Tag: tease and denial

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New rule

Belle’s instituted a new rule. Turns out, she occasionally wants me to be more sexually assertive than the personage respecting protocols allow. I have tried to contain my urges to jump her bones out of deference to her position but apparently a girl likes to be a little more aggressively pursued. Unless she doesn’t. Since my mind-reading powers leave a lot to be desired, she’s created some guidelines for me to follow.

  • I am not allowed to come on to her within 72 hours of her last orgasm. She, of course, is still free to instigate something, but I’m to respect her personage for at least three days after she comes.
  • On the third night, I can try to seduce her (including putting my hands in places they aren’t normally allowed to go), but if she tells me she’s not interested I need to withdraw immediately and wait until the next day to make another move (or however long she prefers).

 
We started the first 72 hour clock that night. Contrary to popular opinion, people do have sex on Thanksgiving. As we went to bed, Belle brought out the key and let me out. It had been a long time since she had made use her cock, but I was oddly confident that I wouldn’t ruin the event with an unauthorized release. Since she was so hot for it, the whole adventure was over in about ten minutes. I never got close to coming, even though she was talking filth towards the end and that’s usually a sure-fire way to push me over the edge. Instead of baseball, I focused on work. Decidedly unsexy. In any event, she had a terrific time. Afterward, she allowed me to enter her and I did the old-fashioned “me on top” routine. Just like the old days, except I didn’t come of course. She allowed me to stay unlocked for the rest of the weekend, as long as I promised to behave (which, more or less, I did).

Last night, the 72 hour window opened. Combined with her leaving this morning for another work trip (this time only four days and only as far as NYC), I was highly expectational of getting the meat wet again before seeing it relocked for her absence. As soon as the TV went off and I turned to face her, I knew she wasn’t in the mood to fuck me. There was zero angst on my part and I would have been perfectly happy to simply roll over and go to sleep if that’s what she wanted, but I offered up Pink, her favorite vibrator, as an alternative. Turns out, she did want that, so I hopped out of bed, unwanted boner bobbing before me, to get her little plastic friend.

I started to prep her in the usual manner (licking her nipples, fingering her clit, etc.) and ruminated over the fact that my unlocked, rock hard, 100% available member was being neglected in favor of a this remarkable piece of technology. In the past, I might have been miffed, but the entire point of this exercise was her pleasure and the tool she preferred that night happened not to be the biocock. She knew I wanted her to fuck me, but she also knew what she wanted. I can’t say how happy it makes me that she picked it over me.

As usual, the little vibe that could brought her to a shuddering orgasm (repleat with rapid-fire exclamations of “Oh, fuck!”). As she basked, I was torn by the desire to feel myself inside her again and letting her continue to drive the event.

Eventually, I whispered tentatively into her ear, “Can I go inside you?”

I felt very much like I was intruding into her moment and I half expected her to say no. In retrospect, maybe she should have. But she didn’t. After a few more glowing moments, I climbed up and entered her hot wetness.

I quickly found myself within a hair’s breadth of coming. I looked into her eyes, deeply beseeching. I wanted to come so, so bad. Had she given me the word, it only would have taken another half stroke to pass the point of no return. But the word never came. She looked back at me and smiled.

“I’m very close to coming,” I admitted.

“Then you need to get out,” she calmly replied. It tore at me to do so, but I slowly withdrew and, on my knees between her legs, laid my head on her stomach, supplicating my desire to continue before her feminine will.

I rolled over onto my back next to her, panting, wet cock standing straight out. It throbbed with aching desire and, against any logic, I flexed it in an attempt to gain just a little more sensation. After a few moments, though, it started to lower, even as I tried to will it into continued erection. The heavy PA ring pulled the head down against my body and the rest of the shaft pulsed just a little lower with each beat of my heart. Eventually, it was still plump with blood but had lost its stiffness. The buzzing, conflicting desire racing through me started to subside. Impossibly, considering the intensity of my feelings just a few minutes before, I started to feel an almost post-orgasmic serenity descend over me. I was horny as hell, but started to feel sleepy. Content.

Facing her, I said, “Thank you so much. Thank you for letting me bring you to orgasm, thank you for letting me fuck you. Thank you for stopping me. Thank you so much.” My heart was brimming with devotion, affection, and love for her.

Then, we slept.

This morning, she put me back in the old CB6K. It’s a good thing, too, because I know I’m weak and, in my current condition, the temptation to play with her cock would be all-consuming. I am exactly as I should be. Totally and completely under her control.

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Proselytizing

Heard back from Deitmar. He did indeed ship the device on the 16th. I can only assume he used 214th class parcel post or something (the one where the mail carriers pass the box off as they happen upon one another while walking their routes). I’m told by Belle and Dev that Germany is a long way away and I should be more patient. Seems ironic that a guy who can skip coming for two months get’s all wadded up over how quickly his new orgasm denial mechanism will arrive. Anyway, the payment didn’t show up for Belle since PayPal, for some reason, sent the charge through to my PayPal credit card (which I’ve hardly ever used) and not our checking account as usual. They must have jinked with the default settings or something since that’s never happened before. So yeah, all is well on the Steelheart front. It’s just a waiting game now.

UPDATE: It has arrived. At least, at my local post office. I found a little registered mail notice in my mailbox when I got home. I’ll be picking it up in the morning! I may wet myself. OK, back to the post already in progress…

Belle locked me up again this morning. She told me last night as we were going to bed that I had been very good to her over the weekend. She was really relaxed and apparently quite pleased with my performance. Therefore, I was to be locked up first thing Monday morning. Not sure if that’s my reward or what, but I didn’t question her. I’m now wearing the chrome CB6K and thinking of its stainless brother bobbing aimlessly across the Atlantic in an empty peanut butter jar.

Something Steve said in one of his posts I linked to yesterday has me thinking:

If chastity were a commercial product I’d be one of those people on TV advertisements giving gushing unsolicited endorsements, where you can’t quite believe they didn’t get paid to say it.

Over on A Captivated Man (a well-written new chastity blog, BTW), I said in a comment:

I sometimes feel like I’m carrying around a secret only a few are allowed to know. I only wish I could tell my friends because the way orgasm denial has improved my relationship and overall sexual well-being is remarkable. It’s not unlike religion. I want to tell everyone to do it…

And it is a bit like religion, I suppose. One of those mind-expanding, life-altering practices that has such a huge and welcome impact on your existence that you just want to stand around in airports handing out pamphlets. In a way, I’m glad I don’t have any friends to which I can talk about this because I’m sure I’d be insufferable telling them how wonderful it is all the time. Yes, there are bumps and setbacks along the way, but when it’s working, it’s fucking spectacular.

There are few things men cherish more than their ability to experience sexual pleasure. Sure, women cherish that too, obviously, but men are conditioned by our culture to be especially tuned in with their own pleasure in a way women, unfortunately, aren’t. Perhaps not coincidentally, a man’s sexual organs are external and easily manipulated when aroused. Some guys, you can just see, are little more than extensions of their dicks. Most guys, I’d say, are, to a lesser degree, the same. I mean, men come a lot. More than you think. It’s easy and it’s fun and it sometimes seems as though the entire world is designed to celebrate that.

I’m speaking mostly from my own experience, of course, but there are few things I could offer Belle of higher value to me as a man than my ability to do that which defines my malehood. Not only that, but doing so has been a revelation to our relationship. My orgasm now has value. It has significance. Before, greater than 90% of them disappeared down a drain or clinging to a tissue in a trashcan, forgotten minutes after they came into being. Now, their bottled energy serves to power a whole new relationship dynamic that’s far richer and more fulfilling for us both. What I’ve sacrificed in quantity I’ve more than made up for in vastly higher quality. Orgasms now, to me, are no longer the objective, they are the path to the mountaintop. The act of making love no longer leads to them, it is made more profound by their absence.

This way of thinking flies in the face of everything we’ve been conditioned to think as men. Even when married, it’s clear that the male’s orgasm is meant first and always to be his, to do with what he likes. In my opinion, that way of thinking only serves to drive a couple apart. It may not create a divide in their relationship, but it certainly can aggravate it. Irrespective of a couple’s interest in overlaying D/s or any other BDSM component, allowing her to control his release ensures and enhances intimacy between them (when done right, of course). It maintains all the positive aspects of the very beginning of a relationship. At least, that’s what it does for us…

I’m not so far gone as to think what works for Belle and I would work for everyone. But I wish more people thought about orgasm control as a viable alternative to the dominant paradigm of heteronormal interaction. I’m not quite to the point where I’m likely to stand in an airport and recruit converts, but I am feeling more and more that there needs to be examples of this alternate existence openly and unashamedly out there. I have no idea how and in what form this would take were I so inclined to attempt it myself, but this works. It’s right. For us, it’s better than the “normal”.

People need to know.

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Fighting serpents

Sunday night, there was much horniness. Then there was some yelling. Then a little crying. Then good talking, replete with revelations and realizations.

As to the horniness, that was all me (surprise!). It wasn’t just the “gee, I haven’t had an orgasm in 50 days” kind of horny (which is like background radiation now in the way it persistently saturates my brain). It was a more mega-super-ultra kind of horny where every little part of me (including my spit and my toenails) wanted some action. Any action. NOW. Of course, she still had her cock locked in the device, so the only open avenues to “action” went though her and, even though I was doing me best sexy lothario impersonation, she wasn’t having any of it. How she could resist me at my most breathily passionate is beyond me, but after much kissing, grinding, and petting (of those areas I’m allowed to pet without explicit permission), she basically said, “OK, time for bed,” and rolled over.

That was hard. I got up to extinguish the candles and got back into bed to find her back facing me. She expected me to spoon into her as usual, but I was too far gone to do that and still maintain control and find sleep. I laid next to her and placed my hand on her arm as a compromise. Understand that while I was seething inside and struggling to deal with the vast sea of disappointment and psychic pain, I wasn’t mad at her. My issues were my own. As I’ve written here recently, I do worry that she’s less interested in sex with me lately, but my frustration with the moment wasn’t so much centered on her as it was my inability to predict when and for what reasons she’d let me engage with her sexually and my struggle with needing to engage with her.

She asked, “Is something wrong?” even though she already knew the answer. My actions made it pretty clear that things weren’t right.

And this led to the yelling portion of our program, though she did most of it while I contributed only a little at the end. I told her how hard it was for me at that moment. That’s about as far as I got before she started being defensive and saying she didn’t know how to deal with my seemingly unending appetite for sex. Her tone was accusatory and defensive and I was immediately upset because I saw where we were going and I didn’t want to go there. I wasn’t looking for a fight, but she naturally followed the well-worn path left from of all the dozens of times we had had this very same kind of conversation over the fallow years of our marriage.

But, of course, this wasn’t the same. In those days, we hardly ever had sex at all. Our sexual relationship was practically nonexistent. Now, it’s everywhere all the time. I don’t do anything anymore where I don’t feel the tug of our D/s dynamic and, as I said, the levels of sexual desire I carry with me throughout the day is a constant reminder (as is the device nestled in my crotch). And besides that, in the old days, after we fought about sex I’d just wait for her to go to sleep before slinking off somewhere to jack off. Now, that’s entirely out of the question, and not just because she’s locked up the only cock in the house. So I tried to tell her, not only is it hard for me to do what we’re doing, it’s hard to even talk about it because I’m not sure where the boundaries are. What’s acceptable for me to say I want? I want sex. Well, of course I do. What else is new? But is there a line between wanting sex and having it denied and wanting sex and feeling as though it’s being ignored? Turns out yes, but it took us a while to get there.

So, the raised voices and general angstiness continued for 15 minutes or so. I was doing my best to hang on to my headspace, but was losing the battle and eventually was raising my voice right back at her. The urge to claw the CB6K off my body and throw it into the corner was growing. This is the part where I cried. Then, she said the first wonderful thing of the night.

I was saying something about “this thing” we’re doing, meaning the D/s overlay on our marriage, and she said she didn’t really think of it that way anymore. It wasn’t “this thing” separate from our relationship. It was our relationship. She liked the dynamic and had no interest in ending it or ever going back to the way things were. Despite the conflict and emotions in the air, hearing her say that sent up an immediate flare of hope that caused a surge of pressure in the tube.

“Do you want to stop doing it?” she asked me (which was a switch – I’m usually the one to ask that).

“No,” I replied, “Not at all. I gave you my sex and I want you to keep it.”

“Good, because I don’t want to give it back to you.” With that, I was pulled quickly into subspace. Yes, we were having a heated discussion, but everything was still good. It helped me express the issue at hand in a new way.

The revelation is one of those things that, in retrospect, shouldn’t have come as a surprise but was because we had never used the words in the right order until just that moment. It’s truth is obvious and I’ve been writing around it a lot lately, but its application in our relationship hadn’t yet become explicit. I told her that our D/s was built on the foundation of my gift. The gift of my submission. The gift of my sexuality. I had taken from inside me a critical component of who I was and how I saw myself and entrusted it to her care. Not only did she have control over my sexual expression, she also had ownership of the very organ that defined my gender, which, of course, is a huge part of my identity. She accepted all that and wasn’t interested in given it back, which is great, but along with it came responsibility. Perhaps unfair responsibility and certainly responsibility neither of us fully appreciated at the beginning, but it was now primarily her job in our relationship to make sure my sexual identity was being cared for.

It’s like I had removed a vital organ from my body and given it to her to maintain. She could have just left it in a box until she felt like dealing with it, but that would have had negative consequences. When I was as desperately horny as I was that night and she didn’t even acknowledge it in anyway, it was as if she had slid the box containing the vital emotional organ of my sexual identity under the bed for later because now was inconvenient for her. Being denied wasn’t hard. Being horny wasn’t hard. Being ignored in the face of the hormonal surge was hard. Absent sex, I needed confirmation that she knew I was horny and she knew it was hard, but that nothing was going to happen. I needed to feel she appreciated where I was and what I was doing. She could have been cruel about it and teased me or she could have been sweet – either way would have been good for me – but I needed her to validate my condition somehow. Not feel sorry for me and give me what I wanted, but show me she saw where I was and liked it.

This kind of talk has helped us both see this power exchange in a new way, I think. I gave her my power – control over my sex, and in turn, over me and a large part of my mental health. All the struggle I’ve had in dealing with that hasn’t been because I couldn’t deal with my desire. It was because her actions didn’t always communicate to me that she took her responsibility seriously. In fact, I didn’t always trust her with what I had given her.

It’s like our old house. It’s right down the street from our new house. I drive by the old one every day. The people who bought it don’t always take care of the lawn as well as I did and, in general, don’t seem to care for it as much as we did when we lived there. I don’t regret selling it to them because doing so allowed us to move into this new, better house which I love with all my heart, but still, it’s hard to see someone take control over something we cared so much about and not put as much energy into it as we did. In the same way, I don’t always feel as though Belle is putting as much energy into the care and feeding of all that I gave her, willingly and which I do not want back. I’m not saying that each and every time we’re together that she needs to be “on” and showing me how much she adores what I handed over, but I do need to see that she’s actively involved with its maintenance. When I’m particularly struggling, I need her to provide a little extra care. I need a little extra attention.

Really, all this boils down to one of the most important truisms in tease and denial play: Denial does not equal neglect. Belle was not neglecting me, but she also was not calibrating her response to me in the right way and it felt like neglect. In fact, my level of desire was a hang-over from that morning where I was similarly all over her and obviously very desirous of her attention. Right after shutting me down and getting out of bed, she turned to me with a kiss and said, “I know it’s hard.” And I was fine.

Sometimes, what I need more than anything else is just that. In essence, for her to say, “I am not ignoring you, I am controlling you. I know you’re horny and I know it’s difficult, but I need you to deal with it because this is how I want you.” When the serpents escape in my psyche, that kind of input from her allows me to put the lid back on. It gives me strength and I need that.

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Wet

I asked for a quick release yesterday morning in order to do short inspection and thorough cleaning. Like last time, I found a little surprise. On the shaft of the cock, in the same location the corners of the KSD-G3 make contact, there were two little raw spots. They hadn’t broken the skin, but there was obvious irritation. I felt something that morning, but it was a mild pinching sensation. I’ve never experienced this type of reaction from the KSD and assume it’s related to the rougher interior surface of the chrome tube. Next time, I may forgo the KSD as see how that works, though I like having it in there because it helps keep the cock positioned well.

In any event, Belle let me stay out for a brief recuperative period. I’ll probably be back in by Sunday night or Monday morning at the latest since she’s going to LA next week and I’m not to be free when she’s not around. I find that the device helps keep my arousal in check and once it’s off my desires flame up like a smoldering fire suddenly given oxygen. I was way horny last night. I more or less was able to control myself and not be annoying, but she could tell.

I offered to rub her feet again and found that the prospect of doing it really turned me on. More and more non-sexual contact and activities provide an outlet for me now. Rubbing her feet has always been nice, but I’ve never felt a charge of energy around just the idea of doing it like I did yesterday. Later, in bed, I rubbed the living fuck out of her feet for a good 45 minutes and added a few new flourishes she really seemed to appreciate. It made her very relaxed and, I hoped, ready for some action.

I got lucky. She wanted an orgasm. Excessive horniness aside, I was able to slow down and savor the experience. I get no incidental contact with her breasts anymore, let alone her pussy, so those times in which she allows me to touch them have become so much more important. I lapped and suckled and simply enjoyed her nipples while I pressed as much of my body against as much of hers as I could. I kept my focus north of the Mason-Dixon line, so much so that by the time I started to touch her between the legs, her wetness had already soaked though her pajama bottoms. Slipping under, I felt that she was wetter than she’s been in a while. All of this left the cock so, so hard with what seemed like the distant memory of being inside her. I actually have been inside her, but it’s been a long, long time since I was in there and doing what I wanted rather than what she wanted. After just a few moments of manual stimulation, she pushed me over and told me she was going to fuck me.

It only lasted for a minute or two before she came. I got close, but was able to hold it in (mostly because she stopped fucking in the nick of time). Regardless, once she pulled off of me, I leaked a healthy squirt. I did not come, though. My arousal was like a ringing in my ears. Once it was time to sleep, I latched onto her and held tight, hard cock between us.

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Feeling good

“How are you feeling?” Belle asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“Yeah?” We had just climbed into bed and were waiting for the offspring to go to sleep in their bedrooms.

“Sure,” I said, “What exactly are you asking when you ask how I’m feeling?”

“Well, you know, physically, emotionally. I want to make sure you’re healthy and happy.”

I told her that on a macro level, I was doing very well. I was quite happy with everything relationship-wise. I had few complaints. Yes, I was disappointed that we hadn’t been able to have sex over the weekend, but I was really very happy with the way she had handled me the night before. Maybe not so happy about it at the time, but in retrospect, I thought she had been great. I was quite pleased to see her not apparently bothered with any feelings of guilt with regard to ignoring my sexual desire. She admitted to still being torn around that. Lingering feelings that she was acting in a way she should not – that she was being a bad mate – still hung in the air at those moments when I’m at my most pathetic.

I told her I really didn’t want her to feel in any way guilty. I trust that she will provide me attention that’s all about me at some point. I do not feel ignored by her at all. It’s important, though, that she determine the timing of that. Everything has to be on her schedule. (She hadn’t yet read my post from yesterday when we had this conversation.) By asserting her control in that way and leaving me horny and desperate, she was filling a need within me just as much as when she will eventually tell me I can have an orgasm. Different needs, but needs just the same.

She told me, in reply, that she was really quite enjoying leaving me locked up now. A few times, she thought of letting me out so she could have her way with her cock, but had actually liked the idea of leaving it locked away, completely under her control, even better. The mind fuck, she said, was more appealing to her than the actual fuck. I, of course, melted inside and got all warm when I heard her say those things. I jokingly accused her of telling me that because she knew how much I wanted to hear it, but she said no, it was really what she was feeling. I made the mistake of asking her, in rapid succession, if she had thought about how long she was going to leave me in, would she make me wear it on a trip I’m going to take in a few weeks, and, lastly, when would she let me out? All, more or less, the same question. As soon as it was all done running out of my mouth, I told her not to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. She agreed, I shouldn’t have asked.

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me.  I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Luckily, she wanted some attention from me. By this time, the kids were apparently asleep, so she told me I was going to make her come and then we were going to bed. I used my hand and mouth in the way proven to bring her to orgasm the quickest. Nothing unusual or particularly striking, except she was very sensitive to my touch after her longish orgasm drought. She came right on schedule.

Later, I was feeling decidedly non-eunuch-like. Whatever moment of zen had worked its way into me earlier had been blown away by feeling her pulsing contractions on my fingertips. I was really, really fucking horny and totally unable to sleep. I laid there for at least an hour and a half, visions of sex and fantastic scenarios flashing though my head, edited together like a music video. The cock swelled as much as it could and started to flex automatically in its confinement. But something felt…different.

I realized, after all this time, after maybe a year of complicated feelings regarding the act of orgasm, that right then (and, actually, right now), I wanted to come. I wanted to fuck and come and spew forth. Her recent confidence in dominating me coupled with her admission that she liked leaving me chastised and the aforementioned 20-some days without release all finally built up in me and I wanted to come. This was the feeling of being truly denied. Not humored. Not accommodated. Denied. It was a supremely frustrated feeling. It’s a very difficult feeling. But, I do admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Labor Day weekend

I didn’t get to see Belle until Saturday morning. This weekend saw the final fling of the summer up at the family north woods compound. She left Friday morning with her sister while I came up after the kids got of school. It wasn’t until 10:30 or so until I got up there and she was already fast asleep.

The next morning, she told me she had drifted off to sleep happy with the thought that I was locked under her key, unable to touch myself in any satisfactory way. She said she enjoys having that kind of control over me. I, not unexpectedly, revelled in her saying this. The familiar warm pulse of submission welled up within me. It’s still somewhat novel for me to think that I wear the device because she wants me to. It was my idea to introduce it, but now it’s all hers (as is the thing it contains). Pure awesome.

Saturday night, after a one of the finest late summer days I’ve seen at the cabin, she had me laying naked next to her in bed. Still locked up, she gently petted my balls until we both fell asleep. The next morning, now about two weeks since I last came, I was petting her back, hands roaming all across her body, except those places I’m not allowed to touch without permission.

“I’m being good,” I observed.

“You don’t have to be good,” she replied.

With that, I attempted to bring her to orgasm, but could feel in her a tension that left me wondering if we’d get there. When she’s in the mood, there’s a certain amount of time it should take me to get her off. As we passed that point, I maintained the ministrations of my mouth and fingers, but could sense it wasn’t going to happen. She eventually told me to stop, but said it wasn’t my fault she didn’t come. There was just too much activity in the cabin full of family for her to relax. I felt bad for her – for both of us, I guess, since her orgasm is our orgasm – but I didn’t dwell on it.

Sunday night, after a fine meal at the only nice restaurant within an hour’s drive of the cabin, we found ourselves alone with the kids asleep downstairs. As I walked into our room, she was sorting through her change purse looking for something. Funnily enough, she desired the use of her cock but had accidentally left the key to the lock at home. We both had a pretty good laugh at that. She didn’t want me to try bringing her orgasm again and instead repeated the previous evening’s gentle stroking of the stretched scrotum, intermingled with lingering tracing of my perineum and the occasional whack at my nuts. Lovely.

Throughout the weekend, and really into last week, I have to say that I’ve been plenty horny and desirous of sexual contact with her, but I’ve also felt myself resist taking any overt action based on those feelings. Previously, I’d have probably been all over her and pressuring her in several ways, but at least for now, I don’t feel the need. I’m very comfortable with my position as her sexual subordinate. When she wants it, she’ll ask for it. Until then, I’ll find some other way to make her happy. I guess you could say that it appears as though I’ve learned to be patient. The chastity device helps, of course.

Last night, I offered to give her a foot massage while we caught up on Mad Men. Just as before, I felt a great deal of satisfaction from the activity knowing that it was giving her pleasure and making her relaxed. After I finished (and the show was over), she produced her key. I was somewhat surprised as being unlocked wasn’t even on my mind, but I assumed she wanted to use her cock in the way she had not been able to the night before. After she let me out, I went off to ensure I was nice and clean.

Back in the bedroom, she had me strip and lay back on the bed. She rubbed and massaged the cock and my balls until I was sporting a very stiff erection. I flexed it several times, feeling it surge with blood and filling out to its most engorged state, just for the satisfaction of the sensation. It had only been a week or so in the device, but nothing beats the feeling of a nice hard cock.

She again smacked my nuts around, though with more force than before when the plastic was in the way. A couple of times, she actually balled up her fist and thudded into my right testicle, but not as forcefully as she could have. Lovely, exquisite pain radiated up and into my guts which, unless it’s your thing, you’d never really understand or appreciate.

Then she started to stroke me. Gently and slowly at first, but then with more speed. It felt simply glorious. I moaned and writhed and felt the tickling tell-tale signs of orgasm deep under the stiff root of the cock. I wasn’t sure if she meant to get me off, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

And then she stopped. I moaned deeply. The absence of her touch reverberated in me and the bubbling optimism of my coming orgasm quickly receded. Then she started to stroke me again. This time, I swung my leg over hers to more fully open myself to her and pressed into her body. My entire being was being consumed by the sensation of her masturbating me. Shortly, I again felt the tingling of a nascent orgasm beginning to coalesce and again she let go, leaving the hard meat bobbing in her wake.

This time, the absence of her attention tore through me. I moaned even more loudly and my breathing was in ragged pants as I struggled to process my desire for her to keep going, but knowing I couldn’t ask for it. I kissed her chin and jaw and pressed my face into her breasts trying to find the outline of her nipples with my lips, but she pushed me away.

Her hand was back on the rigid, straining cock, moving up and down. I wanted it so badly, this sensation. More, I wanted to shoot my wad. I wanted the two weeks worth of spunk I had been carrying around with me to unload all over her hand and my chest. I wanted to come. I resolved to do what I could to hide any sign of an impending orgasm. I willed the internal process along hoping to take her by surprise.

Is that wrong? Was I betraying my oath of submission and the power I had investing in her over my release? I don’t know. I can’t say. All I do know is the urge to come had overtaken any other imperative. All there was in the world was her hand and the hard cock within it and the wonderful orgasm she was soon to bring into the world.

And it was right there. I could feel it starting to march up the ladder, yearning for daylight. I was about to come…until she stopped again. My moan was more a cry of anguish. It was over, this time for good, and the juices never flowed. The cock bobbed rhythmically as I flexed and pumped it as though doing so would cause the orgasm to spontaneously come into being, but I got nothing. Not even a meager dribble. Apparently, not as close as I thought.

Shortly afterward, the candles were snuffed and she was rolled over and going to sleep. I pressed the still hard meat into her as we spooned, careful not to grind it. I was horny beyond comprehension, but at the same time happy and satisfied, after a fashion.

My Belle played me very well all weekend long. I have not seen her more confident and comfortable in her role. Right now, things are going well. Very, very well.

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Rika arrives

I finally got around to ordering Uniquely Rika the other day and it showed up last night. I’ve seen it talked up on other sites and, after finding myself again on her old website (now defunct, but still available if you know how to use the Internet Archive), I decided to pop the $30 and get the book. I’ve purchased books like this in the past (specifically, about female dominance), but I can’t say they’ve been particularly helpful. On the one hand, it has been hard picturing either Belle or me living the lives they describe (though, to be fair, the life we are leading is evolving at a fairly rapid rate – there are things I embrace now that I eschewed six months ago). On the other hand, I was the one reading the books, not Belle (for the most part – we did read parts of one or two together). I really don’t consider me to be the target audience for these. Belle is.

So, after leafing though it last night and seeing that Rika isn’t batshit crazy or anything, and after recognizing that the majority of the book consists of Rika speaking to the F in the FLR, I decided to basically ignore it. It’s Belle’s to read. If there are sections within that she thinks I should look at, then I’ll be more than happy to do so, but otherwise, its secrets will be hers. And really, they should be. If I’m to truly submit to her, then she needs to craft a flavor of dominance she’s comfortable with all on her own. She needs to own it and let me live within it. It can’t really be community property. I’m not saying I need to sublimate all my needs and emotions or anything like that, but in whatever way we’re able to practice D/s, she needs to bring the D and I need to bring the s. It seems to me, the less I think about how she should or should not practice domination, the more confident she’ll be in how she approaches it and the more energy I can expend being a better submissive. That’s the idea, anyway. She agrees the book is for her, not me, and started to read it last night. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

While she was reading it, I was giving her a foot massage. It felt really, really good for me since it’s been somewhat busy around the house over the past week and my opportunities to service her have been few and far between. I have been able to cook the dinners and clean up and such, but that just kind of feels like my job now and not so much a chance to make her especially happy. So, while she filled out the questionnaire, I spent 30 minutes lovingly caressing her feet.

Afterward, she asked for me to continue on her shoulders and neck, which I gratefully did. That kind of massage is fundamentally more intimate since she’s typically topless and I usually get more contact with her body since I straddle her legs while doing it.

At one point, I was kneeling just below her ass and laying over her to get a better angle on her shoulder muscles.

“That feels nice,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“The way you’re thrusting into me like that.”

I hadn’t even realized I was, but once she mentioned it, I saw that my motions were causing the CB6K to rhythmically grind into her ass. Had I not been wearing it, and had we both been completely naked, it wasn’t very dissimilar from a position I’d use to penetrate her from behind. After all this clicked into place in my head, I felt the pressure build in the device and the nature of my position – the denied, chastised male dedicated to her pleasure – fall upon me in full weight. I was already sporting a healthy subbie buzz, but this sent it flying.

“Maybe we should try this position sometime,” she continued, suggesting I could fuck her from behind while massaging her shoulders. Whether or not that’s even possible, the idea of trying it, and her talking about sex while I was physically incapable of it, caused me to breath very heavily as my face hovered above her bare skin. It was wonderfully tormenting.

Finally, after the massage was over, she produced Pink, her little vibe. Even though she’s still on her period, she wanted me to get her off. I very happily complied, especially when she told me to get naked. She came quickly and intensely.

This morning, she was lazy in bed because she had the day off. While snuggling and spooning, she started to touch me. While chastised, I find myself especially sensitive to her touch all over my body. I’m not the first person to observe that locking away the primary male erogenous zone causes the remainder of the body to pick up the slack. She can touch me anywhere and set me off. In this case, it was my chest. Gently, she ran her fingers through my chest hair and down along my ribs. I felt myself melt. She traced down my side, over the top of my thigh, and found my balls. She may have also been touching the cock in its plastic case, but there’s no way I can feel that. As her fingers lightly caressed me, I felt my normal morning thickness try to grow against its encasement. The device, along with its contents, pulled up and away from my body. Laying on my back was intolerable. I turned over and got up on my hands and knees. Suspended from above, the straining package was more comfortable, but she continued to trace the contours of my stretched scrotum and I felt the tube of the CB6K throb as the meat it secured became more engorged.

“God, it’s so tight,” I gasped.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked while not stopping.

*whimper*

Finally, “No. Don’t ever stop.”

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Eight

Belle and I headed north Friday to retrieve our children from their end-of-summer extended stay with the grandparents. The drive is about four hours and gave us a nice long time to chat. I pointed out to her that it was nearing a year since we started our little experiment and thought it a good time to discuss what’s going well and what we wish was better.

On the plus side, she said she’s happy overall with what we’ve done with our relationship. She likes that I’m more interested in doing things for her, likes that we’re having more sex, and likes locking me into chastity. Her reasons for liking the first two things are fairly straightforward. As for enforcing my chastity, she says she likes the sense of control it gives her. Likes knowing that my actions are limited – what I am (and am not) up to – when wearing it. This, of course, turns me the fuck on. I explained that doing something she tells me to do because she knows it’s what I want makes me feel good, but doing it because it’s something she wants makes it 50 times more exciting for me. I also reiterated to her that being locked up makes me feel cared for by her. Maintained. It demonstrates a willingness on her part to control me.

With regard to the service aspect, I like that she likes that, too. She and I were both turned on the other night when I cleaned the kitchen for her while she visited with her friend (which probably explains why she fucked me afterward). However, I told her I didn’t think I was providing very good service lately. I encouraged her to hold me to higher expectations. Also, there should be ramifications for not living up to those standards.

As for the sex part, I too am very happy with the frequency. On average, I’d say we have sex three or four times a week. A year ago, it was once every six weeks, so big improvement! She’s much more comfortable now being the only one of use who comes during these encounters than she was at the beginning, though she still occasionally struggles with it. I reiterated to her that I am very, very happy having fewer orgasms, but I know it sometimes puts pressure on her. In the past, not having sex led to issues in out marriage, and I think somewhere in the back of her head she still equates my sexual satisfaction with how much I ejaculate, but that’s got nothing to do with it. As I said, we’re having many times more sex now than a year ago, though I’m coming way, way less. Regardless, I’ve never been more satisfied sexually in my life. I’ll make sure to tell her happy I am more often.

The thing I told her I need more of (rather than orgasms) was teasing. She didn’t get what I was trying to say with that, and it occurred to me it is a rather vague term. I meant teasing as in “tease and denial”. Basically, turn me on and then leave me on. Make me hard, do things that might eventually cause me to orgasm, but then stop. She said she’d do more of that.

Finally, we got to the subject of my orgasms. Specifically, the frequency with which they occur. There is a significant amount of angst that builds up around this for both of us (probably more so for me). After talking about a few alternatives, we decided to try an approach that will allow a specific number over the next twelve months but at random intervals. I asked how many she though would be a reasonable amount and, after thinking about it for a while, said eight or nine. While she was thinking, I was too, and also came up with eight. So eight it is.

We’re going to toss into a hat the date of the next 52 Saturdays and I’ll draw eight, but won’t be told what they are. Those will be the dates (within a couple days in either direction) upon which I’ll be allowed to have orgasms. On the plus side, it removes the angst of deciding when I’ll come for both of us. On the minus side, it also removes a significant piece of her control over the spontaneity of those occasions. We’re going to give it a try and see how it goes. If she doesn’t like it, she can always change the rules again.

My only issue now is deciding what to do when I come by accident. It’s going to happen sooner or later. So far, she’s seemed reluctant to punish me (other than that one week when she took away my right to participate in her pleasure). We have a few homebrew crops she could use on me, but so far, she hasn’t. I’m not sure what’s holding her back from using punishment, but it seems to me to be an integral part of power exchange – that she has the right to punish me while I’ve little choice but to accept it. That really works for me, but maybe not so much for her.

So anyway, she started her period today, so that means I’m back in the device. We’ve fallen back to the black Master locks as the sharp little brass lock corroded last time I wore it. The Masters don’t seem prone to that. Too bad they’re so bulky and kinda ugly (and say “Master” on them – they’d be so much better if they said “Mistress”, don’t you think?).

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Free ride

“What, exactly, are your intentions?” Belle asked as I laid next to her, naked, running my hand up and down her inner thighs, careful to avoid touching the area in between them as I had not been given permission to do so.

It was late (for Belle), around 10:45 or so. She had just finished up some work after entertaining a girlfriend at our house for 3 or 4 hours. She and her friend sat in the living room (after having been driven inside by desperate late-Summer mosquitoes) sipping their wine and talking about people they used to work with while I cleaned up the kitchen, set up her coffee for the morning, attended to the dog, etc. It felt nice being a service to her, letting her focus all her energy on her friend, removing any stress she might have with regard to the messy kitchen. I felt…in my place. Happy. In a routine.

“I have no intentions,” I replied, “I’m just doing this because it feels good for you and makes me happy. I expect nothing.”

“Well, aren’t you being the good sub tonight,” she purred, “I just wanted to know if you had an objective.”

“I always have an objective,” I admitted, “But I also know my place. If you want an orgasm, I’d be very happy to give you one. But it’s your call, not mine.”

“Hmmm,” she said in her lazy, getting ready to sleep voice, “Someone must have slipped you some truth serum or something, because you’re speaking the truth.”

*Ache.* I love it when she talks like that. I felt the cock start to respond in it’s expected manner. I felt warm inside and kept stroking her legs.

“OK,” she said with some finality.

“Time for bed?” I asked, “Want me off?”

“No, I want an orgasm.” Hooray! “But nothing dramatic. Just a nice little ten minute deal because I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”

“OK, I’ll send the circus monkeys home.”

She exposed her breasts to me and I clamped on while rubbing her mound under its thin fabric, feeling her heat already starting to build.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Being in this position – servicing her desire while mine is left to grow unattended – feels so right and good now. It is as things should be. This is how we make love. Her orgasm is our orgasm. I crave hers more than my own.

After about five minutes of action, she was wet and moaning in encouraging ways. We were headed in the right direction and I knew I’d be bringing her to orgasm well within her ten minute requirement.

“How’s my cock?” she asked.

“Hmrph?” I asked, mouth full of nipple.

“How’s my cock?” she asked more insistently.

“Um, kinda hard,” I replied. Truth is, I was thinking more about getting her home than the condition of the penis.

“Hard enough for me to ride?” I reached down and felt the erection. Not stone-hard, kinda squishy on the outside but with a nice solid core.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m going to ride it,” she declared.

I rolled over on my back and she climbed on top of me, took the cock in her hand and guided it smoothly into her. I took advantage of my ready access to both nipples and continued to lick, suck, and tease them with my tongue and fingers. I flexed my hips to create a counter rhythm to hers until I felt our skin was sliding freely and she used her legs to adjust the position of mine, pushing them further apart. After she had established her rhythm, moving up and down at whatever speed and depth worked best for her, I stopped moving in an attempt to extend my resistance.

As usual, my mind went to baseball. No idea what I’m going to do when the season’s over, but thoughts of player slumps and team standings were enough to distract me from her increasing speed and rising passion.

After a respectable period of time, she came. Really, really came. Her biocock never twitched. She was able to ride me as long and as passionately as she wanted with no distracting orgasm of my own. She collapsed on top of me, panting and glowing, basking like crazy while I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

“Good job, Thumper,” she exhaled.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.”

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Out for the weekend

Saturday morning, Belle says to me, “We’re going to have sex in a few minutes after I have a little more coffee.”

“And what do you mean when you say ‘sex’?” At that point, I was wearing a chastity device still brimming with morning enthusiasm.

“The normal kind. I’m going to unlock you because I want to have my cock.”

“OK,” I replied. Sounds good to me, I thought.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked. I guess we’re still in communication mode following last weekend’s issues.

“I’m fine with it. Do you want me to come?”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you come.”

Silence.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means, given a choice, I’d rather you have a point of view on the matter. Even if you don’t, I’d like you to say you do. It doesn’t really work for me if you don’t care one way or the other.”

We’ve had this conversation before, but apparently she forgot. She decided I would not get to come. I offered to go clean up from my week or so’s imprisonment and she got the key while I pulled down the covers and exposed the device. She fiddled with it.

“It won’t go in,” she said.

“What do you mean it won’t go in?”

“The key. It won’t go in.”

“Are they the right keys?”

“They’re the only little keys I have.”

“Here, let me try,” I offered.

I took the little key and lined it up with the keyhole. It wouldn’t go in. I turned the key around. No dice. They were the right keys, but for some reason, they weren’t fitting into the lock. A mild wave of panic came over me.

I tried forcing the key, but it’s just a little wisp of a thing and I was afraid of breaking it in the keyhole. After some consistent pressure, it slowly slid into place and, begrudgingly, turned. The lock popped open. The little brass lock with the sharp edges – the lock that originally came with the CB6K – had corroded.

With the lock open, I went and removed all the polycarbonate from her cock, cleaned it up, and shaved off the stray little hairs I couldn’t get to with the device in place. I walked back into her bedroom.

“Wow,” she laughed, “it looks so different like that!”

She wanted “normal” sex meaning I got on top and fucked her. I spent some time working her with my fingers hoping to get the ball rolling a little before I was expected to give her an orgasm with the cock that wasn’t allowed to come. She was good and wet by the time I put the cock in her, but I kept my mind on other things and my tongue on her nipples, trying not to hear the sounds of ecstasy she was making as I stroked in and out of her. As I pondered the Dodger’s playoff chances and whether or not it would be better for them to be playing as the division leaders or from the wild card spot, I noticed her breathing and sounds of pleasure begin to indicate she was getting closer to our objective.

“Deep, Thumper!” she yelled, “Deeper!”

Obediently, I fucked her more deeply, driving the cock all the way in as far as I could. Her approaching orgasm was the freight train while mine was the little roadster racing for the railroad crossing. Either she was going to cross first, sending me smashing into oblivion, or I’d get there first and sneak one in right in front of her. I was rooting for her.

She started to come and, as soon as I knew she was well over the falls, stopped all motion hoping and holding my breath against the orgasm I knew was astonishingly close. Regardless, I felt the cock start to pump its payload into her, but without the motion, missed the full sensation of a normal orgasm. Laying next to her afterward, I felt myself somewhere in between a real orgasm and a ruined one. I sort of half came.

A little while later, I was at my workbench putting several drops of 3-In-One into the keyhole. When it leaked back out, it was brown with rust. I put more oil in it and worked the lock until it felt smooth and easy. That oil came back out clear.

The rest of the day found us shopping, going to a movie and then to dinner, enjoying our time without kids (they’re with the in-laws all week up north). Our plan was to watch another movie at home, but soon after we got in the house, she informed me we were going to have sex again.

In bed and naked, I started to rub my face against her body through her pajamas. I worked my way down until my face was between her legs, kissing and biting with my lips the soft warmth of her pussy behind the thin fabric. I buried my nose in her, deeply inhaling her essence and felt the cock harder than it had been in a long time. I pulled her bottoms down and started to devour her, licking and sucking at her clit, rubbing my nose and face in her juices. I may have “half come” earlier in the day, but it had done little to lessen my arousal.

I changed my position so that I could reach up with both hands and play with her nipples, leaving my face deeply planted in her snatch and the hard cock grinding into the mattress. I was hungry for her pussy and it, apparently, was hungry for my tongue as her hips were bucking and her juices were flowing freely, running down my chin. Her eventual orgasm seemed much more powerful than the one from the morning and she clamped onto my head with her thigh muscles, forcing my nose and mouth into her and cutting off my oxygen. She was coming hard, so I kept my tongue in motion as her legs painfully pressed against the sides of my head.

I couldn’t breath, my tongue was cramping in effort, and sharp pains were shooting through my jaws as she squeezed me, but the orgasm was remarkable. I could feel it. Its energy radiated out of her pussy and into me, filling every corner of my body with its power. Her orgasm was our orgasm, and it felt deeply satisfying.

She finally released me and I laid with my head on her inner thigh, face still close to her pussy, panting and feeling her orgasm ringing within me. This feeling of attachment to her pleasure is one of the most satisfying side-effects of orgasm denial. Somehow, her sexual satisfaction can transfer to me leaving me feeling a kind of post-orgasmic high, though doing nothing to diminish my arousal.

I moved back up towards her face wanting to be closer while we basked in the afterglow. I was careful to move the cock so it pointed down and lay against her labia instead of accidentally entering her. After a few moments, she told me I could go inside her, though not come, of course. I hadn’t expected this and wasn’t prepared. The cock was already losing its stiffness in the aftermath of the orgasm she had just had, but I ran its head up and down her outer lips and it was ready for action after just a few seconds.

And then I fucked her. I fucked her and fucked her. Like an animal. All there was in the entire world was her pussy and the cock that was plowing it and I wanted to keep doing it forever. I started to grunt with every downstroke and felt myself nearly get lost in the action. A thin tendril of control was all I had to pull myself back from the edge, just a few strokes short of orgasm. I slowed, but tried not to stop. I felt the orgasm retreat, but not my desire to fuck her into a quivering puddle. The driving male need to fuck fought with me. I withdrew from her, placing me face against her stomach, and I felt the power of my desire buckle under the weight of her absolute control. The animal within howled in protest and I moved back up, trying to get back inside her.

“That’s all you get, Thumper,” she said. From deep inside, I started a low, long moan of anguish. Not in protest of her decision, but from the agony of my internal conflict. I would not feel her heat wrap around me again.

Later, I laid with my face against her chest and fell asleep with remarkable ease. Happy, horny, and satisfied.