and I didn’t. Not remotely. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

She laughed. “I love it when we come like that. At the same time. That was something special. Totally worth it.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said while handing me the key and lock, “Now go put that thing back on.”