On denial, service and pleasure

We were in bed and both feeling amorous and she wanted to take me inside her. “Get that cock hard… “

I started getting my cock hard for her and she asked “Why aren’t you hard for me already?”

I let her know about how, with the exception of morning wood, it’s rare for me to be able to simply summon an erection without her input into it. Without her asking for it, demanding it, whispering about things – without her involvement. It’s taken a long time to get to that point, but it really is a case that my physical arousal is almost always contingent on her being present and wanting me to be aroused. Sure, there are others that I am with at times and I find my way to arousal, but it does take time.

It was a kind of casual fucking we were sharing and we talked as we entwined our bodies and she took her pleasures from me. “How long has it been since you spilled?”

“44 days” offering that latest denial length.

“What’s the longest you’ve gone… “ I was unable to answer precisely. I knew there was a time of 122 days. And I know there were times of other durations around 100 days, over and under.

“But it doesn’t matter much to me” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so not worried about cumming any more” I explained as I slowly fucked her. “I like the orgasms I can have, but I’m not so worried about cumming. It’s just not as important as being part of your pleasure.” She smiled, pulled me into her with her leg.

“Go on… “

“I love being part of your pleasure. And it’s cliche, but I really do enjoy pleasuring you.” We paused speaking as we fucked. “Cumming is great, but I don’t like how I feel after and it’s far better feeling you cum around me.” I pinched at her nipple and she gasped. “I feel bad that I sometimes have to stop fucking because I’m too close to cumming. I wish I’d be able to fuck you exactly the way you want and not have to stop. I’m okay with you pushing me out when you’re done. To have me pull out when you tell me to heel, to have me stop once your pleasure is done.”

“I’m done, pull out” she said abruptly. I whimpered and pulled out.

We spoke some more and soon went to bed. She told me to blog about my denial, my service, my orgasms, my cumming.

I find myself in this cliche world that I really do enjoy her taking her pleasure from me. And while it’s sometimes defeating when she orders me to heel, to pull out, I do try to remember that it’s what I’m asking for. And I really do wish that I was able to fuck in whatever way she wanted for as long as she wants. And that she’d be able to speak any of the words and stories she’d like that would drive me crazy would not push me over the edge, but only to the edge where she could have me dangle for minutes on end all while she watches me struggle and writhe and whimper. And in the same way keep me hard, ready and fucking her until she was able to take her orgasm and then be done with me. I’ve mentioned n the past to her that I wish that my orgasm could be triggered by her granting permission – that perhaps I wouldn’t be able to cum unless she uttered some certain words or phrase – that my cumming would be 100% totally within her hands. I wonder sometimes if we could achieve that with training or hypnosis. I’ve been reading some information about the Masters and Johnson technique.

When I do cum, my behavior changes for a few days. It’s not the best of experiences although I’ve tried to become better with it – and I think with some noticeable improvement. But she does like my cumming. She likes my submission in cleaning up after myself and she simply likes making me do it. It’s enjoyable for her to make me cum, so of course she should be having me do so.

And yes, I accept my denial. I enjoy it. I get off on being told I can’t get off. But I’m not one of those people that never ever wants to cum again. Even if she never made me cum again, I’d still want to know that there’s some hope that I will cum. Even if she picks up the goalpost and moves it every week, I need to know that there’s a goalpost out there. “Oh, pup, maybe in summer we can let you cum… “ and then Fusion can come and go and a birthday and then we find ourselves having the last gin and tonic on Labor Day weekend and she can suggest “pup, perhaps you’ll have something to be thankful for in November? You can wait until then, right?” And then we’d find the new year coming around with promises that the present not given might come in the next year. THAT is the kind of denial I’m looking at. I’m not the type that fantasizes about her saying “Pup, we’re locking you up until the next decade, then we’ll throw some dice to see if you cum.” No, not that at all. And yeah, yeah I also do enjoy her whispering to me the stories of my not cumming again… but it does always turn up that we have a goalpost – but just not always. Damn, I’m awfully needy about my denial!

I’m not sure if there’s much of a POINT to this post, but let me try and sum up, as I write a distracted post. I do love pleasuring her. I do love cumming. I do love denial. And I love her tormenting me with her denying my spill. I wish I could fuck better and bring her more pleasure in that way without having to pullout. That’s a real nuisance. But I still very much enjoy our time together and our coupling and her taking pleasure. It’s a beautiful thing and I enjoy being there with her.

Caribbean Dungeon

Petit_St_Vincent_Island_Cottage_Interiors

 

The Caribbean island of St. Croix was wonderful. Parts were still obviously ravaged from the hurricanes but signs of rebirth and regrowth were everywhere. My best friend and I were visiting friends, and slept in the guest house of friends of these friends….two wonderful men who offered up their extra nest during our stay.

We spent a good part of each day sitting lazily underneath their deep, wide patio, covered in deep shade, which was needed as the sun was strong. Before us was a sweeping view of the sea, and we were lucky enough to be able to look out over the bluest of blue parts of that long stretch of island coast. Usually, we spent morning and late night hours on the patio talking and drinking coffee or other spirits. Early in our stay, we were told a story that I find myself thinking about a lot. Here it is:

We were told that the guest house we were staying in was once a dungeon. The former owner of the house had build the guest house as a place to keep her male slaves. After quickly determining that these were consensual slaves, the story became much sexier to me, and I was curious to learn more without seeming toooo interested. They know I’m kinky, and live a FLR with my boy, but I keep the details vague around the vanillas.

It seems that this Mistress lived happily on the island and was well known and liked by the locals. She built her dungeon to fit in, so from the outside, it gleamed no additional attention. But the inside was a vastly different story. I wasn’t able to get too many details, as our friends didn’t really know her personally, but the stories proceeded her.

I laid in bed during those mornings, the french doors wide open overlooking the sea, and would lounge in sleepy daydreams about this woman, wondering what her world was like. I looked around at the brightly colored, stucco walls, speculating what it must have looked like as a dungeon. The guest house wasn’t a large space, but it was certainly a creative space. The main living area was two stories, with a bedroom loft area off to the side.  Sturdy beans once held chains and bondage devices. Steel rings were built into the walls that now held local art, but once upon a time, they held local males, locked in shackles that confined them to this space.

I was told that these boys….men, toys, slaves…..would work nearly naked on the property, working the lawns, gardens, patio areas. I could picture them in my imagination, making a beautiful place more beautiful, their tanned skin glistening in the hot sun, the vibrant sea blue as the backdrop.  I would then picture them at night,  serving their Mistress, her friends, stepping into the night shadows when their service wasn’t immediately required.

Everything about this property seemed happy, joyous. It just had that energy about it. Everything about it flowed. The inside of the main house transitioned seamlessly to the outside spaces when the shudders and sliding doors were open wide. The patio encompassed the house, and a short path lead to the slave quarters. Everything was open and connected. Lush greenery created a natural fence affording all the necessary privacy. Twinkling lights and large candles cast soft lighting. Magical, to say the least.

I came home after that trip and shared the tale with my boy. But it was a hard story to share, because most of what I could tell about that dungeon was what I created in my own imagination. I find myself drifting off in fantasy about this place, about what it might be like to live like that. And in many ways, I DO live like that Mistress. I live in a sweet place, with a lovely slave. He serves me, he serves friends, he works the yard. I know from private messages I get that others are curious about us, about the way we live, and express a harmless jealousy that my boy and I get to do the things we do.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Especially when it is built on real life pillars. Now, if I could only have that Caribbean blue outside my front door….

 

bahamas_2836_600x450

Absence

hearts

Dear lovely blog,

I miss you! Its been about 2 weeks since I have posted, I am long overdue to catch up with you! Lots of cool and interesting things have happened during 2 different and sexy trips. There are stories to tell and adventures to share. I’ll be back very soon….this weekend, I promise! Hope you’re  doing well, blog. I’ll be back!

Love,

Ms. Chloe

Let sleeping dogs lie

That’s the saying, at least. Let sleeping dogs lie. But this week, without her, my sleep has been horrible. Earlier in the week I felt sick, then took a day off, then felt depressed (likely because she isn’t here), so my insomnia kicked in, so I didn’t sleep, but I got a nap Wednesday during the storm, then the annoyance and depression and another late night, making me tired. Add in multiple times waking up in the morning with my caged cock pressing at the cage and pulling my balls painfully away from my body… that last hour or two of sleep kept being a case of “fall asleep, get hard, wake up, go back to sleep… ” for hours. So those hours of sleep were terrible.

I hope she’ll come back and I’ll be able to sleep well. I really would like a good night’s sleep. Perhaps, if her plan continues as original, I might take a tylenol PM and let that help me sleep… but we’ll see. I have a long “after work” period ahead of me – whether or not she’s home tonight or tomorrow, so…

I suppose the bottom line is that I’m looking forward to her return for many reasons, but I hope it also means useful sleep returns again.

Paws in the morning

I already mentioned our first try out of the paws and we did end their use in the morning, but I have a mind that wanders. More accurately, I have an incredibly pornographic and fantasy laden mind. And my mind wandered into that land while I was rousing in the morning. Here’s where my mind wandered…


Slowly I woke, my mind rousing, wondering if last night happened. My hands – or lack thereof – reminded it had happened. Like many mornings I woke with an erect cock and my hands tried to touch it but that wasn’t possible, given the mitts on my hands. I was fortunate she had not clipped them together or to any places where she might have locked them into a static place.

I thought I smelled bacon and toast. I knew I smelled coffee.

She came into the room, shutting off our white noise generator and patted me on the head. Her hands checked out my mitts – still completely secure.

“Come on, pup, time for the morning pee” she told me as she clipped the leash to my collar. Still drowsy I was roused quicker with a snap of the leash. Leaving bed, I was clad only in my collar and leash and the mitts on my hands. There was no way I could have put on my glasses. “Roommates are gone, pup, so let’s get you outside so you can do your business.”

I must have looked at her with some kind of look of incredulity.

“Oh, pup, it’s fine. Trust me” she smiled as she spoke.

Our home is odd with three doors to get to the outside. It’s quite the gauntlet. We got to the final door right before getting outside and I balked. She yanked on the leash twice, pulling me toward the door. I remained in the house. We live in a highly residential neighborhood. With kids around. I was not going outside in daylight so exposed. She knew it too. And she didn’t expect me to walk outside. But she did leave me standing there at the door as I got colder.

“It’s okay, boy, you don’t have to go out. Turn around.” She pushed my shoulders to spin me around and I saw in my blurry vision a bucket. She kicked it with her toe. “Come on pup, do your business.” I exhaled a couple times and was finally able to relax and pee into the bucket. There was no way for me to pinch it off with my finger, so I just did my best by exercising my PC muscle instead.

“You’ll take care of that before you leave for work, pup.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

She led me back in the house and into the dining room. My smelling bacon was correct. And toast. I didn’t notice the eggs with my nose, but there they were. In a bowl. On the floor.

“You don’t seem grateful pup. I know you can’t handle utensils with your paws, so I made your breakfast bite sized!”

I really didn’t mind. In fact my cock did pulse a little thinking of all this, but there was one real problem with the meal; the eggs. They hadn’t quite gone cold, but they were, at best, tepid. And I loathe cold eggs. It’s almost a hard limit. But no doubt she knew this and still presented me this meal.

“Thank you Ma’am. Thank you for breakfast” I said as I got down on my hands and knees and got on with eating. It wasn’t that bad, but that texture of tepid scrambled eggs. With tepid cheese… I wasn’t gagging but on the path.

She also set down a mug with a straw to give me some coffee. The straw was an incredibly generous touch by her. It sure beat lapping it up from a dish and I appreciated that.

She sat near me as I ate, her foot occasionally tapping my body in various spots as I ate and she typed and sipped coffee. When I finished, I moved to her and kissed her foot as a thank you and lay down on the floor next to her. A few minutes later I was grateful for the opportunity to use the bathroom before my shower. She removed the mitts, the collar and bade me shower. When I was done, she directed me to clean the dishes from the floor and the bucket in the mudroom, which I did. Then I dressed and we made our way to our respective jobs. My morning was good, I would reflect as coworkers wished me “good morning” – and I smirked as I did so.

“Good morning, indeed!” was my typical reply.

His paws

We’ve been wanting a pair of bondage mitts for some time, perhaps even making a pair, though we may not have the tools to do so. This winter I’ve done the dhGate shopping and found us a pair of mitts. Made of genuine faux hide (Where DO they farm these faux, anyway?), they are nice, but obvious low end. We should replace them with a pair of leather ones if we end up enjoying them (spoiler, I enjoy them) – as I have the feeling their lifespan will be minimal. I think dhGate is to generic china made products like Harbor Freight is to tools. Good for a few fun uses, but then count on them breaking and becoming useless.

After the intense teasing session she gave me the other night, sometimes demanding I enter her, sometimes demanding I stay out, but in the end being deep in her while she came… she got up, as she oft does and headed for the bathroom.

When she got back, I was hard, still throbbing from the arousal and from the orgasm, but she knew she wasn’t going to do anything more to either tease me or allow me to play with myself – and now she had a way to prevent my touching that didn’t involved wrapping her cock in steel.

The dogs check out the dogs paws!

The dogs check out the dogs paws!

She came to me with the mitts, taking them from the hook they hung on in our bedroom. They stank of chinese artificial leather and we were letting them outgas while they stared at us and we stared at them for a few days. Yet tonight she was going to wrap those paws around me.

First one hand, then the other as we both figured out how they went on and stayed on. She didn’t lock them, though there are locking buckles. She simply ordered me to leave them on all night.

“I like your paws… ” she said after she got them on. “You can’t really get any stimulation, can you?”

I attempted to rub my hard cock and proved her right.

“I like you like that. It’s a good look.”

She lay herself down in bed and presented her back to me. “Do your job” she said. I got up to my hands and knees to kneel along side her and did my cleaning, then settled in behind her to half spoon her and pet her.

“I like the way those feel, good boy. Pet me with your paws.”

I did like the feel of them. They were good. Not too much in the way, but they did prevent my self stimulation. And they also allowed me to pet her to sleep, which I did.

The paws didn’t hinder my getting up to pee in the middle of the night, in fact, it was quite easy, though there was a risk of a roommate seeing me naked as I walked to the bathroom. We often take that risk.

And in the morning she came in to wake me, some time after she had already awoken. “I liked watching you in your paws this morning. You sleepily tried to play with yourself and I saw your paws in the way… it was cute. ” I smiled.

She removed the paws carefully, not wanting to damage me or the new bondage mitts. And I was able to get up and grab my coffee and start my morning. But my mind also thought of other ways the story might have ended.


I like the way the paws do restrict my access to her cock. I very much like that part. And there’s a little bit of bondage nut in me, so I appreciate that my hands were bound. Not perfectly bound and useless, but certainly befuddled. I couldn’t do many things that people do all the time. No phone, no TV, no jerking off, no making coffee…

And I particularly loved her calling them “my paws”. This was a very strong part of the bondage for me – that she was calling them “my paws”. She is able to pick up on some words sometimes and just use them to really fuck with my head and this was one of those times. It was a lovely mind fuck, I must say. I look forward to the mitts again and having my paws back again. But that may be a while, as she’s going to want all hands on deck when she gets back into town.

The tortured teasing

We were both thinking about her time away that was coming up during a beautiful evening out – lovely dinner – a stage play – returning home. We fell into bed and soon were naked together watching an episode of one of our regular shows. We both enjoyed our bodies together and I was being a little tiny bit aggressive with her in bed. She reacted by pushing back against my aggression and reminding me of my place. I realized it was not one of her moments where she really wanted me to persist on being aggressive. In fact, she was looking for a passive boy. A useful erotic toy.

We made out and I asked her permission to make love to her.

“What does that mean, pup?”

“I really want to feel connected, inside you.”

“Inside me? That sounds a little bit more about your pleasure than mine”

“I want to feel close, deep inside you, coupled with you.”

“Aren’t we coupled now? Do you need to be inside me?”

“We are Ma’am. We are. But I wanted to be inside you as well. Maybe even put you to sleep while inside you?”

“Oh pup, I’m sure you’d enjoy that…. ” She pushed me back form her body and adjusted her pillows, then moved herself more onto her back instead of on her side.


 

“But I’m looking for something more tonight, pup.” She pulled her knees up, signaling to me that she was opening up to my entry. I moved myself to be perpendicular to her, my head on a pillow, my legs tangled with hers.

“But I like the idea of you inside me. I was just thinking about that. About you being completely inside me.” We further adjusted ourselves. I waited with my cock against her pussy. “Just pet me with the head of your cock.” I rubbed her pussy with my cock. “Yes, pup, just like that.” I rubbed my cock from her hole up over hit clitoral hood, back and forth. She moaned.

“I see you six inches tall, pup. Inside me. Fully inside me as I walk around.” She told me the continuing tale of my being miniaturized and her using me like a dildo, leaving me in place as she walks around town. As she enters a bar, uses the bathroom, flirts, goes back to a man’s apartment near the bar…

While she told this tale, she played with herself. I massaged her nipple and she alternated between ordering me to give her more cock and denying my entry to her pussy. Whenever I was mentally able to give her more, she didn’t want it. But when I was straining against spilling my cum, she demanded it. Yes, she was absolutely playing me and we both knew it. I was on edge the entire time, barely the head of my cock entering her at any time.

She kept driving me “Just the head pup… ” and “Put it in me pup, be my sextoy, do it” she would say, taunting me. Her heel kicking my ass to spur me on, her hand ripping at my nipple to order me back out again. I never was able to plunge into her.

She ordered me to calm down and she stopped telling me the story. I breathed deeply, relaxed, calmed. Still my cock head fucked her pussy, but just the head. Her breathing got deeper too, rising and falling higher and lower. She was getting closer. Now it was my turn to pick up the story, which I did. Placing myself in the same place, her 6″ tall dildo of a man being used by her and by the man she picked up at the bar. Both of them using and abusing me, then cleaning me. About how she told the man to not overstimulate me – even if I was a tiny toy, I was not allowed to ever cum.

My whispering now influenced her and she started tensing. Her orgasm was on the way. Now, with her orgasm coming, for some stupid and unknown reason, my brain was fine. I was able to plunge deep into her, fill her as she came and that’s exactly what I did. I drove deep, she pulsed and squeezed. I adjusted and dove deeper, she pulsed more. Finally I was all the way in and she rode out her orgasm.

I kissed her hand, I licked her fingers clean as she offered them to me.

“Out, pup.” I withdrew from her warmth with a whimper and sidled up to her. She cupped my balls and squeezed them.

I asked permission to have an orgasm. “Quickly pup, I’m ready to sleep now.” I cycled the sexual energy around inside me and held her tightly and within 15 seconds I was shouting into the pillow with my orgasm, pumping and pulsing my body but the semen staying safely within my body. Near the end a drop found its way out onto her arm. I cleaned it with my mouth and settled in next to her again. Thanking her, I held her close until she got up to use the bathroom one last time before bed.

When she returned, she did not come to bed empty handed, but smiled as she spied my body in the bed. Naked, the covers still thrown back from her getting up, my cock jutted upward, still throbbing and hard. “That’s beautiful” she said with her smiling body. And then I saw what was in her hands…

Less clothing option

woman on beach

 

I’m all packed, ready to go. Tomorrow at this time, I’ll hopefully be taxing down the runway, lifting off and away from the cold, grey skies and heading south. Off to the Caribbean tomorrow with my best friend to go see our housemate, who spends deep winter in the deep south.  Bus to Boston tonight, a quick overnight, and then away we go.

The only thing left to do is to lock up my boy, review with him the list of chores I expect  him to accomplish while I am gone, grab my bags and go. I’ll miss my boy terribly, but am comforted to know we have another trip on the heels of this one where we go to a 5 day kinky event together. I am looking forward to that too!

So, my dear dog, here is the list of things you’ll do while I am away:

Return returnables.

Make sure bathroom is sparkling clean upon my return.

Clean out that dryer hose I have been talking about.

Contact lucky and Ms. J and settle up with them.

Shoes. You will work on shoes…..yours and a few of mine need a bit of polishing love bestowed upon them. Do it.

Check in with my dad, plan on going over after work one day and having cocktail/dinner with him.

Contact our lovely friend Ms. C and see if she needs anything since she is still on crutches.

I would like that computer cabinet to be fitted to hold computers and cords better. Surprise me with your craftiness!

I will be gone 8 days. You are permitted to consume alcohol for 4 of these days. You decide which ones.

Miss Me. This is a very important order.

And finally, blog. I won’t be able to while I am away, so post a few times.

I’ll see you in a week, my lovely pet. Be the good boy you are, enjoy your week, enjoy the quiet, keep yourself busy and happy. I’ll bring you back a present. :-)

 

Bon Voyage, all!

She’s headed away

She’s headed out tomorrow. Last night we had a lovely time together both out in town and then at home. We had excellent together time and excellent playtime and we both had a lovely night.

Tonight we had a nice dinner (nothing spectaular, but was at home and tasty) and I know that I was feeling multiple things. Well, I’m a little sad because it’s February 1st and I’m usually sad on this day, but it doesn’t permeate my soul as deeply as it once did. And I’m stressed that she’s leaving. I also have feelings of… longing? Sadness? Loss? No.. none of those words. But I do feel like last night was some awesome play and I don’t think we give ourselves enough time to play in that way. And I miss it after we have it because I know it’ll be a while before we go there again. Sure, we live a lifestyle of 24/7 – which we both love – but the last night play – well, I’ll miss it before it comes around again. And maybe that makes me selfish. But aren’t we always reading things and then saying things that “we should play more often” and “live your life out loud” and “don’t be afraid to be a bitch to me like that more often… ” Okay, so that last one is all me and totally selfish. But I know that we had a good time with it, like we always do and now I miss it because I know we won’t do so again until she’s back home – another week from now.

And then work calls and there’s a problem, so I have to fix that. And that raises my tension. And then I can’t get back to sleep mode because I’m wired. Damn it. And I can’t even lay in bed and masturbate because it just doesn’t “feel right” to stroke myself in the bed next to her like that… And that’s likely to be one of my last opportunities for a while, because she’s locking up her cock tomorrow morning.

So, I’m dealing with some loss all around. My February 1st loss, my loss of my partner for a week, loss of play for a week or so… yeah, that seems to be it. And work hitting me in the face while I’m trying to deal. And it all kinda sucks.

But I’m happy to have written this down – so I can realize that what I’m feeling is a ton of loss. It’s all first world problem shit, I know. But it still is stressing me. I remain in a blessed life. This I know.

Pussy Screaming

Earlier this week, while in bed, my boy and I were sharing a bit of grown up playtime. We were beneath the covers, entangled in one another, and I took him by a fist full of hair and pushed him down, face first, between my legs. I ordered him to pleasure me, to lick me, to clean me, and he did. But on this night, it wasn’t enough for me, and my sadistic cravings were in full force.

I had him get up on his knees and shift his body so that his face was at the lower half of my body, and his ass was up by my shoulders. This gave me perfect access to his dangling cock and balls. I took one of his balls in my fist and started to squeeze. Slowly, tightly, firmly.

His response was to press his face deeper into my dark and womanly parts. It seemed to be a natural coping strategy for him as he sought to manage the pain….sort of like yelling into a pillow. But not.

The squeezing and torturing of his balls continued. I did not let up, I did not back off, and I continued to crush and grind his balls. I took my nails and dug into the tip of his swollen cock. It was edging of a different kind, for it almost brought him to the point of break.

His mouth was fully pressed into me. My pussy, my ass. He shifted slightly so that his mouth fit perfectly over my larger, softer opening and he started to scream as my fist brought him to the very edge of tolerance. I held my grip perfectly. And he screamed beautifully.

None of this is new to us. We have played like this so many times in the past that it is almost routine for us. But what was different this time is that his mouth was like a lid, keeping everything inside of me, letting nothing escape. His screams, his cries had no place to go except up and in. I could feel the baritone pitch as it vibrated off of my insides. I could literally feel my cervix absorb his guttural screams as they echoed and reverberated. I pushed his head a bit lower so that his mouth was over my ass and did the same thing. The results were similar, but it also felt different. It was as though those deep sounds had more places to travel. My pussy seemed to be a cul-de-sac of sorts, while my ass was a winding, tight road that just kept going. The music he was playing within me…..for me…..traveled far and deep and I could feel it at different lengths along the way. It was fascinating to me.

I truly no longer cared about any licking or kissing or worshiping. I only wanted to play him like the instrument he was. At this moment, he was not my boy, not my pet, not property. He is always these things, but right then, he was an object I was using and exploring. At one point he tried to beg me to be more gentle, and the response he got was a growl and hair pull. If he was going to give his voice, he would be screaming it and I would be capturing those screams within me…my own, personalized soundtrack of lust and sweet agony.

pussy-this-is-what-i-call-a-perfect-pussy-koika-metart