My long distance sub, the writer, has been sending me reports each morning for the three weeks he's been chaste for me. They are too hot not to share so I asked him to create a blog post from a couple of them over the past week since I added an interesting twist into his period of chastity.
Last night, before going to bed, I saw a pair of panties -- my panties -- on the drying rack and a butt plug on the tub where I'd placed them to dry. I smiled before putting both away. They are now very potent symbols, each of them, far beyond the particular acts for which they were used.
It's amazing to me that it was only last weekend when I was wearing the panties and did not text Lilyana after the woman with whom I had a date showed up looking so deliberately sexy. At the time, I thought that the reason I didn’t call and ask her permission to at least make out with my date was because I couldn’t envision how I could get the panties off without her knowing. But then, I realized that this wasn’t true. I hadn’t texted because I had come to the point where I would rather play with Lilyana than have sex with a very attractive woman.
That was a turning point, a scary one.
I haven't regretted it for a moment.
Today is my three-week chastity anniversary, and I am, of course, aching. Woke up with a raging hard-on, as to be expected. Tomorrow will be my week anniversary of total cock denial, something I never anticipated.
Until this Monday, I was occasionally allowed to ask her if I could edge. Sometimes my request was granted. Sometimes it was not. The simple act of having to ask was thrilling. I felt completely and utterly controlled.
I had begun to drip uncontrollably. The last time she placed me in chastity, it lasted five weeks. I have no idea whether this will be as long, longer, or shorter. My desire to cum simply grows and binds me closer to her.
Last Sunday (was it really only I week ago?), I asked if I could touch my cock. Her first answer was “no,” and I took a deep breath. Then she changed her mind.
Having no idea what was in store, I gave myself a few reassuring squeezes. A stroke or two. I didn’t bother to edge. I felt warm and comfortable and cared for.
The next morning I was told that I was no longer to have any contact with my cock at all. That I was to sit to pee, that I had to blot my cock head with toilet paper rather than shake off the last drop. To both our surprise, this turned out to be the most humiliating part of the exercise. Something about carefully holding the paper so that only it touched me, about not being allowed my life-long male shake, shamed me.
The only time I was allowed to have any contact with my cock was in the shower. Two seconds to moisten, three to soap up, and four to rinse off. Then I was to allow it to air dry. No stroke of the towel. I had to change my position in the shower so that the water did not hit my cock at any other time. Instead of washing front and back, I now washed side to side. I shampooed with my back to the shower head at all times.
And starting last Monday, that was all that I was allowed.
That was it. No nipple torture. No ass play. No edging, of course.
I began to experience a form of control that lies far outside any fantasy I have ever had. It’s not the same as having my cock locked. The cage bondage, a form of alternative pleasure; this denial is pure submission and very humiliating at that.
I never imagined, when I began this, how much I would have to confront:
Confessing that I would rather be denied than fuck took all my courage. But there it is. I can never return to the point before I admitted this to her and to myself.
I've also had to confront my secondary status.
It's one thing to be cucked. It's one thing to understand that there are things that simply cannot be done long distance. It's another to have to know that Lilyana’s other subs get to experience things that she could have me do and that she chooses not to. This is excruciating. As a secondary I must accept that others will not only receive more pleasure but also more pain than I.
Not as hard is the lesson I've been given in the difference between envy and jealousy. I am deeply envious of her subs’ physical play. I am not jealous in the least. I want her to have all the pleasure in the world, and I want her to have a great emotional connection with those with whom she plays. Nothing she does with them diminishes anything she does with me. Yes, the details add to my torment, but then, that torment is at the core of our play.
And then there was what happened a few days ago, when I was going crazy with denial. I was going to beg her for sensation. For pain on my nipples. For a chance to fuck my ass. For the feeling of the new panties I had bought for her against my skin.
But since she had not given me permission to beg, I kept these desires to myself.
And then, an hour later, she told me to plug myself.
She had known what I needed without my having to say a word.
I spent three hours with a plug in my ass, texting with her the entire time, precum dripping from my cock. I heard stories of things she had done with others.
And when it ended, I admitted to her that it was as good as any vanilla fuck I had ever had. I felt wholly and completely satisfied. The afterglow lasted well into the next morning.
The implications of this are huge. Lilyana knows from my stories that I've fantasized about being permanently denied penetration.
I love to fuck. Love the warmth and wetness of a woman when I am inside her. Love the smell of her on my cock the next morning.
She knows this, of course. But after this weekend, she also knows that it would be possible for me to give this up and not just for a few weeks. I know it as well. And it makes me so very afraid.
When I put the butt plug and the panties away last night, the reality washed over me.
In three weeks, I have become fuckless and secondary, my cock reduced to plumbing.
I am so submissively grateful.