This is going to be a bit of a rambling grab bag of a post. It turns out, when I am away on business for a while and have nothing better to do than binge-read Thumper’s chastity blog, my mind goes into a bit of a joy-ride through the country-side. I feel like a particularly unhealthy sort of groupie. Also: He likes what? She does what? Oh my god, I can feel my package disappearing.
In the previous post, I talked about the frenum, and how avoiding its stimulation might be an easy way to be chaste on the honor system. Bear declares that he has taken ownership of my frenum. It’s a small strip of skin, and I joke about becoming his by quarter-square-inch pieces over the next decades. The reality is: This is huge. Taking ownership of my frenum means taking complete ownership of my orgasm. I am an excited sub.
Usually, when I was about to go for a trip, Bear would have me come beforehand. I had told him that I was very hopeful that my new-found discovery that I need frenum stimulation to come would keep me easily obedient, that I knew he used to have me come beforehand but that I’d like a chance to build trust and show that wasn’t necessary, and of course it was up to him. Holy subangst, batman, but submissive people can be wordy and convoluted.
So, Sunday, I get a treat. Not only does he want to fuck me, he wants to fuck me in pet get-up: Leather dog mask, complete with cock-shaped rubber gag, and leather mittens. This was his idea, about a year ago, and I am so into it. The fact that it was his idea, and not mine, makes it a gazillion times hotter.
All the while we are active, and I am focusing on his pleasure, I am also distracted. I’m wearing mittens, so I probably won’t come. Wait, he had me take one of the mittens off so I can stroke him back to full mast, so maybe I will come. And so on, ad nauseam. I really, really need to work on being in the moment. I will come or I won’t, and that’s his call, not mine. It’s hard not to obsess – but really, I shouldn’t obsess. That resolution is more along the lines of “I should really go on a diet”, truthfully. Still. One should strive.
So, the sex was great. He likes to use KY warming jelly when we have anal sex, which burns initially, though does not hurt, and then becomes very pleasurable. I like that it makes it harder for me to take him, that I have to accept the initial discomfort for him. He also likes pressing down on me when he takes me, which adds to the fantasy of being forced. Which is so unbelievably hot to me.
And when he’s done, we snuggle. And that’s it. I tell him I was trying to figure out whether I’d come. He asks me how long it’s been. I say 7 days. He says “OK”. And that’s that, time to take the gear off and sleep. I love him so much in that moment. Later, we wake up again and I thank him for not letting me come, and he says “I figured 7 days wasn’t quite enough.” That’s exciting, and a little scary. So it begins.
The night before I travel, I go to bed early, around 7pm. I have to be up at 3am. He comes to bed around 11pm, I think. I’m groggy, half-lift my head from my pillow and give a limp-wristed wave. A little later, I am startled out of snoozing by something cold tapping my shoulder. Huh? Oh. The cock ring. “Thank you.” I put it on and am instantly raging hard. When he’s done with bedtime preparations, he teases my cock lazily. I’m in hog heaven. Sleep that night is fitful, and when I get up at 3am, he teases me some more, though he’s clearly half asleep himself. I really don’t want to get out of bed now, but I do, and get ready, and kiss him good-bye and leave.
Just a short while ago, he’d have been concerned that I need my sleep, and he would have avoided doing anything that robs me of it. Now, he doesn’t have that inhibition. Teasing me is fun for him and me, so he did it, without regard for my sleep pattern. I am loving it. I can always sleep some more on the plane.
Being away for the next 3 days is tough. I go into a bit of a sub angst tailspin. I doubt, and I fret. There’s a history to that, which I’ll write down soonish. Our relationship started with D/s, and that failed miserably, and there was hurt. This on top of my tendency to worry anyway, and I’m a bit of a mess. Though I’m telling myself to snap out of it – I know I’ll be fine when I’m back home.
While chatting on the phone one night, I mention that I’ve seen Thumper’s trajectory from going 6 days without orgasm and crawling up the walls to going 6 months without orgasm and going “wait! It was supposed to be 18 months!” And what that might mean in the context of Bear’s interest in trying a device. There seems to be a slope to these things.
“Does that scare you?”, he asks me.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good,” he says.
And just like that, I am raging hard. Scared, and excited at the same time. Turns out I like it when I am scared, I like it when he takes me out of my comfort zone – even if it’s just by talking about uncomfortable and scary possibilities.
I also create a mind map of my needs and wants, relationship and sex/kink both, and prepare one for Bear. My intent is to communicate openly, honestly and vulnerably with him. And to hear about his needs and wants first, and then see how I can fulfill them. It is a lot harder for him to articulate what he needs and wants than it is for me. So it would be easy for me to start in on a discussion of my own stuff, and then ask him “and what about you?” In the past, I’ve done that, and it doesn’t work, at least not for us. It’s the wrong way round. I am sucking the air out of the room, and so we never get to the part I actually most need to know: What he needs and wants.
So, this time around, 14 years wiser about our relationship, let’s hear about him first. The plan I have is to listen to that, and make enthusiastic encouraging noises, as I expect it will mesh somewhere with my own needs and wants, almost inevitably.
It is important to me that the emphasis, from my end, is on my need to submit to him – not my want to be dominated by him. There is a difference.
My want to submit focuses on him: What does he want, and how can I fulfill it. My desire to be dominated focuses on me: What are my fantasies, and how can he be the dominant in those fantasies. I’ve known that on some level, but to be honest, this clear way of stating it comes from reading Thumper.
I do have those fantasies of being dominated, and I share them. But when I focus on the fantasy, it becomes self-defeating. The reality of the fantasy is only fulfilling when I do as he desires. The moment the dynamic is turned around, and he fills a role in my fantasy, it loses its potency. It also screws with our dynamic something fierce.
Incidentally, it is my task to put away the toys and rope. Before I left, I didn’t, because there was a pile of laundry sitting on the toy chest, and that disheartened me. I had asked him to move his laundry. While I am away, he calls me out on not stowing the rope.
“But,” I say. “There’s all that laundry on the chest.”
“Does not matter,” he says. “When I give you a task, I expect you to do it. Don’t answer by giving me a task in return.”
And he’s right. I apologize, he accepts my apology. The D/s overlay of our relationship is unequal. This is one of those moments where I knew that intellectually, but I didn’t fully process what that means. What that means is that he can give me a task, and even though something he needs to do may stand in the way, I still have to do my task without undue delay. That’s how that works. It’s embarrassingly simple, but feels like an important shift in my attitude to me.
One other thing I do while I am away is try to masturbate, avoiding the frenum. It’s a sad, half-hearted attempt. I give up after a minute or so. My heart’s not in it, my cock never really goes past half-mast. But a few words from Bear about fear, see above, and I am instantly hard. My pleasure re-orients itself increasingly towards him, and I feel very hopeful about that.
When I am back home, and the evening meal and chores are out of the way, we talk. My sub angst melts away pretty much immediately, as I expected it would in his presence. It is replaced by a feeling of deep submissiveness and wanting to serve. What I learn tonight is:
- He needs oral sex
- He wants to control every aspect of my orgasm. He mentions the time he tied me to the door and teased me and then gave me the most intense orgasm of my life, and that he got a huge kick out of that.
- He wants me to serve him. He adds foot massage and OJ for breakfast to my tasks.
- He wants me to submit to him, and mentions that this may be slowly morphing to a need.
Plenty for an evening, and a wonderful start. These are concrete things I can work with. I explore my emotions about orgasm control, and come to realize that my failure to be obedient was screwing with our dynamic on a fundamental level. I never really gave it a chance to develop. Whenever I came without permission, it would dishearten both of us.
I may come to eat crow on these words, but: I think I have it figured out now. The past five days were intense. Had I been allowed to touch my frenum, I would have come without permission, no doubt. The animal part of me that just wants to come is incredibly good at justification, at fooling me about how close I am, about “just one more lazy stroke” until it’s too late. I admire the guys that have more control. Now, I don’t need that level of control.
And just like that, I get the impression I’ve turned a corner in my development as my husband’s submissive partner. I feel so much more ready to focus on him, rather than fretting about my failures, or whether I am going to fail. Orgasm control, for better or worse, is the foundation of our D/s dynamic.
That oral sex is a need for Bear is surprising. I knew he liked it, I didn’t know he needed it. Fulfilling that need is effortless for me.
When it is time for bed, I offer a foot massage, and Bear happily accepts. So there I am, rubbing away at his feet with lotion, semi-erect, pent-up sexual energy sloshing around within me. I really don’t have a thing for feet, but in this state, that hardly matters. When I move to his calves, I can feel a cold string of precum hit my inner thigh.
“That’s really strange,” I say. “I am not a foot fetishist. But I am a serving-you fetishist.”
“Thank God”, he mumbles into his pillow.
Blasphemous banter and laughter follow. We turn in, he again hands me the cock ring, then places his hand on my cock and lets it rest there. I stroke his erection in turn. I am desperately horny, physically so very needy to come: And emotionally, I float on a pool of calm, filled with happy submission. Life couldn’t be better. “I am so lucky to have you as my husband,” I say, and more things besides, just happy, dopamine-filled babble.
When he takes his hand away, I moan deeply, my back arches, my ass lifts from the mattress, and my cock twitches of its own volition. This is an unfiltered reaction. I could make an effort to be stoic, but I’d deprive Bear of pleasure. That’d be a tragedy.
In the middle of the night, I awake with a raging hard-on. I have the hardest time going back to sleep, so after a while, I give up, and finish this blog post. Maybe not the most productive thing I could have done.
I have a few more things I want to talk about in future posts. After that, it may just become “a day in the life”, chronicling emotions and relationship building and (hopefully) steamy sex. I think I don’t have much angst and drama left – though if past experiences are any guide, never bet against my capacity for angst.