Winces, ointments, and fantasies

“I love that sound.”

That’s what Belle said after she gave me the key to the Steelheart and, as I was removing it, I made wincing grunty noises as each of my swollen balls popped through the device’s A-ring. She loves the sound of my balls being released because it means she’s going to have some fun with the penis.

But I wasn’t. Following our previous experiments with lidocaine lotion, reader nagadikandang related their experience with a similar product called Tattoo Soothe. It comes in two varieties, but the one I got is 5% Lidocaine, 20% benzocaine and 5% tetrazine. It’s pretty damned expensive. Fifteen grams of the stuff costs about $30 on Amazon.

However, the additional ingredients seem to make it more potent than lidocaine all by itself. The consistency of Tattoo Sooth is thicker and stickier than the lotions I’ve used in the past. It doesn’t go on as easily and is a little more difficult to wipe off. I applied it, rolled a condom over everything to ensure it didn’t dry out, and waited exactly 15 minutes before removing it. I was totally and completely deadened. I felt nothing. While I used to think lidocaine left me totally numb, if it’s possible, Tattoo Sooth left me feeling even more than totally numb. Like there was a sensation vacuum left at the end of the penis.

That may have been too much of a good thing. I couldn’t get hard enough to penetrate Belle so she could get off. That’s the bad news. The good news is she was a chatty little thing that night.

“Have I ever told you that I sometimes fantasize that you’re a girl? A girl with a cock.”

N-o. Nope. Never told me that. Definitely would have remembered hearing that before.

“Ever had a three way?”

Once, but it didn’t work out.

“Two girls?”

No, one girl and another guy.

“What if we had a three way with another girl?”

Oh, yeah, I’m there.

“What do you imagine that would be like?”

You’d be riding the numbed penis while she sat on my face and the two of you kissed and played with each other’s tits.


Then we talked about the flirty policeman.

“I imagined that I took him into one of those below-street brownstone entrances, under the stairs, and fucked him right there…”

Ung. Yeah?

“His cock was so thick and fat I had a hard time getting it in…”

The one and only deficiency she’s admitted to feeling about the penis is its relative lack of girthiness. She doesn’t like them long, but she likes them hefty. I’m not hefty, but the imaginary policeman lover was.

At one point, she demonstrated on me how she sucked the cop’s cock, but of course, I couldn’t feel it in the parts that mattered. I could feel the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips, but only at the base of the shaft where it did me no good.

It’s interesting to me that in her fantasy encounter with the cop, she was clearly dominant. In my fantasy, he was, but she told it to me as if she was the aggressor and controller of the encounter.

As I said, I couldn’t get hard enough to let her fuck me (which could have just as easily been a little bit of stress I was feeling regarding how long the numbing agent would last), so she sat on top of me and ground her pussy against whatever condition the penis was in. I didn’t know because I could feel nothing. But she did come.

Afterward, she told me I could fuck her. And I did, after a good deal of coaxing, but I felt almost nothing. Just enough to get hard from the activity, but not nearly enough to ever come from it. Not even close.

As I fucked her, I told her how I wished my orgasm was something physical I could actually give her. Take it out of my body and place it in her hand. I saw it as a small red gem glowing steadily. I told her how I dreamed of watching her close her fist around it and squeezing it until it shattered and its dark pieces fell out onto the floor. Extinguished. How that would leave me with an hollow place that would only be filled with an unquenchable desire for something that was physically unable for me to achieve.

I fell asleep before the penis came back to life. The next morning, she let me fuck her again, only this time I could feel it. I got close to coming several times and leaked a few surges of sticky ejaculate into her before she told me my time was up. She left me out of the device until this morning when, while kissing me goodbye for the day, she whispered into my ear that I needed to lock myself back up.

So I did. So I am.


Even though he had lowered the shades in the room they shared before going to bed, enough light leaked in to cause his eyes to flutter open. Daylight. Morning. Saturday.

He stirred and stretched a bit and his hand found its way (as all men’s hands do, seemingly by themselves) to his crotch. Scratch. Squeeze. Hard, but not as hard what he usually found there. His other hand reached just as instinctively for his phone. 5:58. The alarm was set for 6:00 anyway, so he turned it off and snuck out of bed trying not to wake her up.

Six o’clock is too damned early to wake up on a Saturday but he had to go to the gym and meet his trainer. This early spot was really hers but she decided a while back she didn’t like waking up that early on a Saturday, either, and told him he had to take it. She’d have his 9:00 spot. Kiss on the cheek. Thanks.

He padded around the house, still naked, morning wood bobbing around in front of him like an eager dog at the end of a leash. He tried to ignore it. Speaking of which, the dog would want to go out soon. Grab a Diet Coke. Get the sandwich in the microwave.

He didn’t like getting up that early but liked this early morning stillness. Like it being quiet. Liked being able to be naked around the house. Liked the kids being away so he didn’t have to cover himself. She let him close the blinds on the huge fishbowl-like windows in front of their home. The ones that let all the people see in and observe their every move, if they wanted to. He opened the door and grabbed the paper. Just a flash of nakedness, but no one to see it. Minor thrill.

Eat. Drink. Read. The dog came out. Back in their room (occasionally referred to as her room), he looked at her still sleeping and quietly grabbed his workout clothes. Sleeveless Nike shirt, light and airy. Under Armour compression underwear. Baggy Nike shorts. Branding mismatch. Ankle socks. Swiss shoes. Into the bathroom to pull everything on. Out the door with the dog. Walk.

Back in the house, he checked his watch. 7:16 now. Fourteen minutes. Need to go. He put his water bottle in his bag, found his keys.

He heard a stretchy groan from the back of the house. A mumbled call. She’s up. Go see her.

“Good morning,” she said, warm and sleepy. Covers up in the morning coolness, bit of nipple showing on the right side.

He climbed into bed and hugged her. Kissed her.

“Hi,” he said.

More kissing. More hugging. Holding her close though the covers.

She didn’t usually sleep naked. Not like him. But she was this morning. Naked and warm and smelling and tasting like her. His hips started to grind into her leg, though his clothes, through the bedding. He could feel himself start to harden. Push against the compression of his Under Armor. He pulled the comforter down a bit and put her nipple in his mouth.

“Mmmm. You don’t have time,” she said softly.

“There’s time,” he replied.

Mouth on nipple, mouth on mouth, one hand on nipple, one hand moving over her body, drifting south. Finding her neatly kept hairy patch. Slipping his finger over her folds. Mouth back on nipple, finger gyrating.

She moaned appreciatively. Her eyes closed and her lips parted and she felt his touch. His hardness was feeling distorted. Squished by the stretchy fabric. Compressed. But nothing he wasn’t familiar with. He’d had it worse. Much worse.

“You need to go,” she complained half-heartedly.

“I need to do this.”

Her back arched a little more, her legs parted a little more, he reached into a wetter, hotter part of her. Slick. Sexy. Her.

Her hips started to move. That’s a good sign, he thought. Fucking hell, he wanted her. But he wanted to feel her come more. He wanted to start her day with this. The rubbery soles of his sneakers caught on the fabric of the bed covering as he wrapped his legs around hers, pressed his needy sex into her. She pulled the covers down. Exposed herself to him. Allowed him full view of his alter.

He felt her rhythm quicken. Her breathing. Her heartbeat. Her pussy silky under his long fingers. More moaning.

She came. Now it was his turn to moan. More like a groan. Her passion in harmony with his desire.

He kissed her again. God, her taste. Her lips. So soft. So perfectly kissable.

“Thank you,” they both said.

“7:28,” she said.

He hopped out of bed, sprinted to his gear, into his truck, down to the gym. Barely late.

On the exercise bike warming up, he could still feel the hard-on in his shorts.

She kept pumping

The festive July 4th weekend was a time of reflection for me since it was exactly a year ago that Belle let me have what turned out to be the last orgasms of the year and was the kick-off to my longest orgasmless period yet. I didn’t come again until January of this year and that was supposed to be the last time until July of next year. But it didn’t turn out that way.

I’ll back up.

I had been ruminating on how I’d mark this personally significant date (kinda like my independence from orgasms or something), but I never found the time over the busy holiday to sit down and do it. At Belle’s instruction, I brought the condoms and lidocaine with us to the northern retreat so she could enjoy the penis freely and I expected to be let out for that purpose at some point. She did let me out, but we didn’t do anything other than the usual stuff, though she did let me fuck her one morning and it was grand. We fucked like teenagers. Wildly and energetically and the whole time I was enjoying wanting so badly to come but being refused the right. I begged and cajoled. I bargained and justified. But no. It was good. It was how things are supposed to be. I was totally under her control.

I didn’t pressure Belle to use the lidocaine so as the last morning away from home dawned, I figured she just never wanted to give it a shot. As we laid there in bed, Belle started to run her finger along the length of the penis and around my inner thighs and around my nuts. It felt great. The erectile tissue did it’s thing and she wrapped her hand all the way around the hard shaft and started to pump. I splayed out, back arched, and lost myself in the feeling of her pleasuring me. I didn’t think she’d keep going for very long so I didn’t do any of my internal stuff to hold back the inevitable. She was really pumping and I was getting closer but I still didn’t try and stop anything since she wasn’t going to let me come (I thought). Suddenly, I realized I was very close and I said something to her about it. I made it quite clear where I was. She kept pumping.

Inside, the rabbit was appalled. Horrified. This was not supposed to happen. But the lizard, remembering the 17-year-old style fucking from the previous morning and the short leash and tight collar it’s been made to suffer though, was triumphant. He knocked my higher brain offline and rode the crest of the orgasm up and over the explosion of chemicals that seemed to hit every part of my sensory system simultaneously.

It hurt, I came so hard. I can’t say it was enjoyable. It was too intense. But the bubble had been burst. A real fucking orgasm, dreamy dopey hangover and all. Belle commented on how little ejaculate there was, but she hadn’t really been stroking me that long. This wasn’t as much a shot as it was an implosion. I laid there, stunned into paralysis, and felt the great billowing sail of my denial deflate inside my chest. Not sorrowfully. I refused to let myself think of it that way. Belle whispered something about how that was a demonstration of how I wasn’t in control of anything. When I could move again, I snuggled into her and wrapped my arms and legs around as much of her as possible.

Did I want to come? Of course. Desperately. Would I have chosen to come if she had asked my preference? Maybe. Am I glad I did now? Um…I dunno. Like I said, I’m trying not to think of it as a good or bad thing. I’m trying to think of it as analogous to when she hits my balls. Sometimes, I don’t like it. It’s not what I want at that moment. But I take it because it’s a symbol of my lack of control. That’s what this was, I suppose. What does this mean to the previously expressed July 2014 date? No idea.

Typically, I find I need two orgasms after a long denial to feel really sated. The first one is horribly intense and over the top. The second on is fanfuckingtastic. Then I’m totally out of the game for a week or more. This time, she locked me back up within 24 hours. I didn’t want the device. I wanted to stay out. The other shoe hadn’t been dropped. I wasn’t really in the zone, but I could feel the lizard sitting expectantly on the rabbit’s head. Last night, as Belle slept, I was laying there with my hand on my balls and hard, hard tube and yearning to be out. The device felt especially cruel. I wasn’t in subspace at all. I was in horny needy male space. That’s a different thing. She sensed my different attitude before dinner and asked where my usual subbie persona was. “Wiped off my stomach and into a dirty sock,” I said.

Today, I still feel like I’m in kind of a nether zone. Not what I usually feel. Not bad, just different. I am really horny. I mean, horny. Crudely so. My balls tingle and ache a little. I am not a fan of the steel between my legs. It’s a weird combination of things. Regardless of how it feels or how much I like it, it is an excellent demonstration of what Belle said she wanted it to be. I am not in control of my own sex in any way.


My Belle is getting very good at torturing me. Not in the tied up with rope and dripping hot wax kind of torture, the making me so horny my vision clouds and the device feels like it’s chewing the penis off kind of torture.

The other night started innocently enough. She wanted to sit on my face and come and I really wanted her to. Along the way, though, she got sidetracked by my usual nipple sucking and clit fingering. Her hand wandered over and mixed with mine so we were both flicking and caressing her pussy but then she told me to stop and go sit between her legs and watch.

Ungh. OK.

I had my face right in there. The room was dark, but there was enough light leaking in the window for me to make out her finger dipping and diving and rubbing. I could hear her wetness while I tried to absorb her feminine bouquet through my very pores. The penis was as hard as it could be. It felt even harder than it does during the morning wood sessions and that’s pretty fucking hard. I moaned, both in agony of what I was sensing (but not being allowed to participate in) and the hard metal bite of the German steel.

I moved closer and tried to nuzzle my nose against her soft, wet folds.

“Get back,” she said, softly but sharply.


Again, like a doomed moth, I was drawn in and again I was put back. Pain or no pain, the months of denial and days since the last time I was allowed to enjoy her body were causing me to grind the device into the bed. It was killing me, but my head was full of buzzing and the only thing in the entire world was her pussy. I was losing my mind from it all. Then she pulled her finger out and let me suck it off before taking it away again.



More fingering. More hips gyrating. More finger sucking. More abject suffering. I may have been moaning freely. Whining. My inner emotional narrative turned to physical sound. Her hips were picking up speed. I could sense her orgasm coming and I wasn’t going to be part of it. Then…

“Go ahead,” she said as she removed her hand.

I devoured her. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her snatch into full contact with as much of my face as possible. The trapped penis meat screamed at being pressed against the bed, but I knew nothing but her pussy.

Then she told me it was time for the face-sitting. I leapt up, panting and probably a little wild-eyed. My hand shot instinctively to her wetness, not wanting for a moment it to go unattended  She was so wet. So slick with her own fluids and my spit. The penis ached for that feeling. Hot, wet and home. More moaning.

She liked how it felt. She wouldn’t let me stop. She came, clutching my wrist in her hand and pressing her legs together. I reached for her G-spot and could feel her muscles clamping down with each wave of orgasm. Then she was done. And I was dizzy with sensations of her proximity.

After a few moments, I slowly climbed on top of her.

“Please,” I croaked, “Please, can I fuck you?”

Pause. Hopefulness.


Crushing disappointment. Then, a building of…of…what? Some kind of emotion. Not anger. Nothing directed at her. Just pure frustration. Hot and sweet desperation. I could feel my soul inflate with it.

“PLEASE,” I said, pushing. I knew I was. But I couldn’t stop myself. I could not keep myself from saying what I was thinking.

“NO,” firmly. Then, more gently, “Not yet.”

I clutched her. Held her firmly. I could feel my muscles knotting with the building tension I was feeling. Building…building…then, release. I was broken. The tension ebbed away with every heartbeat. My body relaxed, accepting my position. The sweat on my body turned chill.

Then I babbled. All kinds of declarations of love and commitment and gratitude. I was desperately, desperately frustrated. The penis throbbed in its prison. And I accepted it. All of it.

How I know I’m not gay

I love pussy. That’s it, really. How I know I am totally not gay. I’d save my 20-year-old self so much angst if I could only travel back to point out to him (along with a firm smack on the side of the head) that someone who loves pussy as much as me could not ever be gay. Gay guys might have, at one point in their lives, put up with pussy or might still, from time to time, dip their pen in that colored ink for variety, but a truly gay guy, as Dan Savage points out, is just not into pussy. Period.

I say this because while I was gone, I got this text message from Belle:

Want to sit on your face

And I’m like, WOOF. Yes. Sit on my face! Oh, wait. I’m like a thousand miles away. Fuck.

So I got home Saturday and, even though she let me out of the Looker 02 (which I kept on the entire time I was gone, BTW), she did, in fact, sit on my motherfucking face. And it was awesome. Because, as I said, I fucking love pussy. Especially Belle’s. And you can’t experience more pussy than when it’s grinding into your face.

Funny thing is, Belle seems kind of tentative about doing it. She asked me if I really liked it. Yes, I really do. Maybe you didn’t notice, Belle, but whilst you were astride my face the penis was boned out like a little flagpole. Plus, you know, I’ve only posted about a hundred face-sitting images on the porn farm (such as). I love the whole dynamic. Feeling her hips gyrating over my mouth, her fluids running down my chin, the sensation that I’ve turned into a masturbatory device. The fact that she’s on top. No need to feel weird about it, sweetie. Sit on my fucking face twice a day if you want.

After the face-sitting (which I loved…have I mentioned?), she let me fuck her and it was glorious. The next day, I got to get her off again and, while warming her up, I said something about how I wanted to jack off since it’s been, like, forever since she let me.

“Why don’t you put that energy into me,” she suggested. And I did. But when she was done (using Pink this time), she didn’t let me go for a ride. No reason. Told me I had already had a good time the day before and, don’t forget, I’m not the one who decides when I fuck her. Not by a long shot. And of course, jacking off was not in the cards, either. Inside, the subbie bunny part of me was totally buzzing but the reptile in me was seething. A real man would just take her, it suggested. Just fuck her. But I’m not that man. So the bobbing boner was left to deflate all on its own. Not sure it completely has yet, come to think of it.

Before I left, Belle said something about sending me to a pro domme. I can’t remember the context in which she said it, but she was suggesting there were things I wanted she wasn’t all that into giving me. I assume she’s talking about bondage and hitty stuff. In fact, I’m not that into the idea of a pro domme if for no other reason than I can’t imagine submitting to a woman who’s not Belle. Trying to split my submission like that with another female just doesn’t seem to compute to me.

But. Not being gay and totally digging pussy aside, it occurred to me while driving for hours on end that I’d really be into seeing a dom. Being tied up and beat by a dude? Used and abused by someone with a cock? Oh, hell yeah. I’d really like that. But there’s no such thing, as far as I can tell, as pro doms. I mean, maybe there’s a few. Here and there. Or in NYC where all kinky shit originates. But in the Midwest? Doubtful. So it’d probably look more like a “play partner” kind of deal. And who’d want one whose penis is permanently padlocked? And that’s not what she said anyway. And she was probably only joking. So I should probably stop thinking about it.

In other news, I’m still unlocked nearly 48 hours after getting home. She didn’t feel like dealing with putting me in last night and must have forgotten this morning. I was in the L02 for three weeks and, for those curious about devices with urethral inserts, I can tell you it only got more comfortable over time. By the third week, I could barely tell it was in there. Only little issue I had was after I took it off and tried getting my 4ga ring back in the PA that had been empty all those weeks. Things had started to close up, but I was able to get them stretched back out easily enough.

I expect she’ll use the Steelheart now since it’s her favorite, but she might toss me a curve and pull out the Jail Bird. Who knows? Not me.

Only she could

She slid her fingers out from her hot, wet pussy and brought them up to his face, rubbing them over his nose and lips and allowing him to hungrily suck the essence from her digits.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.

And then she rubbed her tits in my face

Other interests have keep me from my blogging lately, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to. Let’s play catch-up…

Last week, I recall with a certain vividness a moment Belle and I shared in our kitchen just after dinner. The kids had scattered and it was just us and apparently she was feeling frisky so she rubbed her tits in my face. Literally. Pushed my face down there and moved them back and forth. I was delirious. Made my head light and toes tingle. I may have just commented on how I had been locked up continuously since we got back from vacation and she may have said something to the effect that a) that’s not that long for me, and b) it would be a lot longer still, and c) here, let me rub my tits in your face you whiny rabbit. After she had me good and woozy, she told me to clean up the kitchen and left me swaying.

She’s off on an international trip now, but before she left she let the penis out for about 24 hours so she could have some fun with it. I was barely able to keep things under control while she rode me for an orgasm. It wasn’t the fucking that nearly sent me over the edge as much as it was the sound of her coming. Her orgasm has become a kind of release for me and I actually feel something like an post-orgasmic euphoria from it. Once she started to come, listening to her ecstatic sounds pulled a trigger inside me and my own orgasm presented itself quickly. I held still, pressed down on the small of her back to keep her from making any motion (she likes to fuck me from above), and it turned out to be nothing more than a copious surge of frustrated goo. Quite copious, it turned out, since she gave me permission to fuck her afterward and I was treated to my own sloppy seconds. I could barely be inside her without getting right back to the edge.

I was again overwhelmed by the need to come. You’re like, well duh, but in the past I would fuck without wanting to come more often than fucking the other way around, but now that I know there’s no possibility she’s going to let me, that internal denial safety is nowhere to be found and I seem to always want to come when she lets me get the penis wet. I tell her how I feel and she tells me it’s just not going to happen and I feel simultaneously a great and overwhelming love towards her (and gratitude) but I also hear the lizard snarl and growl. I fucking want to come. 

And, you know, that’s awesome. It’s way better to feel denied something I really want than something I don’t. But, just like when I was on vacation, I found myself really irritable and grumpy as hell later in the day. I was able to recognize it and kept it from being directed at Belle, but this intense irritability thing is new for me. So yeah, you can be locked up for the better part of four years and still find new things in it.

Like I said, she had me out for one day. Friday night to Saturday night. Then I had to go back in for her trip. I’ve been in the Steelheart for seventeen out of the last eighteen days and will likely remain in it (or the Looker) for nearly three more weeks (with maybe another day out for her pleasure along the way, but that’s not my call obviously). Early in May, I go away for a week’s camping excursion with friends and I’ll be out for that.

After 17 days, I’m more or less back into the groove, device-wise. It’s me and I’m it and I don’t even always wake up from the morning wood (and when I do, I like how it feels rather than being bothered by it). Yesterday, I must have been wearing an uncommon combination of underwear (silly stringy ones with hardly any support) and jeans (third wearing since last wash) because the device had what seemed like a lot of room down there and was taking advantage of it. I could feel it swinging and swaying as I walked around. I was very aware of it. By the end of the day, I was pretty turned on, but there was no Belle to enjoy that with.

This morning, after my workout, I had all those hormones pinging around inside me, so I decided to enjoy a new toy over the course of the day. After getting it all situated, I discovered I needed more and broke out the big guns. Then I put the new toy back (where it is now — more on it in a later post). Needless to say, I was quite late for work.

Vacation Ketchup


Oh, yeah, hey! I got this blog thing I do, don’t I?

So…where were we?

I was in SXSW. Then I was home. Then I was off for another trip. Then I came home. Then we went on vacation. That’s where we are now (and that’s our view above). Too much traveling in too short a time. I was mentally and physically tired and too busy to even think about blogging, though it’s not like I didn’t have anything to say.

Belle sent me to SXSW unlocked, as I’ve said, and I stayed that way for most of the time. It’s odd being the “chastity guy” and not wearing a device like that. I’ve always said I didn’t have the self-control to be able to pull it off absent her supervision (or even with her supervision, now that I think about it), but there I was in a hotel room far away from Belle and…nothing. It was like a force field was around the penis or something. It was still there and I would have liked to play with it, but somehow it never happened. Finally, after three days or so, I was laying in bed getting ready for sleep and it started to twitch. I grabbed at my nuts and pulled on them, trying to ignore the penis, but just the feeling of its rapidly swelling weight on my arm was enough to send me scrambling for the Looker.

So, in the end, I did what I was supposed to do. I locked the penis when temptation reared its head. Also, I admit, I missed the feeling of being constrained. But, before then, I was effectively in a chastity device made only from my dedication to her control over me.

After I got home, Belle left me out until I had to travel again, but after that I was locked until we left on our trip. We didn’t bring a device with us, so I’ll remain out for at least the next week. Belle leaves town shortly after we get home, so I doubt it’ll stay free n’ floppy then.

Yesterday as Belle and I were soaking in our vacation house’s hot tub, I mentioned to her that I had more or less stopped counting days. Like, I have no specific idea how long it’s been since I came (and stop myself from thinking about it to keep it that way) and, even though there’s a link over there in the sidebar, I’m not thinking about the year and half or so left. I’m just being. Orgasmless is how I am. It’s not some little town we’re driving through. It’s freeing, in a way, not to focus on the beginning or the end.

But then I’ll find myself inside her (as I was this morning) and fuck it all if I don’t want to come worse than anything in the world. Every little cell and all the energy they contain are focusing all their wills on the penis and the feeling of the heavy PA ring sliding around inside its head and the hot, wet walls of her pussy slipping and sliding along its shaft and HO. LY. SHIT but I want to fill her up. As it was, I leaked enough to have it run down her leg when she got out of bed, but the craving cells were left wanting more, as usual.

This afternoon, she napped and I sat naked out on our balcony enjoying the late afternoon sun. The family is here, but the balcony is strategically positioned so as to be hidden from the rest of the house. There are other houses on the surrounding hills, but few appear to be close enough to be able to make out a small naked figure outside ours and, even if they could, I wouldn’t care. There is one house close by, but it appears to be deserted (not “nobody’s renting it right now” deserted, more like “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids” kind of deserted). If anyone was there, they’d see me easy, but there isn’t. In any event, this is the kind of house where I could easily be naked for a full week and nobody but Belle would know. Someday…

So anyway, I let her sleep, but when she woke up I was making moves on her which she easily rebuffed. I was good and didn’t push it, but she let me jack off for ten whole minutes. That’s the first time I’ve done that since I can’t remember when. It felt wonderful. I went right up to the edge pretty quickly and milked a solid slug of goo from the happy shaft. Then again, and again, and again. I licked it all up and let it all sit in my mouth, enjoying the flavor and feel of it running over my tongue. I was a real little cumslut and had a mouth full of the stuff before gulping it down in two swallows. Once it was milked dry, I was able to well and truly pound away at the stiffy for several minutes before getting back up to the edge again, but it felt different this time. Like a dragon rushing up out from a great crack in the earth. It wasn’t going to be denied, so I wrenched my hand away and was left panting. Looking at my iPhone, I saw I still had almost three minutes left, but I dared not tempt it.

We still have a full week in this paradise. If anything good happens, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the mean time, wanna see a picture of me in my new hat?

What I’d like to do

You know what I’d like to be doing right now? Jacking off. I’d like to be jacking the hard penis, smothered in lube, feeling the heavy PA ring flopping around, nasty pinchy clamps on my nipples. I’d like to watch my fist ride up until it was snug around the penis’ head like a turtleneck sweater and all the crazy fucking nerve endings there firing on my brain like a pirate ship sacking a costal village. Then see the shaft rise up out of my hand, then let it all reverse again. Over and over. Then, when I found myself at the edge of orgasm, I’d let go of the poor thing and let it surge and struggle and flex and maybe leak a bit, but then I’d lap that up and just keep going. Salty sweet nectar. The prize inside.

But I can’t. The penis is locked up. And even if it weren’t, Belle has forbidden that I touch it in that way. In the past several weeks, I’ve jacked off for a grand total of ten minutes because Belle told me I could for five minutes twice. That’s it. So, even if I didn’t have steel restricting the erection that wants to be stroked, I wouldn’t touch it because that would be against the rules I have taken to heart very seriously and promised I’d follow.

So, instead, I look at porn. Which makes the penis even more constrained in its steel cage and makes the desire to stroke it even greater which causes me to want to look at more porn which makes me…well, you get the point.

Weeknight surprise

As I said at the end of the last post, Belle takes off for a few days on Sunday morning. This is particularly crushing for me since we’re really into each other right now. My assumption is this is some kind of lunar or hormonal rhythm thing, but I’m neither questioning nor complaining.

I told my Belle Fille last night while making dinner that I really needed some quality time with her again before she left. Sunday mornings have recently been a highly reliable time of the week where the lack of job, kid, or trainer obligations coincide with an increased energy level on her part. If she’s not on the rag, I can usually depend on some kind of bunny lovin’ before we start our day. But, this week, she’ll be leaving and the hole her absence leaves both in my heart and schedule has been hard to accept. All I really needed was to feel her come to sate me until she gets back.

Happily, she wanted to come. And, it turned out, a bunch more. She unexpectedly stripped down leaving me to discover her nakedness. My usual state when going to bed is to be naked, so we basked for a while in the sensations of the full length of one another’s skin pressed against each other, with the small exception of the well-packed steel about midway down.

“What if I unlocked you?” Hell, yes. What if? Oh, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease unlock me. And she did. I shall remain unlocked until she leaves or feels I need to be in again. I am a spoiled rabbit.

My Belle has a long refractory period. Girls don’t usually have to recharge following orgasm like guys do, but my Belle is special. So, going for three orgasms even in six days would be a challenge. But, it was a challenge I was happy to accept.

After the penis was released, we laid beside one another some more, this time with a hard and poky member between. Her hands on the penis was heavenly and I realized how well she’s used the device to manipulate my desire for her recently. Note that I’m perfectly happy being manipulated in this way. I said as much to her.

“I love how this makes me feel,” I breathed out between kisses, “I love how this makes me act toward you.”

“I love how this makes me feel,” she replied through her wonderfully full and fragrant lips, “I love how this makes us.”

Yes, exactly. Sacrificing my orgasm and free access to the penis in exchange for a stronger and more intense emotional bond seems a bargain in my book. I never ever want to be anything other than totally sexually controlled by her.

She climbed on top of me and guided the rigid meat home. The heat and ease with which it slid in made me gasp as she settled down to business. But this wasn’t the usual fuck for her. Instead of quickly finding her rhythm and riding me to a relatively quick orgasm, she lingered. Slowly moving up and down of the shaft, luxuriating in the sensation of being penetrated by her cock. There was no rush. There was no reason. This was about the ride, not the destination.

“I’m acting like you,” she said about half way along, meaning this was fucking for fucking’s sake. She had no motivation other than to enjoy it.

I soldiered along. Sucking her tits, nibbling at her neck, running my hands down her back and over her ass, I tried to contrate on everything other than her gyrating hips and the pussy between them and the part of me the whole kit was enveloping. I wanted to go for however long she needed me to, but I don’t think I made it longer than eight or ten minutes. The thing that finally got me (what can almost always get me) was what she said. She repeatedly told me how good I felt inside her using language her mother would not find acceptable. Thing is, it’s really hard to cultivate a nascent small penis humiliation fetish when your partner tells you every chance she gets how awesome she thinks your erection is. So yeah, I had to stop.

But it was just for a moment. She rolled on her back and told me to fuck her instead. I did as commanded as best I could, withdrawing at least three times to clench back an impending rush of semen. Twice, I managed to keep it in, but once I didn’t and thick slug of the pungent goo landed on the sheets. Regardless, I went back in because she wanted to feel me in there.

As I fucked her, she was constantly moving beneath me, gyrating and reciprocally thrusting and generally really getting into our sex like a hormonal coed. I found myself feeling oddly non-subbie. Yes, she still owned my orgasm, but I felt like I owned her. She was my woman. I cradled her head while slowly fucking her, one hand in her hair, the other holding her jaw. I nibbled, kissed, and cooed at her. I felt like my larger male frame was shielding her. I could feel my ass muscles flex and contract as I repeatedly claimed her with every thrust. My fucking woman.

It was weird. I haven’t felt that in a while.

One more close call in which I leaked inside her caused her to push me off. She still hadn’t come even though we had been going at it for a half hour. This is highly unusual. Even more that she was at an impasse as to what to do next. She wanted to come but couldn’t figure out how.

Sensing that she needed me to take a little more control over the situation, I said, “Can I go down on you?”

She purred at the suggestion at first but than said, “But you’re in there. You don’t like that…”

“I love it until I come,” I reminded her before heading south.

Her pussy was open and soft from the fucking and smelled and tasted like both of us. I eagerly tucked in and lapped up whatever juices I could, swallowing repeatedly the ample supply. I can’t tell you how much was her and how much was me, but it was all heaven. I reveled in the messy, sticky, humid and heat of her. As the minutes passed, I found myseld determined to make that pussy come if it was the last thing I’d ever do. Eventually, she did. Intensely. Electrically. But I lingered. As soon as her clit’s hypersensitivity had passed, I rubbed my whole face in her. I deeply inhaled her scent and could feel a powerful masculine response from a deeply encoded place. My fucking woman.

As I got up, I rubbed the excess moisture from my face all down my chest and stomach. Like I was using her essence as war paint. I wanted her everywhere on me. I didn’t even ask before reentering her and I continued to fuck her, slowly and gently, long after she came. It took a while, but the submissive resurfaced and I started to feel guilty for claiming such indulgence without her consent. She didn’t seem to mind, though. It wasn’t until she was pinching my nipples with all the force she could muster and biting my neck (leaving faint yet obvious monkey bites), that I crested one final time. Our long, wet, sticky, smelly and wonderfully glorious weeknight lovemaking session was over.

Well, for her. I was trapped in the hormonal spin cycle and could feel the entire night sleeplessly stretched before me. This time, though, before it got too late, I downed a couple of Tylenol PMs and was able to salvage four hours of very weird sleep. Weird in that my body chemistry pushed me in one direction while the pharmaceuticals pulled in the opposite direction.

Eventually, sleep. Then, too early, wake. Now, tired. But happy.