Tag: vibrator

Posted on

Christmas break

It’s been almost a week since I last wrote here. I guess I’ll call that my Christmas Break.

I was trying to get into a rhythm where I blogged about once a day, so six days off has left me a little rusty as well as contemplative regarding how I’ll blog in the future. On the one hand, I want to blog regularly (like I said, maybe 5 times a week, or thereabouts). On the other hand, I don’t want to get too repetitive. I mean, how many times can I come here and write that Belle denied me another orgasm before you all wander off? Once the bloom is off the orgasm denial flower, how many times can one write about the same non-event? The secret, I think, is spending more time describing the donut and less thinking about the hole. Of course, the longer I’m denied the more I think about holes…and what you can do with them…and how even now I’m getting plump thinking about a freakin’ donut hole. Sheesh. OK, back to it, then.

Christmas Day was notable for two things. First, my Belle Fille had the stomach flu all day. Merry Christmas, sweetie! That sucked (mostly for her). Luckily, she was right as rain the next day. Second, Christmas was the first day I actually forgot my dick was pierced. No pain, no uncomfortableness, in general, no weirdness of any kind. I count it as the first day of the rest of my penis-pierced life. The next day, Friday, Belle felt so good that she wanted me to fuck her. During the healing period, Belle hasn’t been able to enjoy her cock as often as she’d like and, since it was feeling pretty good, she wanted it in her. I used the one non-sheep intestine condom I had. I felt a wince once or twice, but otherwise it was a good experience for both of us. She reports being able to feel the curved barbell a little, but not a lot.

After she came, she told me I could, too, if I wanted to. It’s a testimate to how far orgasm denial has taken me that I actually had to think about it for a second. Three months ago, the option of not coming would have seemed very strange to me. Now, I find myself more than willing to trade the momentary intense pleasure of orgasm for the long burn of denial-driven frustration and basking in the reflected glow of her pleasure. But yeah, I came anyway. Unlike last time, it was good. Really good. Not head-exploding good, but pretty damned good just the same. Afterwards, I pulled off the spent condom, tied it off like a water balloon, and was surprised at the volume of ejaculate it contained. Man, that was a lot of little swimmers.

Yesterday was a good day. Belle and I were really into each other all day. She was giving me long looks and saying nice things and I was loving the attention and looking forward to pawing her that night. Once the kids were down and out, the pawing commenced. I asked to be able to pleasure her with the cock again and, while puting on the condom (we bought more of the latex variety), made the offhand remark that it had been a while since I had to deal with the things.

If you’ve read this blog for a while or spent time reading the old entires, you’ll know that this past summer Belle and I went though a difficult period in our marriage. In short, I cheated on her. We both agree that we should share the blame for allowing our marriage to get to a state where that kind of thing was even possible, but I was the one who cheated and therefore am the one who bears more of the blame. While we’ve come a remarkable way from those days, the pain I caused her occasionally surfaces, as it did with my seemingly innocent remark about using condoms. She immediately deduced (correctly) that I did not use a condom during my affair. I can explain why I chose not to, though it’s not important to this story and will only sound like I’m defending myself.

Belle did not stop me when my comment suddenly opened up the old hurt and anger. I was in her and doing my best to pleasure her when I felt something wasn’t right. I stopped, we talked, I apologized for the millionth time. I think she felt bad that her feelings got in the way of our moment, but I tried to tell her she shouldn’t. How could they not? Her feelings are more than valid and if anyone should feel bad, it should be me. In any event, we were able to get past it and she allowed me to bring her to climax manually.

As she approached her orgasm, I again felt the sympathetic vibrations within me and heard the little whimpering moans coming from my throat. I simultaneously relish and dread the moment of her orgasm. I’m allowed a fractional share of her pleasure but, shortly after, my access to her body comes to an end. Perhaps it was the earlier penetration, but for some reason I found myself hornier than I would have expected just 24 hours after my own release. She told me it would be a while before I was allowed to come, if for no other reason, because she’s leaving the country for a week starting next weekend. I asked if she was going to take the little vibrator, Pink, with her. Yes, she is.

If any part of me was coming off the hormonal edge, the sudden and crystal thought of her pleasuring herself on the other side of the world with Pink while I was hard, horny, and denied here at home had me instantly hard and miserably flooded with desire for her. Even now as I write this, I find myself in a state of excited frustration more suited to three weeks without release, not three days. Exacerbating this is Belle’s promise to let me know each time she comes while she’s gone. Due to the time difference, I imagine I’ll be in an afternoon meeting when I receive a text message from her with the news. She’ll be basking while I’ll be squirming. Not fair. Wonderfully, gloriously, not fair.

Posted on

Three nights

Saturday
Following the pathetic squirt, I got my mulligan. Belle strapped me to the bed and used her nails and teeth on me. Only the second time being tied down, I can report still thinking it’s pretty great. At one point, the cock became turgid and she remarked, “God, you really do like this!”

As before, I never got really hard from what she was doing, but I enjoyed most of it. The nails on my ass and digging into my scrotum were awesome, but raking them across my chest not so much. As we’re figuring this out, it’s interesting to me to find that some sensations are good only in certain places.  I regret that she didn’t bring the flogger out, and afterward, so did she. Anyway, she was absolutely vicious with my nipples. So wickedly cruel, in fact, that I had to ask her to stop, which is a first. Damn near twisted the things right off. They stung for 24 hours. Delicious.

She let me jerk off when she was done, but unlike the night before, I could never get there. I really wanted to, but the damned piercing was bugging me again. Not hurting as much as just feeling weird and not right. I can only assume this is part of the healing process and that it won’t feel weird forever. In any event, I did not come. As I went to soak the piercing later I found I had leaked precum, but through the little pierced hole, not the one on the end of the cock. I went to bed frustrated.

Sunday
We spent the afternoon and evening at a family holiday party at Belle’s uncle’s house. She had more than her fair share of wine and, in the car on the drive home with the kids in the back seat, started drawing letters on the top of my hand resting on the shifter.

P, I, N, K

Pink? Oh! Pink, the vibrator. Cool, she wanted me to use Pink on her when we got home. We’ll see if she falls asleep first, I thought.

P, I, N, K, O, R, C…

Pink orc? Huh. Does she want to watch Lord of the Rings while I get her off? I shook my head indicating I wasn’t reading her.

P, I, N, K – yeah, got that – O, R, C…

“Orc?” I said. She shook her head. Our exit was about a mile off at this point, so I told her to just wait.

Turns out, she was trying to tell me she wanted Pink or the cock, she just never got past the C before I gave her a weird look. In bed, she decided on Pink, not the cock (sigh) since, she informed me, tonight it was all about her. Working her nipples with my mouth and left hand, I ran Pink over her clit with my right. Her moaning and gyrating hips encouraged me to fuck her with it and she shortly came to a quiet yet intense climax. With the cock hard and pressed against her, she pulled down her top, pulled up her bottoms, rolled over and went to sleep. I’m not even sure she said thanks.

Monday
Laying in bed. After some talking, she tells me to get under the sheets and get naked (since I’m always supposed to be naked in bed). She starts to rub the underside of the cock, pressing it into my stomach. It’s getting harder and I’m making little moaning sounds. “Quiet,” she says. “No sounds.”

Oh, god. I’m normally pretty vocal in these kinds of situations and suddenly finding myself having to bottle it all up was infuriating. The simple sensation of her rubbing the cock on just one side with only two fingers seemed to multiply in its intensity. After a few minutes of this I realized it might actually make me come and the tiniest little Whoville squeak leaked out of me. She immediately withdrew her hand leaving me hard and throbbing. My fun was over. Now I know the rules to that game.

Feeling pretty turned on, I rubbed my hand across her shirt and felt the hardening little nub of her nipple.

“Did you ask permission to do that?”

“Can I please touch you?”

“What do you say?”

I said our agreed-upon phrase that reinforces her dominant position in our sexual relationship and she pulled her pajama top up and assumed the now-familiar “serve me” position.

Again, it was all about her. I used my hands this time, not Pink. Her pussy was incredibly wet and the cock between my legs pulsed with the memory of sliding into it. After she came, I laid with my head on her chest and told her how badly I wanted to fuck her. She pulled down her top and pulled up her bottoms and told me I could touch myself, but not come.

As soon as I wrapped my hand around the hard cock, I knew – I knew – that this time, I could get there. But it was not to be. Not tonight, anyway. So I laid there and stroked while she rolled over and went to sleep.

Posted on

Crossing the Rubicon, Part 2

[Don’t miss what happened last time on a very special episode of Denying Thumper.]

Truth be told, most of the weekend involved laying about in front of the fire with me reading and Belle sleeping/lounging/being lazy. Much of the time I was naked, though I’d occasionally put on pajama bottoms if I got cold or for some reason felt like being partially clothed was more appropriate. I love being naked and I seldom get the opportunity to indulge myself as I did this weekend, but even so, sometimes being the only naked guy in a room can turn from feeling sensual to awkward fairly quickly. Also, going out to get firewood in the nude when it’s 18 degrees outside can be a challenge. In any event, in between naps, Belle and I also took a walk, sat in the hot tub, ate, and otherwise just hung out together. I tell you this so that you understand it wasn’t all debauchery and sex, despite evidence on this blog to the contrary. Then again, I know you’re probably not interested in the non-sexual sitting around stuff so I’ll omit it for brevity’s sake.

Later in the day, Belle and I were in the hot tub looking out over a frozen lake. (If you’ve never sat in a 102 degree hot tub when it’s so cold out the water in your hair freezes, you’ve not yet lived.) She was naked, I was naked, and, even though I had a supernova of an orgasm hours before, I started pawing her like she was a drunk bridesmaid at a Catholic wedding. Belle tells me we once had sex in this very hot tub, but I have no recollection of that event (which is odd since it’s the absolute kind of thing I’d usually remember). I really wasn’t thinking about doing it again, but I guess she was since she positioned herself such that I was able to gain entry. Honestly, it was somewhat akward. I had a hard time positioning myself so that I was able to fully penetrate her and the water wasn’t really helping with the lubrication so it eventually petered out. After we left the hot tub and were back upstairs, I guess the tub fuck was just enough to get her motor humming since we were back in the bedroom again using Pink, the little vibe who could. Orgasm this time took maybe three minutes, but was still intense and I was still more than little worried.

Later, just before dinner, we were sitting by the fire when Belle awoke from her second nap of the day (or was it the third?). I was reading Come Hither: A Common Sense Guide to Kinky Sex (a wonderful book, BTW). After a while, she asked me a question and I read to her the entry in the book related to an answer. That lead us to keep reading the book aloud and thusly we found ourselves snuggled on the couch with me reading long passages to her and occasionally stopping to discuss how it related to us. It was really very nice. I bought a bunch of books for her and I to share and we had not yet had much time to ingest them so this was just about the perfect outcome for me, someone who wanted her to learn as much as she could about me and the way I was trying to direct our relationship.

At some point, Belle started petting her cock through my pajama bottoms. She laughed and remarked that in the past it was something she’d never do and now she was doing it absentmindedly. I smiled – a lot – and kept reading. After a bit, she slid her hand down the front of my pajamas and lazily pet her pet directly. I dutifully kept reading, though I admit the words were starting to lose their meaning on me. Finally, she untied my pajamas in order to gain more maneuverability within them. At this point, I simply stood up, let them fall to the ground, sat back down, and continued reading. Sometimes, as I said, you feel odd being the only naked guy in the room but other times it seems the only logical course of action. In any event, as I continued to read chapter eleven, A View From the Top: Sexual Dominants, to her, she started slowly and lightly stroking the rapidly lengthening meat between my legs. I started to read more slowly with longish gaps appearing between words, which, as far as I could tell, were written in a different language. “Keep reading,” she’d tenderly command me, and I did. Next, she started to repeatedly rub her thumb from the underside of the cock’s head to the top and back again. My reading comprehension rapidly approached zero and my eyes started to close as I stuttered the last word over and over. “Keep reading,” I was told. I kept reading. After god knows how long of this glorious treatment, she told me to go to the kitchen and start making dinner. She took over the reading.

We read three chapters this way, back and forth while eating. I was drinking beer, she white wine. I had just two beers, while she consumed more than half a bottle. She was supremely relaxed when she finally told me we were going to go sit in the hot tub for a bit before going to our room where I was to massage her feet. Afterward, Pink would work its magic on her and we’d go to sleep. Normally this would be the recipe for a grand evening, but I admit to feeling a certain amount of disappointment. I badly wanted Belle to tie me up and we had gone through nearly the entire day – the only full day or our trip – and the straps and cuffs never came out of the toy box. If she hadn’t drank all that wine, I thought, then maybe I’d have a chance. But I could tell by the drowsy expression on her face my window of opportunity had closed.

Back in the tub, she maneuvered me between her legs and I found myself giving her a watery fuck again. This time, I had found the right position and probably could have brought at least one of us to orgasm, but she stopped me just as I was getting going in earnest and told me she wanted instead to come by the vibe. Oh god, I thought. It begins. In the past, the cock was her number one path to orgasm. Now, it had been bumped in favor of the petite pink dynamo. If the cock was in her, there was a good chance it would be allowed to erupt. If not, then I was out of luck. Luckily for my team, she was far too gone due to the drink and the hot water to be able to come. Pink had failed on only its third outing. My batting average was way, way better than .666, so I was still winning on points. However, she was snoring and I was hard. At least Pink could be turned off.

I know I originally said this would be a two-parter, but I’ve now decided it needs to be three. So…

To be continued.

Posted on

Crossing the Rubicon, Part 1

[I’ll be relating the events of our romantic weekend alone over three posts. Even so, I’m afraid this one got kind of long. I apologize in advance for asking to you to read through 1,370 words that don’t even get you past Saturday morning!]

We arrived at our secluded woodland retreat late Friday night. Belle had already informed me that I wasn’t going to get out until Saturday, so her refusal to release me as soon as we arrived was no surprise. What was a surprise (at least to me) was her acquiescence to my suggestion that we try out her new toy. Earlier that day, a discrete box had arrived containing a pretty, pink Onye “discrete massager”. The little vibe, which we’ve named Pink (because we’re creative that way), is surprisingly powerful. After working on her nipples for a few minutes to get the juices flowing, I started to rub the deactivated Pink over her clitoris to help her get used to its feel. My Belle has not been one to partake in sex toys (with the exception of a single use of the latex dildo I got her about a month ago and one very lucky banana in an overseas hotel room), so I wanted to take this new sensation slowly for her. I pushed Pink’s little pink button and she started to purr. Belle released a yelp and a startled little, “Oh!” After a few moments of surface stimulation, I was somewhat taken aback to hear her instruct me, which some insistence, to put Pink in her. I complied and a string of high volume exclamations followed. Then, not even 60 seconds after I turned Pink on, Belle had what I can only describe as a screaming orgasm. I had never seen her carry on in that manner. Truth be told, to a boy enduring a week of chastity, to see the physical manifestation of his sexual desire (and the very gatekeeper of his sexual satisfaction) come in under a minute through the directed use of technology was, to put it lightly, somewhat intimidating. I was very happy for Belle but also somewhat distressed to consider a future of extended lock-up where my unique contribution to her sex life was rendered not just inaccessible, but also redundant and entirely out-classed.

The next morning was one of the most amazing of my adult life. The preceding night was fitful, both from the extended build-up of precious fluid but also the knowledge that I might get the chance to release said fluid at daybreak. However, when dawn finally came, Belle was awake before I was. After padding around a bit and letting the dog out to do his business, she came in the bedroom, sat down in front of me on the bed, and, with my head bowed, put me in my collar. The carnivorous butterflies started flapping in earnest at this development. My collar, all by itself, puts me into a heavily submissive headspace. Combined with the ten days of denied sexual release, I suddenly found myself suckling her toes. Now, I do not have a foot fetish of any kind and have never, to the best of my recollection, sucked her toes. Nevertheless, here I was worshiping her feet. She did not instruct me to do so and I’m not even sure she recognized the significance of the act, but it was either an autonomic submissive response or the influence of reading countless malesub blogs and sex stories. In either event, I did not consciously decide to apply my mouth to her foot. I just did it. And it was sublime.

After a few minutes of slobbering on her foot, Belle told me to lay down on the bed. She sat at the head of the bed, with her back to the wall, and I laid with my feet next to her with my head pointing to the foot of the bed. She took the key to my cock and unlocked and removed the CB6K. My hand immediately and reflexively shot down to feel my released member. Belle just as quickly reminded me that I was not to touch her cock until she told me I could. I moaned and writhed, but complied. I begged her to touch the cock. She replied that she was stroking it with her eyes and that would have to be enough for the moment. I moaned and a large glob of precum oozed from the semi-erect flesh. She laughed and marveled at how the cock seemed to have a will of its own as it lolled about and a second string of precum came oozing from its tip.

Finally, she touched me, but not on the cock. She ran her fingernails lightly up and down my legs and across my stomach. Then, without warning, she’d dig her nails deeply into my flesh sending me into tortured flailings. More than once she took hold of my testicles and cruelly twisted and pulled on them sending further waves of ecstatic pain through me. Eventually, I rolled over so she could apply the same loving attention to my backside, but also so I could grind into the bed. She was wise to that and told me I was not allowed to pleasure myself with her cock and to knock it off, which I reluctantly did. At this point, it’s probably safe to say a week and a half of denied orgasm and just over a week of chastity, along with the deliciously sensual torture, was causing me to experiencing one of the most intensely sexual experiences of my life. Luckily for me, it was eclipsed 24 hours later, but we’ll get to that in due time.

Belle rearranged me on the bed so that I could kiss and fondle her breasts. I had my mouth on her right nipple, my left arm under her back and my left hand on her left nipple, while my right hand manually stimulated her clitoris. Meanwhile, I freely ground into her leg like the dog in heat I was. She was extremely wet and seemed to be greatly enjoying the attention her nipples were receiving when I started to pick up those tell-tale signals that her orgasm was approaching. She stopped me, rolled me onto my back, and mounted me. The poor, neglected, aching cock – her cock – slid into soft, warm, wet flesh. I was understandably close to coming immediately upon insertion, but – ten days or not – I was determined to avoid a repeat of my previous failure. To help with this, I didn’t think of baseball or NASCAR or whatever other stupid things men are supposed to think about when trying to avoid orgasm. Instead, I repeatedly told myself that it was not my cock. It was her tool and hers alone to receive pleasure from until such time as she allowed me release. I was only the caretaker of her favorite sex toy and could not – would not – allow myself to fail her and get in the way of her pleasure. It was difficult. Very difficult. But I willed the orgasm back. In fact, I was so successful that, after she came and told me I was free to come myself, I had some work to do to get back to the edge of coming. But come I did in the most explosive, most intense, most abso-fucking-lutely mind blowing orgasm of my entire life. I actually felt the hot, thick slug of ejaculate surge up, out of my prostate and through every inch of her cock in a way I had never felt before. Regardless of all that talk from before of mourning the orgasm – of regretting the passing of the denial – I can say without reservation that I wanted that orgasm and loved every second of its existence.

This moment of pure orgasmic bliss is why I so enthusiastically embrace orgasm denial. When I think back on all the hundreds of meager, lonely orgasms pulled manually from my body over the bathroom sink or in front of the glow of internet porn, they couldn’t – not even in combination – compare to this one, single event. This one perfect orgasm allowed to me by the love of my life, my keyholder.

To be continued.