Archive for September, 2010

Of all human failings, hubris exacts the most poetic revenge.  Within days of writing that “100 days is within my grasp,” I was reminded, however pleasurably, who’s really in charge.  How long I remain in chastity is not up to me.

This past Tuesday night, as we cuddled in bed, things inevitably heated up with her satisfying her cock hunger with my obedient penis.  After 71 days, my ability to withstand full-on, pedal to the metal cocksucking and intercourse was significantly compromised.  To say I was a loaded pistol is putting it mildly.  Her face and body were painted with moonlight.  I trembled with worship of her.

For the past several days, she’d been noticing that I’ve been dealing with a lot of stressful issues, completely unrelated to our relationship.  On this particular night, with my throbbing cock nestled deep inside her, she whispered into my ear that she thought I should come. Right now.

I didn’t need any further encouragement, and within three seconds the world inside my brain lit up with the light of ten thousand suns.  My entire body spasmed with almost indescribable ecstasy for several minutes, long after I’d emptied what must have been an ocean of come into her.

I’ve read that Navajo women intentionally put a flaw into the rugs they painstakingly weave, because perfection is supposed to be reserved exclusively to God.  One hundred is, after all, as arbitrary a number as any other, and this new phase of my life is not about accomplishing feats of endurance; the accomplishment is in our day-to-day acceptance of the truths associated with a husband’s natural place as submissive to his wife.  When she tells me not to come, I don’t.  When she wants me to, I do.  It’s as simple as that.  The journey is the destination.

End of day 3


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let love rule

MSNBC legal eagle Dan Abrams is making the case for women, literally. He’s inked a six-figure deal with Abrams Books (no relation) to chronicle ways women are superior to men. In “Man Down,” he’ll present studies, polls and other “evidence” to prove that women actually best the boys in typically male areas like gambling and enduring pain, and even make better hedge-fund managers and cops.

I love the title of the article where this quote is found:

Dan Abrams, Man, to Write Book About the Superiority of the Female Gender

Haha!  Here‘s the link to the article.

In other media related news, here‘s a very campy old time radio sci-fi show that portrays a futuristic earth run by women.  There are obligatory cultural cop-outs to the basic premise, but it’s very interesting nonetheless.

Now, to current events.

Today marks 69 days since my last orgasm. I never would have thought it possible.  One hundred days is within my grasp, ahem.

And I love J with a clarity I can’t explain, but I know it isn’t simply something that was born out of chastity. It was born out of the honesty between us that resulted in the chastity.

I can’t even imagine masturbating anymore.  The idea of it strikes me as ridiculous, to tell the truth.  In the normalcy of our lives, my purpose is to please her in bed in whatever way she wants.  Most often, after a hard day’s work, she likes to suck some cock, then spread my legs, mount and fuck me with me inside her.  Her feminization of me in moments like these is implied, yet unmistakeable.

After she’s had enough cock to play with, I usually have to beg to lick her.  And when I say beg, I mean beg.  Licking her, kissing her, sucking her, fingering her, with passion and dedication and purpose, is where my solace lies, where who I am culminates, and I’m so happy to do it, always, every night, as often as I can.

These are the moments when I feel my submissiveness most intensely, when I feel most comfortable in my own skin.  She doesn’t verbalize her feelings about it often, but when she does, it hits me with the emotional wallop of a mack truck.  “You’ll always be submissive to me.”  “Your cock is only allowed to stand up for me.”  “I may never let you come again.”  These remarks sear themselves like a brand onto the hide of my identity, and I replay them in my mind for days afterward.

The truth is, sometimes I want to make her come more than she wants to come.  She pushes me away every now and then, and I understand.  It’s sometimes a struggle not to appear desperate.  I’m not desperate.  I’m happy.

I know I don’t post very often, or as often as I’d like to.  But I see how many of you visit here, and I’m grateful.  I’m happy to be able to express these things to you, however ineptly.  Please know we’re happy to respond to any questions or comments, either here or privately.  Be well!


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