I’ve given my wife control over my orgasms again.
Amongst other things. She’s set some other rules for me to follow while I’m gone… I now have a morning ritual of things to do — calling her being the most important. She’s tired of me not calling in the morning, with us missing each other throughout the day. So today, I got up and I called her. No answer. I texted her. No response. I called her again on her work line, and no answer.
An hour after my second call, she called me back. “I told you to call, but I didn’t say I had to answer.” I found that inexplicably arousing. She knows exactly how to frame things so that the power is all in her hands. It’s odd, because she really isn’t like that in her public persona, or even in her private, non-BDSM persona. But when she wants to let me know where she stands, she says the most beautiful things.
(I remember once, when we were discussing something, I said, “Well, if I had a choice…” and her sly little voice said, “Choices aren’t something you really need, are they sweetie?” And the way she said it…oh, man.)
But the orgasm thing is the big new hurdle to leap over, because we’ve tried it in the past, and I’m remarkably bad at it. I like to masturbate — before bed, when I get up in the morning, when I’m bored, when I can’t sleep, when I’m surfing blogs and somebody posts a link to some good YouPorn. I’m living alone, I have time. But the other night, my wife decided to reward me for being a good boy while I was gone, and we had phone sex. I had told her about my Dirty Submissive Fantasy, and she had rewarded me with her description of a scenario just like it, her and her friends, me being used… And at the end, so wrapped up in the magic of her words and the submissive feelings I was wrapped up in, I begged her: “Please, control my orgasms.”
“You’ve had problems with that in the past, haven’t you?” She said.
“I know, but this time I’ll listen. This time I’ll respect your wishes. No coming without permission.”
“Okay, we’ll see what we can do.”
Last night, I asked for permission to come — I was feeling horny, edgy, had a lot on my mind — and she said, “Well, let’s see, who won tonight’s playoff game?”
“I have no idea,” I replied. “We’ve been talking, I’ve been working on things on my laptop. All I cared about was the Pats game. Do you know?”
“Nope. But I’ll tell you what, if Green Bay won, you get to come.” Her voice was all silk and steel — purring, yet there was this strong undercurrent of control running through it. That’s “the voice.” When it gets more demanding, when it gets more adamant, I get dizzy and a certain part of me turns to adamant…
I checked the score. The Giants won. I told her. “Well, it looks like there are two big losers tonight,” she said laughingly.
I think orgasm control is the next thing for us, because it’s something I don’t want to do — which means that giving the power to her is a sacrifice. We’re not into punishment-play — our S&M is entirely about her just beating the ever-living shit out of me, not because I was bad. We did punishment-play once, or rather, in the heat of a scene she started just tearing me up with the belt and the flogger because I’d disappointed her, each blow punctuated by, “And…you won’t…do that…again…will you!?” and it was incredibly hot to have each word of the admonishment punctuated by such an incredible display of sadism that all I could do is bite down on my ballgag. But in general, the problem with punishment play is that I get off on pain, so hurting me just leads me to do bad things. I’d be purposely insolent or disobedient so she’ll force me to submit and take pain. And that would upset me, because I’d be betraying my submissiveness to get more play, and upset her, because it would simply be annoying.
It’s hard, because I want to push boundaries, but we’ve got to keep them to reasonable boundaries. If it were up to me, we’d be doing knifeplay or something equally extreme, and I’d have her name cut into my back. I want to go all the way to the point of no return, push myself to a dangerous point, and I have to check myself when I think that way. I have to remind myself that it’s only been five months, that baby-steps are in order. I think both of us are sometimes overcome with this urge just to…take it to another level. There are times when my wife describes something she’d like to do, something extreme, and her voice gets choked up and you can feel the seething intensity, an intensity I’ve never heard in 12 years of marriage. And there are times when I think of something in my head, and just get dizzy with the sheer, overwhelming wrongness — or is it rightness — of it?
It goes back to my neediness — I need her to take me to places that are intense. I want her to be my master as we explore this new terrain. Nearly every single road we’ve taken on this trip has led to such wonderful experiences, and I just want to keep going. But slowly…slowly…I’m afraid if we go too fast in these new areas, especially now that we’ve traveled so far so quickly, we’ll falter.
