Tag: submission

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Beat the clock

Day one of the new FLR experiment thingy went pretty well. I was motivated to wash, fold, and put away a couple of loads of laundry, did all the dishes after dinner, went and gassed up Belle’s car for her before work so she wouldn’t have to, got her coffee ready for the morning, and gave her a foot rub before also giving her a neck and shoulder massage. And no, it’s not all hot and steamy, but I did get a certain satisfaction from serving her. I wanted to do all of it and would have actually looked for a few other things, but there’s only so much time. This morning, there were a few things I should have done for her, but she got to them first. It just means I’ll need to be a little quicker next time. At some point, I’d like her to remember she can order me around, but whatever. Baby steps.

When we were finally in bed, the previous night’s sexually induced insomnia had left me totally exhausted. Even though my brain wanted to shut down, my body was too interested in her to let it. The feet and back rubbing had me too worked up and since she was letting me continue to touch her body and was talking to me, there was still a glimmer of hope she’d let me go further. I sure as hell wasn’t going to blink and roll over to sleep.

I was pretty sure she was debating internally whether she wanted a little something. I skated the seam between being affectionate and loving (and, hopefully, encouraging her to make the decision I wanted) and being overtly sexual. It has to be assumed by her that when I’m in this state, I am always ready for sex, but I am not allowed to make that too obvious. I can’t ask, can’t suggest, can’t lobby, beg or imply, and can’t be excessively forward in my actions. In short, no matter how badly I want to go down on her or fuck her senseless, I have to show composure and wait for her to offer. If Belle had said thanks sweetie and turned her back to me, I would have been disappointed, but would not have been allowed to register that disappointment in any way. Because, of course, it’s not about me. Sex is for her now. What she wants and when she wants it with the only goal being that of her total satisfaction. If she wants to throw me a bone just because she’s nice, then good for me, but I can’t sit at the table and drool while looking at it.

In any event, she finally rolled over and looked at the clock. I expected her to next say it was time to sleep, but instead she told me I had ten minutes to make her come. Ten minutes!? I felt like Augustus Gloop in that scene from Willy Wonka where he first sees the room where everything is made of candy, but I fought the urge to eat everything in sight. I needed to pace myself knowing ten minutes was actually way longer than I needed to make her come. If I rushed it, I’d be leaving all that body access time on the table (and maybe get sucked into a tube and sent to the Fudge Room…or something). Eventually, I found my face planted on her snatch, hungrily eating her out. It was glorious. I wasn’t checking the clock, but when she finally went over the falls, it had been exactly ten minutes.

Afterward, I did not feel the usual pseudo post-orgasmic satisfaction I feel when she’s come. Her orgasm wasn’t quite enough for the reptilian sex monster living within. Vivid images of me fucking her flashed though my mind. The memory of the what the hard cock felt like in her wet pussy insisted that I move forward – that I mount her and fuck her. But that was impossible. If I had been out of the device, she would have felt my desire and might have even indulged me, but the plastic feels hard no matter the condition of what’s inside. Since I wasn’t demonstrating how badly I wanted her, there was no way for her to know it. When she declared the evening’s activities at a close and, of course, it was clear I would get nothing else, it was wickedly disappointing. But it was as it should have been and entirely what I should have expected.

I spooned into her, told her I loved her, and thanked her for the opportunity to make her happy.

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Behavior modification through sleep deprivation

OK, this is getting out of control. I only got about four hours of sleep on Sunday night due to abject horniness and was expecting a nice restful slumber last night since Belle was back in bed with me. So color me surprised when I found myself just fucking laying there at 2:30 AM still miles and miles away from sleep. I got up, took one Tylenol PM and finally fell asleep 30-60 minutes later. Two hours after that, I was up with Belle’s alarm and the kids coming in to see her. Now I feel like someone slipped me a date rape drug (I should only be so lucky). Can someone come over here and pull all the cotton out of my head? Thanks.

On the plus side, I had plenty of time to think. Mostly, of course, it was about sex. I basically wrote out an entire pornographic story in my head tailored to my specific kinks and triggers. Why can’t someone write something like that for me? OK, I will. Sooner or later. Other than porn, I thought about Belle laying there next to me and how badly I wanted her. As usual, I didn’t want her in any specific way. Just more of a general desire to consumer her very being. Or rub my entire face over her pussy until her scent permeates my every pore. Either or. But, it wasn’t to be. After some incredibly charged kissing, she told me she just wanted to cuddle. Without the pelvic gyrations, please.

After several hours of thinking on it, I proposed to Belle this morning that we conduct a bit of an experiment. We’re going to try to take this whole femdom/FLR thing and go balls to the wall with it. I’ve committed to serve her completely for the rest of the month in any way she wants. I’ll do any and all tasks she dishes out, without complaint and to the best of my abilities, even if that means she’s doing nothing. This will be hard for her since she’s wired to do things for others rather than have them do things for her, but she’s going to try. I told her I really wanted her to judge how I completed the tasks as if I were her servant, not spouse, and to reward or punish me accordingly in whatever way she sees fit. I, of course, will be looking for things I can do for her so that she doesn’t have to ask. In addition, I’ve reiterated that she is solely in control of when and how we have sex and I won’t do anything that usurps her authority. I told her I have faith that she’ll take my needs into consideration and give me access to sex as often as she thinks best, but that otherwise I was not going to lobby or obsess (openly) about when it’s going to happen. A new twist is that she’s not necessarily going to deny me orgasms for the time we’re running this experiment. If she wants me to have one, I will. If not, I won’t. This isn’t about denial as much as it’s about her control and my lack of it. However, as part of the experiment, she is going to keep me in chastity all month.

The point of all this is to plumb the depths of the desire within me to make her happy that flows from her control over me. Will I find a kind of release and/or satisfaction by folding all the laundry? Doing all the dishes? Making the beds? Serving her? Dunno. We’re going to find out. I have to admit, the idea that her control over my sexuality is actually modifying my behavior does, all by itself, turn me on. I’m kind of getting off on being manipulated, molded, trained, brainwashed even. To me, it’s a manifestation of my deep desire to submit to her – in any way she wants me to.

I’d make an excellent cultist, don’t you think?

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Control

There’s a spot in my chest, just to the left of dead center, where I experience the most twiggy, wiggy, warm, and lovely sensation. It feels like a piece of me about the size of my fist, somewhere deep inside, becomes less dense than the rest of me. It’s an airy, lifty kind of feeling. It’s where the fluttering carnivorous butterflies roost. I’ve come to crave that feeling. Call it the feeling of being controlled, denied, submissive, or all of them rolled together. Whatever. I’m feeling it now and it’s wonderful.

It’s been nearly a month since I last felt it like this. A month with crossed wires, illness, awkwardness, and absence. A month where I felt little flickers of the feeling, but nothing that kindled and flared like right now. I’ve read backward on this blog to try to find the moment where the feeling started to diminish. As far as I can tell, it was when Belle released me from the chastity device.

So, doing what I do, I think about this. What does the device represent? Denial, bondage, frustration, discomfort, and sometimes even embarrassment or humiliation. But ultimately, what it represents is control. Her control over that part of me that I ceded to her. At the end of the day, what I crave more than anything is that feeling of her control.

My Belle is such a caring and giving person, I think it’s sometimes hard for her to treat me in a way that best represents her right to control me (or, at least, the way I’d prefer she treat me). She gives me choices when I’d rather not have them. She asks how I’m feeling in a way that suggests a level of concern and maybe even worry I wish she didn’t have. In short, she’s just not mean enough about it. The chastity device, however, has no qualms about its job. It is always impassively cruel. It hurts, gets in the way, complicates my life, and frustrates the living hell out of me. It is the bad cop to Belle’s good cop. It does the dirty work for her and it’s with me every hour of every day. Remove the device, and then it’s all up to her.

And she’s very lenient. Last time she let me out, she gave me blanket permission to play with her property (but, of course, not to go all the way to actual orgasm). I ran with that. Whenever I had a chance, I’d rub it, stroke it, edge myself, and even go so far as to abandon some orgasms. I did not (until that one morning after our miscommunication) ever go so far as to actually achieve orgasm, but I went right up to that line – as close as a guy can. According to much of the femdom literature on the web (example), it’s the man’s excessive use of masturbation that limits his ability to properly serve his woman. I want to feel that on some level that’s a crock of shit, but for me, I know it’s true. When I feel this little knot of airy submissiveness in my chest, I crave opportunity to serve her (preferably sexually, but in all kinds of other ways I never though I would). And I am really and truly happy. But it’s not masturbation in the sense I’d define it that’s the problem (that is, jerking off until I come). It’s just having access to the plaything, and taking advantage of that access, that starts to bleed off my submissive energy.

And that gets us back to the CB6K. Maybe it’s because I’ve become so used to no longer having orgasms in anything like the frequency of the past, but being denied the feeling of a fat, hard cock in my hand is harder to deal with than not being able to pull on it until it squirts. That lack of access, of craving a full and satisfying erection, is what stokes the feeling I love so much. It’s the ultimate irony and the single most difficult aspect of all this for Belle to understand, it think. I derive pleasure and happiness from the searing physic pain of being forced to submit to her control.

I’m not sure what any of this means from a practical perspective. I suppose I’m arguing that she should leave me locked up more often than not. That she should let me out when she wants to feel a real cock inside her or wants me to come, but otherwise keep it encased. Or, when it’s not protected, that she forbid me to use it in any way that gives me pleasure outside her company. Sort of move the denial goal posts back a bit, if you will. In any event, I think I’ve identified the single ingredient that creates that happy little spot in my soul.

Absolute, smothering, unquestionable control.

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Click

This morning, Belle put me back in the plastic. She’s off again to spend a long weekend with girlfriends in San Francisco and decided I would not have access to the cock while she was gone. In fact, she’s decided I won’t get to touch it until her birthday at the end of the month when she and I spend a few nights in a quaint B&B.

I haven’t been writing much because I’m not exactly sure what I would have been writing about. The dynamic has more or less slipped away for me since even before the unexpected turn. In pondering this, I think it’s because I stopped believing that Belle really wanted to dominate me. I’m not the kind of guy who wants to be submissive so badly that I’m able to suspend disbelief and project onto her an interest in dominance that’s not there. Once I doubted her motivation, the foundation just crumbled away on my side.

We had a chat about this the other night. I wanted to know what the status was from her perspective. Were we still playing with the D/s? She surprised me by responding that, as far as she was concerned, we were. Nothing had changed. Of course, lots had changed. My entire demeanor had changed, but she was operating under the assumption that we were still doing it. True, she had denied me orgasm twice in the recent past, but I had also come about three times. I didn’t feel denied or dominated. Nor did she talk or act like she was dominating me. After giving her an orgasm one night, she told me to roll the dice to see if I got to come. Odd, I wouldn’t, even, it would be my choice. My choice. I don’t want a stinking choice. I’m happy to submit to the whim of the dice if that’s what she wants, but make it a binary outcome, not a choice (turned out to be an 11, so the crisis of decision was averted). Also, she stopped telling me to sleep naked and started saying I could if I wanted to. Funny thing is, I almost always do want to, except when she says it’s my choice. Then I don’t.

I am undeterred. Even though we’ve been though this weird patch, I’m willing to chalk it up to her being very busy at work and our generally learning how to do this from scratch. In fact, I haven’t come in a week now and am starting to feel the need. On top of that, she’s locked me up and is carrying my key around her neck. I face the prospect of not having another orgasm for nearly a month. I feel an upswing is in the air. Or maybe that’s spring. Whichever, I’m still optimistic.

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An unexpected turn

Tuesday night, we talked about my continuing funk. Long story short, I no longer felt denied as much as I felt absence. I had come to the point where I wasn’t horny anymore. Even though we had had a few sexual encounters, we both knew my orgasm wasn’t an option, and the in-between time felt like sexual vacuum. Our not-quite-sex sessions (those in which I get hard and horny, and maybe she abuses me a little, but ultimately nothing happens) weren’t occurring since I was not allowed to touch her in that way without her permission. Those sessions are vital, I believe, in maintaining my arousal and frustration in between opportunities to pleasure her. I wasn’t coming, I wasn’t even getting really turned on, so my sex drive kind of curled up and went to sleep. That was my theory, anyway.

In order to help aleve that problem, she said I could start touching her any way I liked again. Wednesday night, I was going to touch the living fuck out of her. Groping, kissing, squeezing, licking – anything and everything she’d let me get away with before pouring the ice water of her feminine control over me and forcing me to stuff it all away. We even texted each other about it during the day. It was going to be fun. Finally, a little action just for me. And yes, even in a D/s arrangement, everyone needs a little something just for them. So the kids were all sleeping, the candles were all lit, and the iPod was making pleasant sounds when I made my move.

Then we had another talk. Turns out, she’s kinda over the whole D/s paradigm at the moment. She’s been very busy at her job working on a big project and said she feels like she’s drifting down a river and all the things she needs to do are little piranha taking bites out of her. Her “responsibilities” as the D were among those piranha. All she wanted was for things to go back to normal for a while. No having to worry about when I’m going to come or be locked up or what the Covenant says or any of that crap. Straight, vanilla relationship. At least for a bit.

She really didn’t think that little bombshell would ruin the moment. Seriously. More than anything else, I understand that least of all. God knows, these things happen. At any other moment in any other setting, we could have reasoned through it. I do understand where she’s coming from. But, at the very moment she laid this on me, I was naked, hard, wearing the big steel cock ring, and had her nipple between my fingertips. After, I was quiet, introspective, felt untethered, and was once again uninterested in sex.

I don’t think Belle understands how much our D/s has impacted me. My entire approach to sex and sexual gratification has been rewritten. To simply turn all that off and go back to the old days just isn’t something I can do on command. I could do it situationally. That is, if she integrated it into the D/s dynamic and, in effect, ordered me to behave the way she wanted. But instead, she pulled the plug. Thinking back, she may have actually pulled it over a week ago. It’s hard to say, but the funk I’ve been in could just as easily been caused by her undeclared decision to pull back from the D/s (whether or not that was even done consciously on her part). I wanted to make it my problem, but it could have been mutual. I don’t know. Not that it much matters at this point.

This morning, I masturbated to orgasm. It did not feel good, I didn’t enjoy it, and I wasn’t especially interested in having an orgasm. But I did it just the same. And now I feel terrible. Why? I’m no longer bound by the Covenant. She’s not interested in controlling my emissions. For the time being, I’m just as free as any other wanker in the world. All that’s true, but in fact, that act was my response to her decision from the previous night. It was probably rash and really not necessary, but it was the only way I could tease out a little show of control in a situation I really have no control over. So now the guy interested in being controlled by his wife is trying to find ways of fighting his lack of control? WTF?

My plan at this point is to stop talking about it. I know how to be her “normal” husband, so that’s what I’ll be. I really just want to move past this. If I’m something else in the future, that’s up to her. It could be a day, week, month or never. But I can’t make her do something she’s not interested in and, honestly, I wouldn’t want it that way even if I could.

Regarding this blog, what is the point of writing about Thumper if he’s not being denied? Good question. There seems to be a lot of this kind of talk going around lately. I guess we’ll have to see if I’m capable of forming coherent thoughts around what’s in my head or if I even feel the need to write them down if I do.

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Whimpering, doggie-style

My dog hates it when Belle beats me. I’m sure he thinks that if I’m getting the crap beat out of me, then he’s next on the list. The problem he presents is twofold. We can’t leave him outside our room because he’ll want to come in and will sit out in the hall and whine, scratch, etc., eventually waking the kids. Having him in the room is problematic since he’s a major distraction. Kinda hard to really get off on being whipped when the dog is pacing around whimpering and trying to sqeeze into places too small for him. By the time she was through working her aggression out on my ass, the dog was hiding under the bed and didn’t want to come out.

“Thumper’s Choice”, for those who are curious, involved being tied to the bed on my stomach, wrists secured by handcuffs, handcuffs strapped to the headboard, ankles separately cuffed and strapped to the footboard. I could almost raise myself up on my elbows and knees. She blindfolded me, rubbed some Icy Hot on my nuts and nipples, and proceeded to flog my ass with her little toy flogger. I call it a toy because it’s just a bunch of thin rubber cords on a plastic handle. Not the most beautiful of implements, but it was what we got at the beginning of our exploration. While it looks like a toy, it definitely does not feel like one. When she gets going with it, the resulting stinging and burning can get pretty intense. Still, I’d like to get something a little sexier.

It was a longer session that usual, though I can’t tell how long. I kind get all timeless when she’s hurting me. I know it was long enough for the Icy Hot to stop burning like a motherfucker, so maybe 30 minutes? I dunno. There were times when the combination of the burning nuts and the hard, repetitive striking of my ass was nearly more than I could handle, but the times in between were heavenly. She’d lazily brush just the ends of the flogger along my spine, over my ass, and then up between my cheeks. Just when I was grooving to the gentle sweetness of it, arching my back and raising my ass into the air, I’d hear the thin rubber strands whistle through the air a microsecond before they struck me again. She’s getting pretty good at the hitting thing. She even said she enjoyed it. Says it’s cathartic. Well, baby, you can get your catharsis out on my ass whenever you want.

Afterward, she wouldn’t let me get her off. I had to wait until last night for that. She told me to give her a back and shoulder massage (with the oil) before having me use the little pink vibrator on her. Again, not good with keeping time, but she came so hard and so fast it felt like it was over before it even got started. I have to admit, I felt somewhat cheated. Seriously, it was maybe ten seconds from the time I put the vibe against her clit and the time she started to come. Through all this, she never let me get naked – not even when we went to sleep. I wanted to. A lot. But she never gave the word. This means one of two things. One, she just forgot. I can’t explain why (trust me, I just started and erased four different attempts), but simply forgetting to allow me to do this would leave me feeling a little neglected. Kinda like forgetting to feed the dog or something. Anyway, the other option is she was purposefully withholding that permission. In which case, telling me she was doing so would have felt better, as it does whenever she demonstrates her control over me.

Speaking of which, I’m still not feeling the subby vibe. In fact, I’ve been in a funk for about a week and it’s getting funkier. I’m not panicking and questioning my entire world order as I have previously when this has happened. I’ve learned over the past four months that being flooded with all these hormones and abdicating self-determination regarding my sexual satisfaction makes me emotionally vulnerable. The slightest thing can push me into the mood I’m in right now. I know it’ll work itself out shortly. At least, I hope it will.

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Status update

I swear my balls are getting bigger. I know, you’d think I’d have something more profound to say following a week of no blogging, but it’s the first thing that that comes to mind. My balls are getting bigger. I think. Not sure if that’s a side-effect of carrying around all these extra hormones (or, for that matter, if denial actually increases testosterone levels), but to my hand (a hand with a long and intimate relationship with these particular testis), they feel fatter.

My last pleasurable orgasm was back on the 19th of February. Since then, I’ve had a number of ruined orgasms (one through over stimulation and the others abandoned – the better of the two methods, I’ve found). In fact, the other night Belle told me after her orgasm to ruin the one I wanted so badly. I was able to get two ejaculations out of myself that night without the pleasurable finish. It left me feeling even more aroused and sexually charged than I was beforehand, so “allowing” me to do this to myself is an effective way for her to increase my desperation.

Even so, I’ve not found myself to be very submissive lately. I don’t know if the ruined orgasms have been part of that mindshift or not, but I just haven’t been feeling it. She was sick and had her period most of last week, so that might have something to do with it. Since I can’t really do anything to relieve my sexual needs without her, when she’s that out of it, my libido kind of shuts down. It’s probable that my submissiveness is powered by my libido. In any event, the only time I felt a pang of submissiveness was Thursday night when she came home from work. I heard her voice, knew her period would be over, and suspected my chances of getting some were the best they’d been in a week. A little knot of subbiness flared in my chest. That was the night she let me give her an orgasm and I ruined my own, but any subby tendencies didn’t last.

Tonight, she’s going to hurt me. Says it’s Thumper’s Choice night. I’m not sure what I want her to do, but I know it’ll involve restraints. Maybe it’s time to break out the Icy Hot again. Of course, she’ll hit me with something. If she let’s me make her come, I’m hoping that’ll be a big enough shock to the system to put things back the way I like them.

Regarding chastity, I’m still out. No idea when she’ll put me back in again, but when she let me out she mentioned needing to try for nice round month at some point. I’m still in that period where not being locked up feels weird and oddly luxurious. I know I’m touching her cock a hell of a lot. Rubbing it, getting it hard, edging myself…just because I can. I’m not supposed to do any of that without permission, but she granted it to me when she let me out. Until she says I can’t anymore, I’m going to keep going with the assumption that I can.

The last thing of note that occurred last week was my finally being able to get the 6ga segment ring into my PA piercing. I can’t say why this time it worked when previously it didn’t (except that the hole was well lubricated with urine…what? TMI? Even for a blog like this one?). Since the gauge is larger, getting the segment in was a lot hard than the ball in my 8ga ring. Basically, it’s in there for good until I get an opening tool.

Well, that’s all I got. If something interesting happens, you’ll be the first to know about it. Check you later, taters.

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Marked man

I love it when Belle marks me. Whether it’s by biting me or giving me hickies or raising welts, I like to think her marks are representative of her power, control, and ownership. When she makes them, she’s leaving evidence that the body which displays them is hers, to do with what she likes, even if what she likes is to damage it. Uber hot. I get all light in the chest just writing about it. So you can imagine what I felt when she mentioned she should brand me.

Lucky bunny
Lucky bunny

That’s how I found myself laying over her legs, ass in the air, several hours later getting tickled by the tip of a black Sharpie dancing over my skin. She drew what you see to the right: a little bunny under a horseshoe with “BFR” written over it. “BFR” stands for Belle Fille Ranch which, apparently, is a rabbit ranch. That I can’t see the brand without a mirror makes it that much hotter.

I wasn’t really expecting any serious action what with her not feeling 100% and all, but once her mark was upon me, my passions were running pretty high. I was on all fours, her beneath me, and my right knee strategically placed so as to press my thigh firmly against her pussy, moving subtly as my body shifted. All I did was kiss her face and neck, but my thigh could feel the heat between her legs start to build. Her hand started to carass my inner thighs and I moaned, desperate to feel her touch higher up. She eventually did, lightly stroking my tight, constricted scrotum. Fuck, did I want that cage off. She gripped the tube of the CB6K and started to stroke it as if she was masturbating me, but that only drove my frustration higher since all she was doing was pushing and pulling the entire contraption and torturing my already strecthed balls. I found myself fighting once again the overpowering urge to bite her, to consume her, to gather her up in my arms and crush her. I knew – knew – that there would be no release for me. Instead of fighting it and causing a scene, I let the inevitability of her control wash over and calm me.

When she told me to make her come, I focused everything above her waist. I fingered and licked her nipples and kissed her mouth much longer than I would normally. I knew she wanted me to move south, to give her pussy some attention, but I stayed up north, letting her get just the slightest taste of tease and denial. I did eventually bring my hand down to her pussy, but I merely let it graze ever so lightly over her lips. Her hips squirmed and raised up, trying to make better contact with my fingers, but I kept them just close enough that she knew they were there but too far away to actually feel them. She was moaning freely.

When I finally let my fingers touch her, she was soaked and slicked with arousal. It took about two minutes to bring her to climax. When she started to come, my finger was still lightly resting on her clit. She arched her back and grabbed my hand, pressing me harder into herself, forcing my finger deeper into her pussy. The orgasm shuddered though her and I actually felt three distinct little waves of tightly focused muscle contractions move over the tips of my fingers.

Easliy one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever given her. Seriously, top three.

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This morning, she finally released me from the CB6K. Plus, she let me have a ruined orgasm. What a kind and benevolent dictator she is!

This time, we tried the abandoned version of the ruined orgasm (as opposed to the over-stimulated version we tried before). She layed next to me, running her fingers though my chest hair and teasing my nipples and watched while I wrapped my fist around the freely hard cock. Sweet jesus, did that feel good. I had barely started and was already leaking freely.

I jacked off until I felt the first stirrings of the orgasm approaching, then pulled my hand off quickly. A tiny little dribble came out. We decided that wasn’t good enough, so I started in again. It took a lot longer to get back to that place the second time, though I had barely come. Eventually, I felt it again – the tickling, tingling sensation of impending orgasm. I gave myself maybe two or three extra strokes and this time had a fairly respectable hands-free ejaculation, though without the volume I’d have expected. Indeed, it was no orgasm. I felt none of the post-orgasmic high. No refraction. Just a few minutes later, I was still profoundly arroused. I asked her to pinch my nipple just to make sure. Oh yeah, that felt good. I was still horny as hell.

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Did I mention I was horny?

Good god, it’s been a little stuffy around here lately! Isn’t this supposed to be a sex blog?! So get on with the sex, already!

Well, we did have sex just one lonesome time this week. It was nothing I haven’t described here before (you know the drill: she abuses me a little, I make her come, we go to sleep). I continue to be amazed at how my entire being has adjusted to not having orgasms. She gets me all worked up with the biting and scratching and the general abuse and all I want to do in return is give her pleasure. Once she’s had her orgasm, I get all sleepy and a form of contentedness envelopes me. Yes, I’m still horny. Horny as hell. Twenty-four hours a fucking day I’m horny. The carnivorous butterflies have returned and I find myself clawing at the device, desperate to get my hand around an honest-to-god hard-on, but all that’s separate now from our sex. When we have sex, it’s all about her. Whatever she gives me during those times is gravy. The main course his her ecstasy. I derive satisfaction from hers.

Speaking of the device, it’s been sixteen days. She mentioned to me yesterday that she thought she was going to let me out the day before, but after a few minutes, decided not to. Just because. Just because she could. Still no indication of when my incarceration might end. I’m doing my best not to ask, but jesus am I getting claustrophobic in this thing.

It may be my best friend at the moment, though. She’s told me that I won’t have any pleasurable orgasms in March, and that’s just a week old. Did I mention I was horny? Fucking god, I’m horny. All that clawing at the device is probably a pretty good indication that, once granted access to that particular thing attached to my body, I’d be somewhat preoccupied with it. According to the Covenant, I’m not supposed to use it in a way that gives me pleasure without her approval. So, assuming I wouldn’t get that, maybe the best place for it is exactly where it is at the moment. I have will power, but no man’s perfect.

And, finally, to complicate everything and potentially cause problems with our weekend fun, Belle’s come down with something. Her throat hurts and she feels crappy. I’m pumping her full of zinc with the hopes she’ll feel better later. If not, it’ll continue to be quiet on the sex front.