Lost count


I’m not even sure what day it is. I’ve officially lost track of the count. Of the days. Of the numbers that signify the amount of time that has passed us by without my boy having a cum. I am going to guess it is somewhere around 140. Maybe even 150. Or is it maybe 133? I’m not sure. But when I think about such a thing, I immediately smile. It’s a smile that starts in my soul, crashes into my heart, and spreads across my face.  There is, though, one fleeting thought that cuts through that particular joy… a small thought, a guilty thought, scolding that I should know the number. The exact number. The number of days that I keep him in denial. I should not lose sight of such a number. But I have.

And then I smile again, letting that one fleeting thought have its moment, and then I push it out of my mind. It’s gone as quickly as it came. I heard the thought, I acknowledged it, I recognized it, and then I sent it away.

The point is, it’s a big number. So much so that I am losing track of it. I don’t know when it will stop growing. Eventually, it will end. But in the meantime, like coins piling up in a jar, I see all of the days tumbling together. I freely admit I like the this big number. Bigger is better, right?

I read my boys post. I am glad I did. I liked how it addressed some things I have been thinking about, things we have not yet talked about. I know how it can get for him… falling in to his submission too deeply, too hard, too completely.  That IS a risk, but we know this. We haven’t talked about it because it has not been an issue lately, but it can if we are not mindful. He is exactly right; I do not want a doormat. I don’t want everything that comes out of his mouth to be accompanied by the word “Ma’am“. That would irritate me. I love his mind, his thoughts and I value his opinions. I like seeing and feeling his strengths. 150 days has great potential to change him. It has changed him, but in ways that have affected his service, not his demeanor. He is better. He is more complete in his service. It no longer seems to be something that has an on/off switch. It just seems to be on at all times. This, I very much love.

It seems to me that the more he is locked down… the more he is denied… the more freedoms we gain. We have more range to live the 24/7 that we have slowly been working toward. We didn’t set out to do this it just happened. Slowly and over time we have inched our way to this place. We still get silly together, we still have disagreements, and once in a while, I’ll want him to pull my hair and I’ll want him to take the reins between the sheets. And he’ll do it. And it’s awesome. But then it’s back to normal for us. And that new normal is long term denial.

The topic of time is hard to put into words as time is a relative thing. Many kinky friends (especially the guy friends) are horrified that it’s been something around 150 days. To be fair, they are more likely mystified.  To me, it feels as though we are just getting started.

I told my boy the other night as I was torturing his cock that I might just not ever let him cum again. He cried. He pressed his face against my breast and wept. I continued to hurt him as I stroked his hair, whispering that I knew it hurt, but that it would be okay. I reminded him that he is my slave, my toy, my plaything and that I had no need for him to cum. He looked at me with love and despair; longing and contentment. It’s like a drug without drugs. The thought of not cumming enslaves him more than anything else, I think. And yet, we chose this. With full heart, soul, mind and body, we chose this.

That is very much a part of the smile that envelops me.

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