Author: thumper

Sex blogger, apparently. Also, queer polyamorous submissive baseball fan.

What eating pussy taught me about sucking cock

I admit, the title of this post is perhaps too cheeky by half. And it probably does need to be qualified by adding as a locked man to it. But it is something I thought of right after (one of the times) blowing Frodo last weekend.

There are a lot of things that make locked men better at sex than they were before they were locked. And, mind you, I like to think I was really good at sex back when I had a functioning penis. But what you learn pretty quick when there’s only one orgasm between you to look forward to is that their journey is your journey, too. All the pleasure of sex you’re going to get is when they’re receiving their pleasure because once they shoot their load (regardless of what gender they are), it’s likely the sex is going to stop and all you’ll have to enjoy is a tight tube and achy balls (and I like tight tubes, but not so much the achy balls).

The thing I discovered as a locked man while eating pussy is how to pay attention to Belle’s reactions and what she’s like as she progresses from being turned on, to stimulated, to about to come, to actually coming. And that, in my experience, women cannot be rushed. Sometimes, with a cock, you can go faster and squeeze harder to get there faster, but pussies don’t work that way. They need to take exactly the amount of time they’re going to take. And so, I tend to let her pleasure and how she reacts to it lead me up to the point where she comes. And why not? Like I said, her journey is my journey. Her pleasure is my pleasure. Why the fuck would I want to rush that? I’d camp out for a day between her legs and eat her pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if that’s what it took and I’d be very happy to do so.

Same with Frodo. He said something to me after feeding me his load about being patient. About not rushing him, letting him get there on his own. Something like that. And I thought, yes! That’s what having sex with a locked man should be like. Back when I was unlocked (and even now on those rare occasions when Belle lets me out for sex), I can start to think about “my turn” too much. To that part where I get to stick it in/get it wet and that can make me try and rush her through her turn.

I suppose if one’s sexual dynamic is one of equals that that might be kinda hot. Seeing him so turned on to fuck you that he’s rushed and impatient. But when you get used to having sex with someone like me, that throws the cadence off. Belle will call me on it in real time. Frodo, never being with me in that condition, only gets to enjoy the benefits of my (from his perspective) permanent condition.

So, I’ve learned two things. One, pay attention to and learn as well as your own your partner’s progression towards orgasm. Two, follow their path patiently and don’t try to find any shortcuts. All that wrapped up in the submissive POV that sex should be about them first and always should lead to them having a really good time.

And I think Frodo had a really good time.

Double denied

In retrospect, I should have taken into account the number of loads he’d already put in or on me in the 50-some hours we had been together. At least one on my face, one in my ass, a couple down my throat. Yet here we were again, going for another.

His hands were on both sides of my head holding it in place while his big cock pistoned in and out of my mouth. All I could hear was the wet slurpy sounds of his thick tool pulling spit out of me and shoving it and some air back in. The kind of attention one in his position gives to a willing hole ready to receive his release. Not me. Not his friend of nearly 40 years. We’d both been reduced to just a hot wet hole and a big thick cock and millions of years of evolutionary imperative to deposit seed.

And I was ready for it. Craved it. Hungered.

But it wasn’t coming. No matter how hard and fast he skull-fucked me. We were going to the well one too many times. He let go of my head and pulled his cock out of it. I gulped air in its absence and stretched my aching jaw as he pulled me up and laid me next to him in the bed. We were ourselves again. The evolutionary fire had receded.

He suggested he needed to rest. I wondered. He had been asleep for hours already. Would a few more minutes make a difference? But we laid there, he embracing me, my head under his chin, my hand on his wide, flat, hair-covered chest. Soon I was dozing. Flitting in and out of early, ephemeral dreams. Then a brief snorting little snore woke me. His, not mine.

I laid there, motionless. Not wanting to disturb him, but also now wide awake. And thinking about his cock. And wanting to grab it. But not grabbing it because he didn’t say I could and I didn’t want to wake him up. But the more I laid there the more I thought about how perfectly I was arranged to stroke him and that caused the persistent snugness inside my metal tube to transition into insistent tightness.

So I laid there. And waited.

Eventually, he woke up. He said something about seeking coffee and breakfast. I don’t know for sure because I had a mission.

“There’s that bottle of lube right over there,” I said as I caressed his stiff nipple. “I could…” Pausing as if this was a sudden idea and not the thing taking up all my imagination for the last 15 minutes “…jack you off.”

“Mmm,” he said. “You could.” And he lifted the covers off his thickness. He’s a shower and a grower.

I whipped to the nightstand and squeezed some of the silicone lube into my hand. Then a bit more. No such thing as too much lube when jacking off. I left it in my hand for a bit to warm up, not wanting to shock him. By the time I wrapped my hand around his cock, it had already come back from its slumber.

Jesus Christ. Jeeesus Christ. It felt so good. So natural in my hand. I stroked it the way I knew…remembered…felt good. At once a familiar feeling, but also not. His was so much thicker than I had been. The stroke was longer, too, because he was. And so, so hard. Figurative steel opposed to my literal.

Jesus. A man’s cock. In my hand. My lubed-up hand. And I was stroking it like I used to stroke mine. Back when I had one. If that’s what you could call it, even then. Compared to this?

I pressed the length of my body into his. My left arm behind his shoulders, my right leg over his, my incredibly tight tube pressing into his hip. He was moaning. I was moaning.

“Sounds like you’re stroking yourself,” commented.

All I could do was grunt and whimper into his neck.

I was persistent in my attention, but not overbearing. Not letting my pent up denial cause me to lose my cool.

The pace of his breathing picked up. My breathing picked up. He was flexing his hips sympathetically into my stokes. My hips were grinding into his at the same pace. He was making sounds like he was going to come. I could feel my own orgasm building.

My mind grew fuzzy. I was confused. Overcome by hormones. I wanted to feel his cock flex and pump in my hand. Not wanted. NEEDED. As if my life depended on it. When he came, there was a real chance I would, too. I could feel it right…there. But…is that allowed? I’m not supposed to come unless she gives me permission. And she had not done so. But I couldn’t stop now! Not here. Not with him. I was trapped in the swirling gravity well of his impending orgasm. What would happen? I felt no option but to find out. I was in a barrel riding over his falls, come what (or who) may.

And then…nothing. Nothing at all. He sounded like he was coming. A little. Tricked me for a second as I waited to feel the inevitable surging of his iron-hard tool. Then to see what would happen in my tube. But it didn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. The well was still dry.

The moan I made came from the depth of my being. It was there! Right there!

“Sorry,” he said.

Sorry! AHHHHRRGH.

“It’s OK,” I replied (of course), “It’s been…what? Four times? Five? That’s a lot in such a short period.” Meanwhile, the meat in my tube was pounding and pinching and as tight as it could possibly get. Not an atom between meat and metal. A shiny second skin.

“And zero for you,” he said. “None for Thumper. Not now. Not ever.”

I melted.

“Denied your own orgasm,” he continued, “And now denied mine.”

I died. This is me, writing from the Great Beyond. Dead.

An unexpected interlude with Frodo

Frodo, who happened to be in my state for a week but not in town, sent me a text.

I’d like to see you. It would be great to have some alone time. But I’d also be happy to just hang out.

I don’t often (ever) get booty call texts so I wasn’t sure if this was one of those. I said back…

Are we talking just having drinks and snacks or are you going to let me suck you off or what?

He replied…

I want you to suck me off. Or I’ll fuck you. Either way, I have a five day load for you.

Booty call it was! He asked his husband and I asked my wife and then it was set. We would meet at a hotel about a mile and half from my house. It was an 90 minute drive for him and a six minute drive for me.

As I was checking in, the person behind the plexiglass asked cheerfully, “What brings you to town?”

“Well, you see, the man I’m in a polyamorous relationship with and to whom I have ceded exclusive use of my ass is on his way over to make me beg to suck his cock before he fucks my ass,” I did not say. Instead I said I was only there for the night since my floors were just refinished (true enough) and the house was full of chemical smells (totally false).

“Oh, we get a lot of that here,” she replied which, I assume, could have applied to the answer I gave her and the one I didn’t.

My heart was thumping hard as I texted Frodo the room number. Then I walked in and realized I had been in it before. At least, I had been in a room with the identical layout in the same hotel and had totally forgotten until I saw it. It was the same as the room I met Drew at the second time he fucked me.

What a slut you are, I thought, getting fucked by two guys in basically the same hotel room. And…OK, yeah.

Frodo had texted back. He was on his way up. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I placed the bottle of lube he requested on the nightstand but didn’t know if I should be standing or sitting, naked or not. So I froze and stood there and waited.

Then he knocked and I let him in and he said “hi” and we kissed like we were both dying of not kissing. He was definitely leading which is something I’m not used to and I found myself trying to let him and not fight him. Be receptive without being excessively passive.

I remember when I was of the age of having kissed both boys and girls how different they were. How boys tended to be more manic and pushy and girls tended to be more submissive and yielding. And how boys’ spit was thicker while girls’ was not. I remember wondering what it was like to kiss me because I honestly preferred kissing girls and hoped I tasted like them to both the boys and girls I was kissing back.

But in this moment, I was trying to get out of his way. Not to try and drive it. I started to peel my clothes off as his kissed me. He sent me down to my knees and opened his pants. Didn’t make me wait so long like in New York before going down on him.

Fuuuuucking hell, I love sucking that cock.

His hands were all over me. Squeezing my muscles, my shoulders, my chest. He reached down behind me and fingered my ass. I moaned into his cock. Eventually, he sat down on the couch and I kept blowing him. Got down low between his legs and sucked his balls into my mouth the way I know he loves. One then the other. Kept gentle suction while rolling them around with my tongue. His moaning was my reward.

I buried my nose into the thick hair at the base of his cock and inhaled deeply. Whatever pheromones were there lit up all the receptors in my brain. Sent me into a kind of lustful delirium. After several deep, deep inhalations, I came back up to suck his nipples and grabbed him hard. Hard like someone who fucks someone else. But I don’t and needed to pull myself together. I wasn’t in control of this. This wasn’t for me. Losing my grip on that simple fact wouldn’t lead anywhere productive.

I asked if he’d fuck my throat. Me, on the bed on my back, him standing over me shoving his cock in my face. I fantasize about that position. I love seeing that point between his legs behind his balls where all the hairy parts come together. I love how masculine that part of him is. Love having my nose buried in that part of him where all his most potent pheromones emanate.

To be honest, my performance as a fuckable face was less than I had hoped. I loved it. Loved feeling him shove his cock while I laid there. But my gag reflex wasn’t as defeated as I had hoped. But it was still fun and he seemed to like it. Later, he commended me for telling him what I wanted from him.

But it was time to fuck. He was on his back and I put the lube on his beautiful cock and rubbed it in my crack. I lined his head up with my hole and slowly dropped down on it. I actually had a wince of pain from the intrusion but didn’t let it stop me. I needed him inside me. To feel him make my hole his.

In New York, the last time we met, he had kept me in a jock strap the whole time and didn’t even know which device I was wearing. He never even saw it. This time, I forgot and was wearing conventional (for me) underwear which, of course, had to come off for me to get fucked. So as I straddled his cock and rocked my hips back and forth, the Steelheart was front and center for him to see. Had I been a “normal” boy, he might have jacked me a little while I fucked him that way, but I’m not so he didn’t. He gripped my hips and strong thighs and felt my muscles there flex and strain as I rode him. Thanks to my running, the muscles in my legs get very hard. I hoped he appreciate them.

After that was a flurry of different positions. He let me fuck him from on top for a bit but then flipped me around and took me from behind. Then he had me on my side and fucked me that way. He was a machine. He fucked me like a man fucks a hole. I was the hole. He was the man. It was glorious.

The best I could do was keep my leg out of the way and say “Fuck…me…fuck…me…” over and over to the beat of his pelvis slapping my ass with each thrust. I know every bottom knows the feeling. When his cock pounding in and out becomes the center of your universe and you know — know — that it’s your reason for being. To feel a man own and use you without abandon.

Then it happened. He touched it. The Steelheart and my balls. Literally, the first time that’s ever happened. He didn’t really seem to know what to do with any of it. Kind of cupped it at first before lightly flicking my balls with his finger. Just way too lightly to be even remotely like impact play, but I was just stunned. But I will admit how good the contact felt. His hands on my balls.

Then he flipped me on my back and brought my legs way up and put them on his shoulders. The position that always means he’s fucking serious now. I’m going to get plowed and he’s going to come and it’s all about that. It was a punishing fuck. Like he was mad at my hole and was punishing it. I was bent in half and felt like the fuck doll I was. My hands were on his shoulders and back and around his neck and every bit of him was covered in sweat from the effort to own me.

He came with a grunt and a moan and then a giggle. He’s always laughed when he came and I’ve never understood it, really. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of laughing in that situation but he’s done it since he was a teenager.

We laid next to one another, my head on his chest, as his heart rate came down. I reached around and felt the slick looseness of my hole and it struck me again how much like it feels like a little pussy when he’s done with it. I slipped the tip of a finger in and swirled it around and realized…oh, Jesus, I’m not done with his cock. He will fuck me again.

Frodo and I work so well in bed because there’s just the one cock between us. If I was there with a penis it’d want attention and I’d become too focused on it and eventually I’d come and that could ruin everything. It was always the point in our past when my bisexual wiring would fry out. Not just him. Every guy I’ve been with. But I’m not the same person now I was then so I can’t know it’d be the case today that my orgasm would change how I felt about being with him, but I do know that there’s no reason at all for me to come. It wouldn’t improve the event for me in any way and he didn’t seem to be missing it. So I’m incredibly thankful that Belle requires I be locked up whenever I have sex with anyone else. And of course with Frodo for not seeming to care about the contents and if and when I orgasm.

I brought my hand back around and slowly traced with the same come-slicked finger the length of his soft yet still chubby cock. Ran it across and over the flare of its head. I did want it back in me but I also wanted to admire it. I love how a recently satiated cock looks. Like a sleepy lion.

It started to get hard again. I mean, it hadn’t been five minutes. And he was already getting hard.

Next thing I knew, he was totally hard and had me up on all fours and was back in my ass. Our little hotel room had a mirror right in front of us so he could see on my face how his cock felt inside me. Could see the Steelheart swinging and swaying between my legs. Could see the definition of my shoulders as I struggled to hold my place in the bed as he pounded the hell out me. I could see on his face the pleasure he was taking from me. Could see his hairy chest hovering over my back. Could see his arms flex as he held onto my hips and pulled them into his.

And then he came. Like an animal. So unexpectedly and so quickly and so much.

And I’m telling you. I am telling you. It was the best fuck of my life. The first part was awesome. The exclamation point of his taking me a second time? All-time fuck.

Jesus, I’m tight as hell thinking about it. I wish I was back there with him right now. I wish I was feeling him inside me again.

Frodo and me in NYC, part one

I think the most enduring memory of my weekend in NYC with Frodo will be seeing his big, thick, hard cock bobbing and weaving inches from my face, heavy with his desire. I reached for it with my watering mouth.

“Not yet,” he said. “Wait until I say you can.”

This cock, which I love dearly — the first man’s cock I ever sucked — loomed before me. I knelt on the ground as he instructed, naked except for the jock strap he told me would be my uniform this weekend and the red and black leather collar he put around my neck. And right there in front of me, the cock. I could already taste it and feel it in my mouth. I am intimately familiar with it. Clear, shimmering precum was oozing from its tip. Its sweetness dripping, wasted, to the floor. I moved to try and catch it.

“NOT. Until. I. Say.”

I made a sound like a five year old with a plate of ice cream put in front of him who’s been told he can’t have any until everyone else has theirs. I was whining and fidgeting and wanted it so bad.

It had been two years, one month, and 23 days since the last time that cock was in my mouth. Two years, one month, and 23 days since any cock had been in my mouth. The memories of that cock had fueled my fantasies for that entire time. Its thick shaft, slightly curving up. The wide head. The sea of dark, tangled pubes at its root.

I whimpered.

He brought it closer to my face. Just a bit. It filled my vision. Became my world. Driiiiiip.

UNF.

Closer still. Not an inch away. I looked up, mouth open. Oh, PLEASE I said with my eyes.

And then he placed the tip of it inside my mouth. Right on my tongue. I lapped up the ooze and closed my lips over its head and moaned into it.

“Good boy,” and slid more of it into my mouth. I opened my throat to get as much as I could inside. “Yeah. Suck that cock, boy.”

His cock filled all my senses. How it felt as it pushed down my throat and moved over my tongue, the way it tasted leaking more into my mouth, the way his pubes smelled as they brushed my nose.

He flexed his hips back and forth and I reciprocally bobbed my head and curled my lips over my teeth like a good cocksucker. My lust wasn’t so overwhelming that I’d forget cocksucking 101. And after all, this was for him, not me.

Frodo decided to refrain from orgasming for the week before we met. He normally comes once a day, sometimes more, so going seven whole days is kind of a big deal. I haven’t been denied so long that I can’t remember what it was like at the beginning trying to stay good, especially without a device to keep me honest. I suspect that week of self-denial may have been the longest he’s gone without coming since he was a kid just figuring his cock out.

So not only was his production of precum prolific, the orgasm he eventually had in my mouth was tremendous. Pulse after pulse of ejaculate spraying onto the back of my throat so hard some of it went up my nose. Frodo loves to come in my mouth and for me to swallow it, so I concentrated on making room — opening my throat — for the flood of his pent up lust.

It seemed like he was coming for half a minute before he was done and I felt like I had a cup of his seed in my mouth. I savored it a bit, not having tasted a man for so, so long, letting it mix up and over and under my tongue before taking a huge gulp…which still wasn’t enough to get it all down.

We laid there together, my head on his chest, his beautiful cock laying thickly in that wonderful fat, shiny post orgasmic way real cocks do.

Later, we were walking. Walking because it was Manhattan and that’s what you do there. Exploring and absorbing the New Yorkness of it all. Maybe he knew where he was going, but I was just tagging along and following him and didn’t really care where we were gong as long as I was with him. So I was surprised to find us in front of the Stonewall Inn.

We decided to sit on their patio (trying to stay outdoors as much as possible for the obvious reasons) and have a drink. It was great being there with him. Being seen with him. Having people think I was with him as we watched the amazing Village street life pass by.

I should say before going on that I am not a big drinker. If I have more than one beer in an evening, that’s a lot for me. And I have one beer maybe once or twice a month. I’m a fucking lightweight. I have always been like that and Frodo has always been the opposite. For as long as we’ve known one another.

So anyway, we were at the Stonewall which is called an inn but it’s a bar and as we absorbed the amazing street, I absorbed a couple frozen piña coladas. Frozen rum drinks are a weakness of mine and piña coladas are, in particular, my catnip. I don’t think I would have had two, if I’m honest, because the first one was pretty strong and went right to my head but the Stonewall has a two drink minimum so a second one it was. Which led to this tweet.

I should have stopped there. Really. But if you drink, you may know about that golden moment right after you’ve become pleasantly drunk and just before you become seriously drunk where your ability to make that reasonable call about continuing to drink is defeated by the drink. So once we decided to leave the Stonewall and find food, I was quite prepared to continue to drink.

We found ourselves at a restaurant with outdoor seating. I can’t say more than that about it except for what its bathroom looked like because I was in it a few times to pee. And one time a nice person in line let me go ahead of them which I though may have been some kind of pass at me when it happened but in retrospect was kinda weird. What can I say. I was drunk.

I ate some food. I don’t recall what kind. And I had one more cocktail. It was minty. Maybe some form of mojito. There were two waiters, a gay who was, I think, flirting with us and one not gay who was definitely not. I liked the gay one better. He was funny and I totally would have sucked his dick. I remember thinking the food was good. Then we left and started walking back to the hotel.

But we stopped once again! At some other restaurant with a bar. Italian? I dunno. I had some sparkling wine. I should not have had the sparkling wine. But I was unable to make reasonable decisions on the matter. We drank and watched the Olympics on TV. Women’s volleyball, I think.

Then I remember walking again through the crowds and the all the outdoor dining and me not really being able to feel my feet and there was a drag bar with a big queen calling us in and I was kind of tempted but I was following not leading and we passed her by. I was talking a lot then we were back at the hotel and in the bed and I was naked except for the jock strap I had to wear and I think the collar went back on but maybe not. Then Frodo’s cock was in my mouth and he was insistently fucking my face with it and telling me to watch out for the teeth and the bed was spinning and I asked to take a short break. And then I passed out.

Drew comes to town

“Is he going to tie you up?”

I texted Frodo that I was going to see Drew and this is what he texted back.

“I dunno,” I replied. I wasn’t exactly sure what would happen. All I knew is Drew was going to be in town and we were going to hang out.

“I might like that,” I added. “We’ll, I know I’d like that.”

“I’d like to see pictures,” Frodo replied.

Well, that’s that then. TIE ME UP.

“Would you let me suck his cock in exchange for the pictures? He may ask.”

It was true he may have asked that, but in reality it was far more the truth that I wanted to suck cock very much since I haven’t had one in my mouth for…Jesus, like two years now. Fucking Covid.

“Yes, that will be fine. So long as I get what I want.”

“Of course.”

“In fact, I want you to tee it up with him that way.”

“I will.”

“Good. That turns me on.”

Me: Heart emoji.

“I’m very tight thinking about being tied up and serving Drew so you can have pictures.”

“Good.”

[texting with Drew]

“Drew would also like to spank me. Is that OK?”

“Of course. He can hurt you all he wants.”

Drew’s rules for me whenever I see him is that I need to be naked in his presence. It’s just how things should be and, honestly, how I like them. Being naked while he’s clothed reaffirms my position and makes me feel more comfortable and authentic. So, when I arrived at his room, I immediately started to strip off all the way down to the Steelheart, even as we chatted amiably about my drive over, the room, the weather, whatever. I had to get on a Zoom call with a client in a few hours but that was no excuse to wear clothing in the mean time.

“The Steelheart is so you,” he said. And, of course, it is. Completely. The tile on the floor was cold on my feet.

As I recall, he had me get on my knees. I was feeling myself slide slowly into submission. Like slipping into a warm tub. Familiar, comforting, needed. Drew is a stickler for the observation of my submission.

I thought about the chain of custody over me that put me there. Belle to Frodo, Frodo to Drew. I could do this free of any guilt or internal conflict. Three people who know me, accept me, allow me to seek what I need and provide those things to me. I am a lucky bunny.

What was to come has made the exact series of events kind of blur. Drew had told me to get some prervertables from Home Depot before I got there. Some Husky Velcro hanging straps with carabiners and a pack of zip ties. He bound me up using those and, I think, my belt.

I sat on the edge of the table, made mostly immobile and unable to sit up straight. Then he came over to me with a hanger from the hotel closet. Maybe the only place you can still find hangers with little clips to hold suit pants.

This item is very pervertable. It has some weight, especially the nice ones made of wood, and little clips that slide back and forth on a rod and grip hard but also have little rubber nubbins on the clips.

He put the first clip on my left nipple and the other on my right nipple then dropped the hanger and let if flop down. OUCH. The spring loaded jaws bit hard and the first shot of pain seared through me and made me jump which just caused me to pull against my restraints. The hanger hurt in a hurty way but the tube contents swole against its confinement.

He left me that way for a while. To contemplate. This was the first time in so long that I had to endure pain being inflicted upon me. Pain I could not control. I find the best way to do that is to lean into it. To let it flow over and through me. I burrow into it and let its hot fire burn away my resistance.

In that way, my nervous system somehow converts it to pleasure. I can feel the moment it happens. Not all at once. Gradually. Like someone turning up a light on a dimmer ever so slowly. The hard edge turns and softens and the jangly energy smooths out.

I don’t know how long he left me like that. Not too long before he flipped me over and hogtied me. Tried to spank me, but the bindings got in the way and he seemed to prefer me tied up to having a glowing red ass so bound I stayed.

But I was already feeling the ground under me start to open in that way where my desire for being hurt becomes unsatisfiable. I wanted him to whip my ass. But I held my tongue. Mostly because it was still early but also because it’s hard for me to say what I want to my dominants. Because even though I was the subject of his attention, it wasn’t about me and what I wanted. I know, intellectually, it’s important to communicate and I try to do that when I’m not in a scene, but once the sub juices get flowing, I just can’t get the words out. I mean, lol, that’s why I have blogs.

In any event, I had to get on that Zoom. Drew had me take it wearing only a shirt and with my ankles bound to the chair I was sitting in. It was fine, if rather distracting. I did it while my tender nips nagged at me for more torture.

Once off the call, Drew freed my ankles and my bare ass peeled off the chair’s vinyl seat. He sat on the couch while I removed my shirt and knelt again before him. I placed my head between his legs and he felt my shoulders and back and neck. I wrapped my arms around his thick, solid thighs and squeezed hard. It’s a thing I know he likes. I wanted to give him what he liked because at this point I was focused intently on the knowledge his cock was near and I wanted it in my mouth. I wanted to feel him shove it roughly down my throat.

In my place with my nose millimeters from spot on his jeans where the transverse seams crossed, I could smell Drew. A mixture of his detergent and the subtle man smell of this closest, warmest, most intimate place on his body. Right in front of me. Right there. But so far away still. He let me soak in it for a long time. He knew what was happening. How being allowed to absorb his essence in that way in that position was pulling me back down to where I belonged and needed to be.

But he never got his cock out. I never saw it. Later, he told me he was preparing me for my weekend with Frodo (the weekend I’m en route to as I type). He teased me with his cock to leave me wanting Frodo’s all the more.

But he wasn’t done with the rest of me yet. I was placed on the table and bound again with the straps and zip ties. The hanger was reattached and attached vie the ties to the Steelheart. If I tried to sit up, the clips would pull harder.

Again, I have no idea how long I was on the table with those evil little jaws biting at me. I mean…it was a long time. More than half an hour. Much more. It was long enough for him to change my position a few times, unattaching and reattaching my extremities, but never unclipping my nipples. The pain was intense and everywhere but that infinitely deep crack had opened to a chasm and I found myself flexing my chest and arching my back and doing all the things necessary to make the clips pull harder. And harder. And just when I was thinking they’d never come off, it was time.

If you’ve ever had something like those clips on your nipples for a long time, you know about this moment. The one where you may think you can’t take it anymore but you certainly can’t take what it feels like when they come off. When the blood comes rushing back and the intense little fires of pain flare into a binary star system collapsing into a black hole of painful ferocity. The only time I really made noise. God, it was so hard.

The nipples were cruelty dented from the clips. They looked bruised (but weren’t) and held the clipped shape as if phantom metal jaws were still attached. They were too tender to even faintly brush against. Drew sat back down on the couch and had me kneel again with my head in his lap and my face in his crotch and I literally chewed at the denim while he held me down. Held me down so I could come down.

But I wasn’t coming down. I was in too deep then. The realization came to me that what I needed even more than his cock in my mouth was his strong, hard fingers on my nipples. Direct infliction of the most intense pain as only Drew could give me. But I has to ask for it. He wasn’t going to give it to me.

The words were in my mouth but wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t get myself to say them. My internal conflicting motivations wrestled in my head. Finally, I blurted out, “Would you hurt my nipples some more?”

I felt a measure of shame for asking. But he laughed. And, of course, he agreed. He gave them little flicks first which was terrible and wonderful. Then he really went to work on them. Pinching and twisting and all I could feel and see was the hot white fire that burned like a cross over my body, from nipple to nipple, up to my brain, and down to the straining contents. I made growling noises and pressed into him hard.

MORE. I needed more. I needed every bit of it. I could never, ever get enough.

Eventually, it was over of course. He stopped. I laid back and felt totally stoned on the endorphins or whatever chemicals where being spurted into my system. Just drunk on the stuff. Dopey. It was hard to focus my eyes. It was hard to focus my thoughts.

“I can’t believe you enjoy doing that to me half as much as I enjoy having it done,” I said to him.

He assured me he did. And that turned me on. I would have kept going. Would have been happy to have him torture me in all kinds of ways. But it was getting late and we were both hungry and clearly he was ready to move along.

So I got up and got dressed and we went to dinner at a restaurant and talked about TV shows and life. My nipples didn’t hurt as much as I thought they would the next day. They showed no outward signs of their suffering. Amazing little things, really.

I can’t wait for Drew to come to town again.

More role, less play

I was texting with Frodo yesterday. The chat quickly turned to how much he missed me calling him Sir as I had sort of let that wane. Not that it was intentional. We haven’t had a lot of contact lately and most of it has been via text and…well, whatever. It’s all my fault, obviously.

I mentioned on a post over on the other blog that at some point in the chat he described our D/s dynamic as “role play.” And I guess, depending on how you want to define that term, what we do is role play but my ears put the emphasis on the play part, not on the role part and it left me nonplussed. My submission isn’t play.

He didn’t mean anything by it, of course. He wasn’t trying to offend. Just using the words he has. And in the context of the discussion, he was actually opening up about how much he values our D/s dynamic. He likes how my submission makes him feel. How it gives him permission to feel more masculine. More like a man. He described how he has tended to push away masculinity because so much of it in our culture and his personal experience with it has been toxic but being placed in a position of sexual dominance over someone who’s consensually submitting to him has allowed him a chance to see it all differently. To feel it differently.

This is fascinating to me because Frodo has never displayed stereotypically gay affectations. Not for as long as I’ve known him (and that’s been a long time now). I, the straight-presenting bisexual man, has many more stereotypically gay affectations than he does. I’ve never really spent much time thinking about it, but now I wonder if his lack of affectation is just who he is or if it’s a byproduct of being teased and bullied for being gay from a young age. Or a bit of both.

Regardless, he says he’s struggled with embracing his masculinity. But I find him to be so wonderfully and effortlessly masculine. In a way that really resonates with me. In a way that makes me sit here and absentmindedly recall burying my face in his thick, dark, pungent post-marathon pubes and nuzzle into his thickening cock and take his hairy balls into my mouth. Because somehow in my fevered little mind, a lack of pubic grooming is just about the most masculine thing I can imagine. Which is in itself interesting, I guess.

Of course, I don’t need masculinity to trigger my submission. I need receptive, appreciative dominance. And it was my assumption that he was more or less humoring me with the D/s thing. It was more play than role. But I was wrong. He made me understand yesterday that he really needs my submission and that it makes him feel better and more in touch with who he is. And that, my dear reader, was like a thunderbolt.

I think a lot of the time dominants aren’t given permission to be vulnerable. That’s a shame. Frodo was vulnerable with me yesterday and rather than puncturing my submissive instincts towards him, it inflated them. Made me so much more dedicated to being his sub. He said, “I can take care to tell you what I need and when I need it. You’re good at giving me what I need when I ask for it.”

OMG…swoon.

In all, it was barely a fifteen minute exchange. But it was so important to me. Because by opening up to the value he got from my submission and how much he even needed it, it made it all so much more real.

Roles without playing.

More than never ever wanting to play at submission, I don’t want anyone to play at dominating me. To humor me. And now I know, he’s not doing that. At all.

Jesus fuck, I miss him.

Always needing more

Earlier today, I posted this to Twitter.

And in reply, was asked this…

And…I couldn’t reply there. Needed more characters and words. So, here we are.

First, when I’m penetrating myself with a dildo, I like to watch. Usually using a hand mirror or my phone. And therefore, I am constantly reminded (because it’s always in the way) that there’s a locked and useless penis on me. It’s not any part of the action and, while getting fucked, I have little to zero interest in it. Never really have. I was always the kind of guy who, when I had an available penis, went totally soft while being fucked — I don’t really understand how guys can be hard or jack off while getting plowed (honestly, I should have known what a bottom I was all along). But now, it’s impossible not to juxtapose the prominent and substantial thing penetrating me against the locked and inconsequential object being kept out of sight that it’s meant to mimic.

So, “Does riding it drive home how small yours is kept?” Well, yes. But it’s not just a size thing. It’s a position thing. It’s about my natural role. The locked penis can’t compete with the dildo at all, but the reason is it’s like comparing a Lamborghini to a cuttlefish. They’re meant for different purposes. The penis’ purpose is to inhabit a tight constraint. That’s it. Which is to say, it has no purpose. Other than when Belle wants me to use it on her.

Regarding the “might be as good as it feels for Belle” part, I have pondered this aspect of nature we share. We both like penetration. We both want to be fucked. I can get fucked by what I need any time I can finagle the time and privacy. For her, we need Joe. Because the penis is inadequate to the task and wearing her strap-on gives me the confidence I need to perform and pleasure her. I get the need to be fucked in a way a lot of husbands (most husbands) just wouldn’t.

And that need has been building all through this quarantine period. I don’t always want to be fucked but when I do get the urge I get it bad. And I’ve had it bad for about a week now. Woke up after a second fitful night of sleep filled with horny thoughts and continued to feel the urge even after my morning run. So, even though I’m at home with my wife and kid, I decided I had to get a big cock inside me.

I waited for Belle to finish in the bathroom and get on her first Zoom call of the day. It was an opportune moment when she was distracted and the kid was still asleep. I grabbed my “medium-sized” dong from its drawer and snuck it into the bathroom. “Snuck” because I really didn’t want Belle to know or have to think about her husband riding a big fat cock while she was trying to work twenty feet away.

Before going to town on it, I trimmed the hair around my hole. I find it interferes with the lubrication and ease of insertion and I had let it go for too long. Seeing myself pucker and flex as I trimmed and shaved around it made me even more horny for a fuck.

The dildo I chose is the perfect balance between challenging and pleasurable. It’s not nearly the biggest one I have but I also knew I didn’t have all the time in the world. I lubed all 8″ of its length (and 7.25″ of circumference) and squatted down, lining it up with my hole, then pushed. The big head popped in and, without stopping to catch my breath, I kept going. It felt so good. It was what I needed. So badly.

I worked it in and out letting my ass get used to it. I fucked myself with it with its balls forward, as if taking it from behind, then rotated it inside me so its balls face backward, as if I was on my back. Each angle feels distinctively pleasurable it pushed into different parts of me. I shivered as its flared head popped back and forth over my prostate.

After several minutes, and just as I was getting good and loose and getting it inside me up to its balls, my phone rang. The vet. The dogs had just been in for their annuals and there had been tests and results and as I spoke to her, I kept the dildo inside me. Gently moving my hips and flexing my thighs as if being slowly fucked by a lover while listening, trying to not sound as if what was happening was actually happening.

At some point, I just sat on it. Letting it get buried as deeply into my guts as possible. My hole twitched as it opened as far as the fattest end of the dildo required. I could see and feel leakage from the end of the Steelheart. Could smell my ejaculate that would forever remain a noun, never a verb. The somewhat sad remnants of the parts I was physically if not emotionally equipped with.

Finally, the consult was over. I thanked the vet and looked at the time. Too late to use the dildo any longer, I let it slip heavily out of me. And immediately replaced it with with a metal butt plug. The one still inside me as I write this. The one I feel as I grind my ass into this chair.

Unf. Fucked but still needing more. Story of my life.

I miss him

We’re getting dangerously close to it being a year since I last saw Frodo. That was in June and May is just a shake of a rabbit’s tail away. He and I FaceTimed last week. It hurts me how much I miss him. How much I crave him.

In January, we were supposed to go diving in Florida. I got super sick (tested positive for influenza A) and couldn’t go. We were supposed to reschedule. We haven’t because we can’t. Who knows when things will be normal enough for that again.

It’s always been the case that Frodo is supremely easy for me to talk to. No matter how long it’s been, we just fall back into it. We know each other so well. He’s my oldest friend.

Have I mentioned how much I miss him? So much.

Sometimes, when I should be sleeping, I’m thinking instead about his cock. His cock in my throat. His orgasm in my mouth. Him using me. Even now, just writing that, causes intense compression inside the steel. If I’m honest, he’s always had that affect on me. Since freshman year of high school. Almost 40 years. I’m just…smitten.

God I miss him.

I’ve written here and over on the other blog the truth of the situation. I just don’t want him to use me and fuck me and take his pleasure from me. I love him. But we don’t say it to one another. He knows how I feel. He knows because he’s read what I’ve written about him. He knows because I can’t hide it. And I know because of how much pain it causes me to be away from him this long. This isn’t just lust.

I miss him. And I love him.

I wish I could see him now. To be held by him. Pushed gently onto my knees by him. Press my face against the growing hardness inside his jeans. Smell him though the fabric. Moaning. Yearning. Craving.

I miss him. I love him. I need him.

Frodo’s rules

Not so long ago, I asked Frodo if he would accept my submission in a more formal way. Not just generally when we were having sex, but to elevate it to a central part of our friendship. Or…whatever kind of “ship” it is we have. I have such strong feelings for him and those translate into a deep desire to submit to him. This conversation is always a delicate and nervous thing for a sub to do, I think, especially when the person the sub is offering up their submission to doesn’t identify as a dominant and really wasn’t looking to do so.

In any event, I’m quite pleased to say he was on board with the idea. There were some rules (and there’s nothing a fucking sub likes better than rules). One, I am to call him Sir. He’s the only person I call Sir. No one else gets that but him. Two, I am to send him a picture of myself every morning in which he can see my body. Preferably I will be naked but minimally without a shirt. I have to admit I have failed to be as consistent with that one as I need to be. My recent bout with the flu and pneumonia really threw me off my horse. Finally, I can only sub to another man with his permission.

And that’s where Drew comes in. We don’t see each other that much, but the last time we did was delicious and would have been better had he not had (unknowingly) a broken foot. But with this new exchange of power with Frodo, doing that in the future would need prior clearance. Also, Drew likes to boss me around virtually and that would have been subbing without permission. So I asked Frodo what he thought. Could I have sex with Drew? Could I sub to him?

He took several days to answer. This is, I’ve found, part of his authority technique. He tells me what he thinks after consideration and on his time. I wait. There’s an easy formality to how he deals with me and I like it. A gentle but firm hand. Like the one he put on my thigh while driving last time I saw him. Swoon. In any event, he got back to me after a while. He had one rule.

Drew could not fuck me. The only cock Frodo wants inside me is his. He may decide at some point to share me with another dominant as that’s a fantasy of his, but that’s in the future. For now, only one cock goes in my ass. Drew can do anything else with my ass (toys, appendages, etc.), but no cock. I passed that along to Drew for consideration and he accepted the limitation.

Then this morning I got further conditions from Frodo. This is what he sent me…

I realized that I don’t want him to fuck you in part because I don’t want his cum inside you. So, I don’t want you to swallow it, either. I want that level of intimacy to be reserved to me.  

And…contented sigh. I replied back…

Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. That makes me feel very special and valued. Thank you. 

Drew is OK with that, too. I can still give him head, but he’d have to stop short of shooting in my mouth.

I think this is a fine arrangement, to be honest. Drew is a legitimate sadist and Frodo isn’t. I’m a total masochist and crave the kind of sensations Drew craves to inflict upon me. Our attempts to integrate higher levels of D/s into our relationship have always gone badly but having the anchor of Frodo being my true male dominant makes that feel somehow easier now. Hard to explain. But in any event, the boundaries put in place by Frodo make our interactions feel more defined and, for me anyway, less fraught with the potential to disappoint him. I am loathe to disappoint my sexual superiors.

So, in the nesting doll of my submission, Belle is on top. She holds the key and controls the penis and what I do with it. Frodo comes next and has dictated what I can do with my other side and even my mouth. Drew is after that and, especially when we’re together, will be able to enjoy our complementary interests in my discomfort.

In our conversations about all this, I asked Frodo (who is a regular user of cruising apps) if he’d share with me details of when he fucked other guys. It should be no surprise to anyone reading this who’s even passingly familiar with my blogs that the idea of him being able to fuck whoever he wants whenever he can and me only being allowed to accept his cock in my ass has pushed every single submissive button I have. Turns out, he had fucked a guy the night before. Lean, young, blond, muscular. Hearing this made me very tight. I can’t wait for him to fuck another guy soon.

I find that thinking about that doesn’t make me jealous. Of course not. I don’t have that kind of claim or authority. But it does make me want to jump him and ride his cock and do literally anything else he wants to show how I should be his favorite bottom. I want to earn my place on his cock.

Frodo and I were supposed to be together earlier in the month but my flu and pneumonia kept that from happening. We’re trying to find a new date that works. Belle is enthusiastically in support of this. I have a wonderful life right now and I’m fully aware of it.

The hole thing

Drew related to me today that someone on Recon asked him, “Why does Thumper need something up his ass?” Which is…an odd question. Why does anyone need anything they like? Why do they like it? What’s the meaning of life? Why is the sky blue?

There’s the obvious physiological explanation. The prostate gland is highly sensitive and a lot of men find its stimulation to be pleasurable. For a denied man, the prostate is made even more sensitive because it’s typically swollen with frustration. There are also a lot of nerves all over that region (the opening of the anus is not unlike the opening of the mouth in terms of sensitivity) and some of us are wired and/or trained to find pleasure from sensations there. Carrying a plug is nothing like being fucked, though. Someone who likes the feeling of a plug in their ass finds that pressure and weight to be pleasurable. Why? I dunno.

Some guys can’t find a way to enjoy ass play. In fact, not even all gay men like ass play. Some have zero interest in it and never integrate their holes into sex. I think that’s probably psychological, but I suspect some men may also have differently wired nerve endings. We’re all special snowflakes, etc.

Some guys are into depth play. Being fucked deeply. There are toys specifically designed to penetrate a long way. Other guys (like me) are more about girth and stretch. I get off on the feeling of being opened up and I’m more into that aspect than how deeply something goes inside me. Depth for me is more a function of girth in that toys tend to get thicker towards their base.

But again, plugs are different. And I like the WMCBP in particular because they’re big, heavy, and yet relatively really easy to leave in for a long time because they have very thin “necks.” The XXXL plug, for example, is 8″ around. That’s almost as big as a Coke can. It weight more than two pounds. There are days when that feels like it’s going to split me but there are also days when I wish it was bigger and heavier. That’s what I like and appreciate. It’s a weighty load. But it barely holds my hole open because of the thin tube that connects to the plug’s base.

Beyond all that, my submissive nature needs to be taken into account as well. I have a need to be dominated and controlled. And one way that plays out is Drew’s current control over my ass. This morning, for example, I wasn’t inclined to carry. I just didn’t feel like it. I was almost out of the house with an empty ass when Drew asked me what I was carrying today. He expects I’m carrying every day. So while I didn’t really feel like it, I put the WMCBP Rattler in anyway. It was one he specifcally said he wanted me to carry this week so it’s in now.

So another reason I “need” something up my ass is I crave domination and being forced to put something there is a way that can manifest. You either get that (Dom/sub dynamics, etc.) or you don’t. You either understand how comforting it can feel being locked in front and plugged in back or you don’t.

So…yeah. Because I like it. Because I need it. I crave the expectation. Physical, emotional, mental. A big, complicated ball of reasons. That’s why.