Sensation play

Spoiler: I did get to come the weekend of the last entry. Though that was more the cherry on the treat. And then pretty much the next day, I came down with the cold that Bear had had, and that’s been my week since – work, taking way too many unauthorized “I’ll get to that email in a bit” mid-day snoozes, trying to wriggle out of as many on-site meetings as I can (“I’ll conference in via video”) and watching the clock to see whether I can take another dose of Nyquil. It’s all kink, all the time, here at Bear & Schnoff’s.

Sometime mid-afternoon last Saturday, I’m noodling around in the kitchen doing I-forget-what, Bear comes up to me and says “want to go upstairs?” Do I ever!

Before long, I’m naked, stroking Bear’s cock while he teases mine. I’m quite happy, in a squirmy way. Bear asks me whether I am clean, and I tell him I am reasonably so. “Good,” he says. Hah, excellent, that means anal sex. I had wanted to be fucked by him. Shortly, he tells me to grab the lube and apply it to his cock. I expect this to lead to humping pretty much directly – and it doesn’t.

He gets up from the bed, rummages around in the toy chest, and comes out with leather cuffs and a strip of cloth as a blindfold. On they all go, and then he tells me to resume stroking his cock with more lube. That takes some patting the bed to find the lube, and running a hand up his thigh to find his cock. I stroke him diligently, enjoying the sensation of his cock running through my palm. After a bit of that, he tells me to apply lube to my ass. I do so eagerly. Not having sight shifts everything. Simple actions become more intense, as the rest of the senses compensate. I find his cock and resume stroking.

His hand grabs mine and he removes it from his cock, then grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around with some force, demanding. This is new – we don’t typically do any “rough play.” I can feel his cock press against my anus. He enters me, and I know that even in rough play, he is still considerate, as he gives me a bit of time to accommodate him before he starts pounding my ass. I moan and groan and make noises, loving every minute of having Bear inside me, enjoying the slight burning sensation the warming lube creates. My cock presses into the mattress. My balls tingle, and shivers run along my spine. This is great. After a while, Bear’s thrusts get more urgent, and he starts to groan. I angle my butt up to meet his strokes, and moan in turn. And then he comes, pressing me down as his orgasm washes over him.

He doesn’t stay on top of me long. His hand grabs mine, and he pulls me off the bed. I step carefully, led to the door by him. I expect he’ll secure me to the door facing the room. He grabs my shoulder and spins me around so I face the door. That’s new, too. “Spread your legs,” he says, and I do. He takes my arms and clips them to the bands around the door, above my head. Some part of me notices it’s clips not rope this time, but most of me is occupied with enjoying the moment.

I wonder what’s next. I can hear Bear rummaging around in the toy chest, behind me. I can hear him put on some sort of glove, and then he reaches around and touches my ribcage with it. I shudder and sigh. Soft. One of the rabbit-fur mittens I made – what, 10+ years ago? I forgot we even had those. Bear runs the mitten over my body, briefly touches my cock. Then it’s gone.

Bear walks away for a moment and comes back. “Lift your feet,” he says, as he spreads a towel under me. “I don’t want you dripping on my carpet.” Which has me wondering – dripping as in precum, or dripping as in ejaculate? Will I be allowed an orgasm?

A short while later, I feel a sharp slap on the ass and hear the impact of leather on skin. I flinch. That stung, but didn’t hurt. I angle my ass out a bit. It sounds nastier than it is. I know what it is – a scrap piece of leather Bear had me find a couple months ago. I had wondered when he’d want to use it. I can hear the dog pacing behind me, nervously. That’s followed by something cold touching my back. I flinch again. Not sure what that is – feels like smooth metal.

Bear keeps alternating these sensations for what I can only describe as “a while.” Probably not that long, but my sense of time is distorted. I am hard and enjoying the attention immensely. The dog is getting increasingly agitated whenever Bear uses the scrap of leather on me, and he abandons it after the fourth strike or so. Which is a shame, because I was really enjoying that.

Bear steps away again for a moment, comes back, and I can feel something pressing against my anus. That feels like the glass plug he gifted me. It slips in easily, and feels great. He uncuffs my right hand and tells me to start stroking myself. “Tell me when you are close,” he says. I don’t need to be told twice. I start feeling warm as I get closer to orgasm. Even horny as I am, it takes me a good while to get close. I am estimating 10 minutes, but with my wonky sense of time right now, I really have no way of telling. I don’t know what his intent is – to let me edge and then leave me there, or to have me come. To be on the safe side, I stop when I know I safely can without “sliding” into orgasm. “I am close,” I say, and feel Bear’s hand wrap around my cock almost immediately, stroking me insistently. Which feels great, but I’m not getting closer to orgasm. “I think you’ve lost me,” I say. “I don’t think I’m coming this way. Sorry.”

He removes his hand. “Bring yourself close again,” he says. I resume stroking, long, slow strokes along the shaft and over the head. I am actually maybe three quarters erect, but that doesn’t change how intensely good it feels to stroke myself. I imagine an outside view of myself, I imagine being watched by Bear and others while I masturbate, and my body is heating up. I can feel a flush all over my skin, though I don’t sweat. This time, when I am close, I go for an extra few strokes to get myself right to the edge. “I am close again,” I gasp, and for a moment I worry. If Bear changes his mind now, I won’t be able to back off the edge. And then I feel his hand around my cock, and I come immediately, shuddering.

Bear uncuffs my other hand and removes the blind fold. “Thank you,” I say and hug him. I clean up the semen on the door, and clean and put away the toys he used. I am humming with a happy after-glow. From the orgasm, sure, but more so from the sensation play we just had. This is all new. This must be the first time Bear has struck my ass in – I have no clue, 8 years? And I can’t remember when he last used anything but his hand to do it. I am grateful to him to have received that much loving attention.

We talk a bit. I tell him I really enjoyed the sensation of being spanked with the leather, and had hoped there may have been more of that while I was masturbating. “Really?” he says, surprise in his voice. “Yeah,” I say. “I enjoyed that.”

Bear has expressed interest in spanking me, but before now, he hadn’t acted on it. And I have no experience with impact play or pain. I don’t know that I like pain. I think I don’t. And yet, I enjoyed this and wanted more. It wasn’t painful, granted. So I still don’t know that I would enjoy pain. There’s only one way to find out, and I have a feeling I will, eventually, find out. No rush on that.

I ask Bear how he stays engaged when he plays with me like this after he already came. “I need to switch gears, kind of,” he says. He explains that he shifts focus from his own physical pleasure to taking pleasure in my reactions, and that this is a conscious effort, hence the gears metaphor. “And then it’s really a lot of fun,” he says. I am very happy to hear that. I love the attention, but I wouldn’t enjoy it if I didn’t get the sense that Bear enjoyed himself, too.

Bear comments that I like my hand better than his, when I masturbate. I can’t really deny that, so I don’t say anything. “I understand,” he says. He wants me to be more excited when he touches me than when I touch myself, though, and he’s thinking of making sure that he is the one who brings me to orgasm, as a way to change the way I react. He mentions that if I hadn’t come on the second attempt, he would have left me there until next weekend – “that would have meant you were clearly not excited enough yet.” I tell him I had figured that, and that’s why I brought myself so very close on the second try.

Being “trained” to come only through him sounds totally hot. I am also a bit nervous about it. It takes me a while to come, usually, and this could mean a lot fewer orgasms during the training time. Still, I wholeheartedly agree: Associating release squarely with him is the right way to go, and an almost natural step from giving him control over when I come.

We discuss the dog. Bear tells me that he was alternating between pacing and cowering when Bear struck me. He’s a rescue, and we’ve seen him flinch when Bear so much as doubles up a belt while getting dressed. For future impact play, I think the dog will need to stay outside our bedroom.


It’s been long enough since then that I feel the need to put sub-headers in here. I’d been feeling crummy all week, and really wasn’t horny at all. This last Saturday, I finally felt better. Bear wanted a full body massage with a “happy ending”, his words, and I was only to glad to oblige. He teased me for a good long while after, and that jump-started me from “meh” to “boy I’m horny” in no time.

So much so that Sunday morning, I am crawling up the walls. I take the liberty to wear my puppy tail and a sort of leather sheath for my cock and balls, and make and serve Bear’s breakfast that way. Bear teases me a bit, then he decides to get some more snoozing in, snuggling me. That’s very nice indeed – and I find the tail plug to be too intense after a while, and I wriggle around under the covers trying to get the rope harness that holds it in place loose. Bear rouses. “What are you doing,” he asks, annoyed. “Trying to get this tail out,” I say. “It’s getting too intense. Sorry for all the wriggling.” Bear “hrmph”s and rolls off me on his side. I get out of the bed and divest myself of toys, feeling a bit sheepish. I clean the toys and put them and the rope away, and then join Bear for some more snoozing.

When we wake up, I am still craving orgasm. “Bear, dearest,” I say. He turns to me. “May I come, please?” He doesn’t even need to think.

“No,” he says.

I groan. “Whimper,” I say.

“I want you a bit hornier than this,” Bear says.

I take that opportunity to explain that I don’t really get hornier and hornier as time goes by. It’s more cyclical. I may be the way I am now after 4 days, or a week, and I may be calm two weeks in, and then again desperately horny a few days after that. There’s really no telling. “So,” I say, “on the plus side, after maybe two weeks or so, it doesn’t really get harder.” I take a breath. “And it means I could be this horny really at any point.”

Bear expresses surprise. He thought that I’d just get hornier and hornier as time goes on. I can see the gears turning. “I like it when you’re horny,” he says. “And you’ve been sick, and only been horny again for a couple of days. So, you’ll need to wait.”

Later that day, in the evening, when Bear teases my cock, I am calm again. Very horny, to be sure, but calm and accepting of the fact that I don’t know when I’ll come next. I mention this to Bear, tell him that this is what I meant by “cyclical”, and that I am glad that I can ask for an orgasm, and really mean it, and leave the rest to him. And though I really wanted to come, and was frustrated that I wasn’t allowed, I am also feeling very content in knowing that Bear can say “No” because he feels like it, and that this feels right for the both of us. I am grateful for his control.

Bear muses on how he felt a year ago. “A year ago,” he says, “if you had asked me to be allowed to come, I wouldn’t have been able to just say No. I would have agonized over it and hemmed and hawed. “He says he wants me to control him, but he also clearly wants to come, so should I let him come now?”” He chuckles. “Now, I can just say No.”

I explain that I am glad he’s at this point, now. It makes everything so much easier for me. I don’t have to go into a sub-angst tailspin about “does he really want this?” and “is he only playing the Dom to please me?” and round and round like that. I can trust that he does what he does because he wants to, and all I have to do is be myself. And obey, of course.

And to cap the porn and the “progress post”, here’s a picture we both enjoy.



Record keeping

Bear is feeling better. I can tell, because he wanted a blowjob. I was only too happy to oblige, though I did check my watch beforehand. There was an Elder Scrolls Online beta stress test to be attended at 6.

Our customary blowjob position is essentially a 69, just that Bear likes to use his hands, not his mouth. As I am sucking Bear, he starts touching my cock. I moan. I hump my hips a little, involuntarily. When he touches my frenum, I shudder and moan more and my attention on his cock increases in urgency. I swirl my tongue and take him in deeper. I can feel him react to my reaction, can feel the head of his cock swell up in my mouth, can feel the ridge of his cock head grow firmer. I am riding the feedback loop. No more thoughts of Elder Scrolls.

“I like how you react when I touch your frenum, now that you can’t any more,” he says.

Whimper. God, I love hearing that. It feeds right into the “script” in my head. The one that says that I am his fucktoy, that I receive pleasure only (“primarily” corrects a little voice) from him.

He comes, and I take him into my throat as he does. I press my nose against his pubic mound. When he is spent, I release him, wipe my mouth, and give his cock a kiss. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you,” I say.

He did not have me come. Honestly, I hoped he wouldn’t. I tell him as much. “I know,” he says.

The next day, I am hornier than I have been in a week. While Bear was sick, I was coasting along. Sure, I was horny, but not in an urgent way. Now it’s urgent. I want to be fucked, and to feel Bear come again. I want to be teased. I want to come, I want to feel my hand around my cock and I want to stroke and I want to come and spray semen all over my belly.

Later that day, Bear says “I am waiting to feel horny enough to hump you.”

“I’d love to have you fuck me,” I say.

He’s teasing my cock, and I’m loving the attention. “You know,” I say, “I can’t help but count how long it’s been.”

He chuckles. “Uh-huh.”

“You’ve only had me go longer than this once. That was 21 days, when you were correcting me.”

This time, it’s a little laugh. “Uh-huh.”

After a while, he asks, “Well? How long has it been now?”

“20 days tomorrow morning,” I say.

“Want to break your record?” he asks, grinning.

Whimper. He chuckles again.

Pause, then “Records are over-rated,” I say. Bigger laugh from him.

“Are you going to give me a hint when you are going to allow me to come?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“I didn’t think so,” I say. “I had to try anyway.” More chuckles.

He takes his hand away. I moan and arch my back. “Press it against my thigh,” he says. I comply eagerly, fumbling in my haste to get on my side and press my aching erection against him. I can feel pre-cum where it is dripping on my thigh, cool. I snuggle into him, feeling very much kept.

“You can get on your front whenever you want,” he says. After a little while, my erection subsides, and I do, and we go to sleep.

Records are over-rated. I’ve seen this in other blogs: A week leads to two, leads to a month, a quarter, half a year, a full year ohmygodhowdoesanyonedoafullyear – and then a sort of ennui can set in, a “where do we go from here, now?” energy. The nerd in me is interested in records, but I’m telling him to shut up. I am interested in the dynamic between us, and I am interested in how I react to Bear when I am this horny, and how much he enjoys those reactions.

I am also invested in obeying Bear. A lot. And I dig, a lot, that I don’t know when I’ll come next. I dig that he doesn’t need a rhyme or reason. I am happy when I really want to come, no reservations, and he says “No.” I mean, it can’t be much longer now, can it? God I want to come.




This period of Bear’s illness is taking its emotional toll on me. There’s not been any teasing for 2 days, and very little of anything for over a week. He still has me wear the cock ring every night, which I really appreciate. This is nobody’s fault, and I tell myself to be patient. And still, it’s difficult.

I go to bed around 11, and Bear comes to join me later. I don’t know when, it may have been 1AM. He wakes me and gives me the cock ring. I thank him and put it on. When he’s ready, he slips under the covers and puts his arm over me. I am waiting, hopeful, to see whether he’ll do more. He doesn’t. I get that. I give a small sigh.

“This is emotionally difficult for me,” I say, after a short while.

“Hmm? What is?”

“I just can’t wait for you to be well again. I miss your hand on my cock, and I miss being caressed, and I miss giving you pleasure. You’re ill, and stuff happens, and this is nobody’s fault. And it’s emotionally difficult for me,” I say.

“I understand,” he says. “I should be good in another day or two.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“So am I,” he says.

He puts his hand on the covers, over my cock. Good, but not what I am craving. Still, I’ll take what I can get.

After a little bit, he reconsiders, and moves his hand under the covers, touches my cock. I give a sharp inhale of pleasure. I moan a little, and wiggle a little.

“Thank you,” I say, very softly.

“You are welcome,” he says. “It’s late, I wasn’t sure whether it was too late.”

I think for a moment, then I say: “The way I feel when you touch my cock and caress me – the connection I feel, the devotion to you I feel – that is why I do this. It’s never too late, or too early.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

“Do you want me to stroke you?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“Okay,” I say. “I didn’t think you wanted me to, but I thought I’d offer.”

I think a little more. “In the past,” I venture, “when I’d feel a bit lonely, or empty, I’d just masturbate. And I’d get my pleasure apart from you. But I can’t do that any more, now.”

“No, you can’t,” he says. He pauses. “I didn’t really want you to do that then, either.”

“You never said I couldn’t!,” I say, somewhat surprised.

“I know,” he says.

“You always said it was okay if I stroked myself. As long as I didn’t come,” I say. I take a breath. “Well. So now that’s different, and I am glad we are closer to what you want. Now the only way I can get that pleasure is through you. My sexuality is bound up with yours. And that’s good – and that gets emotionally difficult when life and illness get in the way.”

“I understand,” he says. He runs his fingers lightly over the underside of my cock, touches the places I can no longer touch. I shudder, and feel myself filling again with devotion to him.

“Make time to do my nails,” he says. “They’re sharp.” He touches my chest to demonstrate.

“I will,” I say.

His hand is back between my legs. “And I want breakfast at 8, not 7.”

“Yes,” I say. Teasing and being commanded. I have the best husband, ever.

“Thank you so much,” I say.

“You’re very welcome,” he says.

And with that, his hand is gone, and we go to sleep. My reservoir is no longer running on fumes. Not full, not by a long shot. But re-filling.



Wet cunts and hard cocks, not money

Bear is still down with a cold, and doing his game best to be a giving partner. I am eager to see him on his feet again. At this rate, not before the end of the week / the weekend. It’s one of those “it’ll take a week without medicine, and 7 days if you take something” things.

Which means I have way too much time on my hands. I was over on Tom’s site Keyheld, and now I have a bee in my bonnet about “online keyholding.” Well, more to the point, what online keyholding looks like when it’s women holding the key.

Every single example I’ve seen so far – and it’s a small sample taken at random from Keyheld – offers some form of commercial service. “Send me your key and some money, and I’ll hold it for you and give you tasks. There may be a point system to earn an orgasm. And oh, you can totally buy points, if you can justify why you should be allowed to.”

This angers me to an obscene amount. If it were the occasional woman trying to make a quick buck, just to be laughed out of the room, I’d be fine. But it’s the norm. I want to install a flood light and shine a Bitchy Jones symbol onto the clouds. I know she said it all in 2007, but obscene it all, it still needs saying. Try, just try, to find men who want money to hold your key. Oh, they exist, but they’re far and in between. For reasons that are rather unprintably obvious.

So women don’t get off on holding someone’s dick hostage, is that it? They don’t get wet, they don’t masturbate to the thought of “Ahhhh yeaaaah he’s so desperate,” they don’t have a powerful sexuality at all. Unprint that! I obscenity in the milk of thy money-grubbing, I obscenity in the milk of thy misogynist unprintables.

I went over to LockedMen to see what things looked like there. Plenty of adds for keyholders. Plenty of ads from keyholders. Some online, but most looking for someone local. Because, you know, touching a held man is hot. Letting him out and teasing him and then stuffing him back in is hot. Who needs money when you can have a straining erection?

I did find a post where a guy asked for money to hold the key. He got laughed out of the room. “Why would somebody volunteer that?” Why indeed. The thread ends on a serious observation.

>> Eh, let the cash slaves do what they want–If it makes them hard….

meh while generally my opinion is “my kink is ok, your kink is ok”… I feel like ‘cash slaves’ are setting themselves up to get taken advantage of.

I think it’s sad that a sub boy needs to pay to find the kind of relationship he really needs from a  Dom.  I get that for some people this is “SUPER HOT!” but I fear that they think “this is all I can  get…” when they could be so much happier and more fulfilled if they didn’t think they had to pay to be happy.

Right on, brother. No one needs to pay to be happy. And anyone who asserts otherwise can go to the unprintable and unprint themselves!



Navel Gazing

It’s not all Sexy Fun Times at Bear & Schnoff’s, all the time. Bear has been out for the count since I came back from my trip, some type of cold. So, some teasing, but not much else in the way of sex, and a lot of chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese and clearing the daughter’s hair ball out of the sink and washing the (supremely reluctant) dog and time to blog about the harder stuff.

What I did not mention in my first post is that before the fun play time, we had a very difficult moment. I had become frustrated over the course of our vacation: Frustrated that Bear cannot keep up with me, because he does not have my energy levels1. That meant we did not do as much together as I would have liked, from hiking to, yes, of course, rope and sex; and it meant that I was increasingly grumbling to myself and dismayed that “everything takes 2 to 3 times as long as it really should.”

And so, towards the end of our vacation, I expressed my frustration, and my doubt that I “can make this relationship work.” When I talk like that, it hurts Bear, and he cried. He promised he’d work out with me, and do what he could to help me control clutter in our home, another long-standing cause of stress for me.

And then we had make-up sex, I suppose you can call it, and it was great.

We have been back in couples counseling since earlier this year. So, back home, when we saw our counselor, Bear expressed his frustration that I am impatient, and always ten steps ahead of him when walking, even when he is passing people. And I got incredibly technical about it all, about the ratio of my steps to his, and yeah, that was as ludicrous as it sounds.

And as I relate the story of why I am walking so fast, something that has been staring me in the face for a decade hit me: When Bear doesn’t keep up with me – be that walking, or really, any other activity at all – then I believed, deep down, that this was “because he didn’t love me enough.” And as I let that realization sink in, it was my time to cry – sob, really, for the kid I was and the bullshit that kid had to put up with. And for the way I have, myself, perpetuated that hurtful bullshit, as we are wont to do. Family relationship issues get passed down through the generations, they become family stories that repeat themselves over and over again. I have known this, intellectually, for three decades. That I was, still, blind to a big family relationship issue of my own is no surprise.

This realization, now a bit over a week old, is at the root of many of the changes in our relationship. I am grieving for the kid I was. He needs some hugs, badly. And I can be more patient with Bear, which in turn allows him to be more tender and loving towards me, allows him to give me the frequent touch I so crave. Being touched is how I know, beyond words and reason, that I am loved. I feel like a part of me that I had held tightly compressed is slowly unwinding, and the changes that brings go beyond our relationship. For example, I have always been impatient with music. I would listen to music maybe once every few months. Now, I find myself drawn to music – particularly soulful, emotional music – every other day or so.

Now and then in “BDSM circles”, I come across people who try to use kinky sex and play as an alternative form of therapy, in a cathartic sort of way. I firmly believe that this is entirely the wrong way around and incredibly risky, at best, and actively harmful, at worst.

Learning to communicate openly and vulnerably with each other, and the intimacy that brings, enables us to explore D/s more fully. It’s the strength and emotional intimacy of our relationship as equal partners that enables us to be unequal in parts of that relationship, enables the D/s overlay.

On a silly note to offset all that seriousness: This made me smile. A bona fide, genu-wine bar chart tracking hornyness over time. The geek in me that constantly obsesses over “how long it’s been” can totally relate. Envisioning someone entering “the data” into Excel makes me giggle way too much. Easily amused, that’s me.



  1. Caused by a combination of barely controlled Crohn’s Disease, being heavily overweight, and being severely deconditioned