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Getting there, but still frustrated

Getting there, but still frustrated

I wish I could track down the asshole who put my hardest exams on consecutive days, meaning that I’m sleep deprived, undernourished and feeling like death. If I had to summarise the week just gone in one word, that word would be: brutal. I still have an exam to go, but thankfully I have a few days off before it so I have time to actually sit down for something other than studying. Yay…

I’ve been feeling very frustrated. There’s a lot of things I want to do but can’t because something more important is taking up all of my time. I guess it’s human nature to want to be somewhere else, doing something else, whenever precisely that something isn’t available. I’ve been wondering whether this also happens with Mr Kitty and his chastity, and I can’t see why it wouldn’t. He certainly seems hornier when he knows he won’t be unlocked in a long time.

The difference between him and me is that when he’s busy he becomes a man on a mission, with no space in his mind for the tiniest of sexy thoughts. Me, on the other hand… my sex drive goes through the roof. I don’t know how it works, but if I’m busy and/or stressed, my body starts begging for sexual release. My fantasies become more colourful and developed too. I could write a book about some of the latest sexy stories in my mind (if they weren’t so fucked up anyway).

Now here’s the problem: we’re both busy as fuck. I’m a horny mess and he’s a happily locked up little kitten with not a single impure thought in his mind. One of my old fuck buddies is back in town so technically I could have called him over, but nooo, I couldn’t because some bitch in the student office gave me an awful exam timetable and I didn’t have a couple of hours to spare.

I knew I’d be horny and time-poor. That’s why I let Mr Kitty stay unlocked and allowed him to do anything he wanted (minus actually cum). I was hoping he would be able to play with his cock a bit, avoiding any feelings of being forgotten by me, and be available when I’d inevitably call him from our bedroom wanting some quick “servicing” before I sleep. This didn’t quite work. He’s turned off the sexy side of his brain. We figured out that we can use his smart watch to check whether he’s sleep wanked. Nope, no wanking. His response to busy times is so weird that he came to me and said “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve relocked myself. It felt like the right thing to do”. What.the.fuck. Meanwhile I’m a horny mess. It’s supposed to be the other way around!

In fairness to him, he has been very good and supportive, even with his own things going on. Despite my rambling in those previous paragraphs, we’ve kept a semblance of a sex life, mostly in stop-start bursts, and always without him cumming (with one glorious exception. Add one to the year’s tally). It’s just that it gets weird when he decides to stay locked up and I’m the one who is frustrated. Not his fault, but still.

I can’t complain though. Even when he’s not allowed to orgasm, and when he’s not even into the idea of having sex (I swear I’m not forcing him!) he puts so much care into giving me pleasure that I end up thinking it just doesn’t get better. But it does, every time. It’s quite impressive. Yesterday at one of our impromptu lower-my-trousers-and-fuck-me-now episodes, I was (apparently) moaning so loudly during my last orgasm that he thought he was hurting me. Not at all. It just felt that good. No repeats of the blood incident for me!

I have one more exam this week but it’s for a nice enough module. Still, I can’t wait to finish it so I can have my lovely squirmy boy again. That being said, I love that when circumstances aren’t ideal for our fun games, he still alludes to them in our everyday life. He left me this note on the kitchen counter the other day, and despite the terrifying drawing I thought it was cute enough to take a picture. I’ll regret posting it here, I’m sure.

I only joked about it!
In my defence, I only joked about it!

I’m making him stay unlocked until after that last exam. I don’t think it’s fair to force him to be locked up when I can’t even resemble a good keyholder for him. Having said that, I also don’t want him locking himself up without it being my choice, especially when I’m the definition of cock-hungry. I think at this stage it’s reasonable to trust that he won’t orgasm without my permission, and that’s all I’m restricting for this week.

Getting there, getting there…

 

Addendum:

It occurs to me that our way of dealing with stressors might be culturally influenced. His culture is calm and relaxed about life. Mine is a mix of intensities of stereotypical sexy fieriness. I’m not an edgy horny girl: I’m fulfilling my cultural destiny. >_>

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Sometimes it doesn’t work

Sometimes it doesn’t work

I’m getting closer to my final exams, which means that my stress levels have gone through the roof. It also means that my horniness has increased exponentially and I’m what you’d call, ahem… insatiable.

The other day I gave in and unlocked Mr Kitty. I needed cock, and I needed it now. He was only too happy to oblige. I couldn’t make up my mind on whether I wanted him to cum, so I didn’t say anything. He assumed he wasn’t allowed and that was fine with me.

We nearly always start with me on my back before moving positions, mainly because it gives him better access to all the fun bits of my body. This time was no exception, though things moved faster than usual and my instinct was to want everything harder and deeper. Yup, epic sex.

I realised something was wrong when I noticed that he was going balls deep from behind while I was on all fours, yet I wasn’t in pain. That rarely happens and, when it does, it’s after a long time of being veeeery careful. Granted, at that stage I had already had a few orgasms so things were bound to be easier, but even then it didn’t make sense in my head that this felt good, despite not having a slow and gentle stage until my body stops thinking that the doggy style position is evil. He was going deep and hard and it felt good.

We went for a long time and eventually had to take a breather. As I lay on my back next to him on our bed, feeling happy and fuzzy and life was good and everything was perfect, I noticed that his cock was still hard. I was very tired by that stage but I wasn’t thinking right. I had an urge to mount it and bounce on it even though I knew I was all orgasmed out. I got on top of him and bounced anyway, until he came too close to having an orgasm and I decided on the spot that he was definitely not allowed. I unmounted him and went back to being happy next to him, still panting.

That’s when I noticed that his cock was covered in blood. Not just a trickle, but full-on omgyou’regonnadie blood. I wasn’t in pain but his PA was causing him a bit of trouble, so we thought he must have got injured. I picked up some tissue from the bathroom to help him wipe the blood off… and that’s when we saw that I was bleeding. I was leaving a trail of blood. I felt no pain or discomfort, but it was so much blood that I wasn’t sure if I should ring the health services’ advice number or go straight to the local hospital. So much blood. Mr Kitty seemed to think I was going to die. And then the blood stopped by itself, before I made my choice about medical services.

I still had no pain, no obvious injuries, absolutely no discomfort.

The next day, Mr Kitty had a sore penis, a slightly angry PA piercing area, and muscular pain everywhere. I was perfectly fine. A little old blood when I wiped, but apart from that it’s like it never happened.

Another day passed and my uncontrollable need for cock was rearing its head again. I somehow convinced Mr Kitty that it would be perfectly fine to let him penetrate me if he did it very slowly, just to check if anywhere inside me was painful. Irresponsible? Yes, extremely. But I couldn’t help myself. So we did that after I practically begged him. It was alright; still no obvious wounds or sore areas, but I tensed up a little when I thought about the way my blood had soaked through the duvet the last time he had fucked me. I decided to abort the operation even though it felt good.

I’m no stranger to sex injuries. I can get a little over excited. But hell, this was horrific. My previous injuries where the type where there’s a lot of pain or discomfort but barely any visible signs. This was just the opposite! So I hereby declare that I won’t be irresponsible again and I will let myself heal properly before trying again. >_>
I am due for a pap smear next month so I’ll be bringing this up just in case.

Being a girl is fun………..

I don’t understand guy bits

I don’t understand guy bits

As I write this, two things are happening:

  1. It’s late and I can’t sleep.
  2. I’m full of cum.

I actually had half of a blog post written for another day, but I’m going with this instead.

I don’t understand men, and I really don’t understand their bits.
I mean, I got very good sex ed. I know the biology stuff. I’m supposed to be an adult and a fairly open-minded one at that (I hope, anyway!) so I know that men don’t always cum, and if they do, it’s not always when they want it to happen. I definitely know it isn’t my fault, even if I can usually make a man cum earlier if I want to.

I wanted Mr Kitty’s cum in me yesterday. I hinted as openly as I possibly could that he should be ready for sex, but it went over his head. Amongst other things, I asked him to get into bed with me “for cuddles”, which he took to mean that there was no way he would get unlocked, and that he would definitely be fucked in the ass. No, no, no! All I wanted was some lovely old-fashioned lovemaking… or rather, to be filled with cum by the cock most readily available for this purpose. I was horny, but also uber fuzzy.

Anyway, I made him get into bed with me, where I told him to go down on me. He was still locked up at this point and he did a great job. Orgasm one. Then I unlocked him and we fucked. Orgasm two. Finally, I used my fingers while he played with my boobs. Orgasm three.

I could’ve sworn that he had cum in me. I was as drippy as I usually am afterwards, he was as sweaty and tired as usual. His movements were the same as when he’s finished. But I was wrong. He stopped fucking me because he was trying to give me a second vaginal orgasm and that tired him out. I was actually quite close to a second one… but I didn’t get there because his thrusting became too fast and deep! So he tired himself out doing the opposite of what he hoped to achieve. Oh well. No big deal. I can hardly complain when I got three orgasms and he got none.

Today we both seemed hopeful for rectification. He knew he would get locked up again today, so I guess he didn’t want to miss his chance. I wasn’t sure if he would be able to finish this time either because he had major precum all day, mostly from being teased by me and thinking about being back in the cage. He was fantasising about being in a belted device with an integrated butt plug, and the idea was making him nonstop horny and wet. When he is wet for long periods, sometimes it affects the pressure of ejaculation, and sometimes he just doesn’t cum at all. Sort of like when he milks himself incompletely so that he can still get hard but not quite cum. I thought he wouldn’t finish this time either.

Well, he did. About 2 minutes into sex, he did. I’ve never had sexual complaints before but my god, if this experience is anything to go by, I’m not a woman built to deal with premature ejaculation. Thankfully we don’t have that problem, but I’m not used to him finishing before I’m satisfied. It’s just never been a thing. His explanation? “I thought you were disappointed last night about the lack of cum, so I made sure to get there before I tired myself out.”

I must admit that I appreciate the sentiment… But I feel like I preferred the alternative. I must be a really selfish lover! The occasional lack of my own orgasm doesn’t bother me in the least, because the stuff that comes before it is almost as nice. But not getting an orgasm and not getting enough enjoyment time, that’s not for me. I’m definitely selfish. Thankfully I’ve got him well trained and he did finish me with his fingers instead. 😉

So now I’m fuzzy and happy and relaxed. For some reason I’m finding it hard to sleep, but that’s ok. I’ll get there in the end.

Oh, and by the way, he’s locked up now. He’s only had two orgasms so far this year. I’m liking this trend.

Knowledge and power

Knowledge and power

I think everyone can admit to having wondered what goes on behind their neighbours’ closed doors. I know I have, all the time. It’s not so much that I’m nosy, but that humans are such an interesting species, with such a wide range of quirks, hobbies, responsibilities and everything else, that I can’t help but wonder what’s out there, and where.

Our energy company has been trying to fix some problems with their network over the last few days, leading to intermittent power cuts. The first time it happened, we immediately took to the window to see if it was just us. It wasn’t: everyone else was also in the dark. Heh, at least I know we have something in common with our neighbours.

I think the network issue has been fixed, as no cuts have happened today. That’s great news for us. We can get our work done again and Netflix is back! I like to have something on in the background as I work because I find the black expanse of our tv too intimidating. Call me weird, but that’s what growing up with scary movies does to you. So today I had Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window as my background movie. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the plot here, and no, I don’t think my neighbours have murdered anyone. I did, however, decide to finally take a parcel to the slightly creepy building across the road from us. It was delivered to us because the recipient wasn’t home when Royal Mail called. I probably shouldn’t say it’s creepy. I didn’t think it was until I was climbing up the excessively steep stairs to their front door. It looks like an apartment building, but instead of being divided into flats, it’s just the one family home.

When I got to the front door at the top of the stone stairs I noticed a few parcels hidden away in the shrubs. Unkempt front garden and no doorbell. The front door had a plain glass pane and no blinds to conceal the interior of the building. I could see right through the ground floor, all the way to an also unkempt back garden. In the hallway, there was a baby stair gate, a couple of empty bottles of whiskey and too many letters and parcels to count. The strange thing is that they were neatly placed on the second step of the stairs, so someone had been there to do it (unless the postman has a key to the house).

It made me think about how little we know about our neighbours, and how little they must know about us. They know where we’re from due to the unescapable accent. They must have an idea of what our schedules are like. They know our cat is a murderess. If our next-door neighbours keep an eye out (and I know they do) and if they can hear well, chances are they also know that we’re not the most vanilla of couples.

What are the chances that they’ve heard about male chastity? I might be wrong, but I don’t think they are too small. Could they practise it themselves? Probably not. I quickly added up who knows about our chastity game: my closest girlfriends from school, some of my university friends from my undergrad, a couple of good friends from my previous job. On Mr Kitty’s side, no one. More people know about the allowed openness to the relationship, including some of Mr Kitty’s friends, but some don’t realise that I decide our limits. None of my childhood friends know anything kinky about us. As far as they can see, we’re just a couple with a very strong relationship. Neither does our family, long may it stay that way!

My mother is coming to visit us, for the first time ever, next week. We couldn’t be more nervous. I’ve been hiding our sex toys but also making plans for the deepest spring clean we can achieve with our limited time. My mother has a sixth sense for detecting the slightest of oddities and blowing them out of proportion. I have visions of her stepping into our house and instantly conjuring up mental images of drug-fuelled sexual depravity. Worst of all, she will never tell me whatever she imagines. It might be innocuous. It might be nothing. It might be a display worthy of inclusion on the Marquis de Sade’s toilet paper. And I will never know what image I’ll be forever fighting against.

I’m a control freak and I don’t like unknown enemies.

I should be happy to see my mother. I am happy, sort of. I just don’t like having my fortress breached by a force bigger than my own. Is there such a thing as mummy issues? If so, I should probably look into it.

 


I’m definitely developing a bit of an obsession with Mr Kitty’s little ass. I’ve always given him love gropes, but I find myself fingering him a lot more often these days. I still haven’t fucked him yet, at least not with the strap on, just with dildos I’ve held with my hands. He makes the cutest of moans and they make me melt. He’s also been docile like a kitten, and has even grown his beard longer than usual because stroking it relaxes me. With his stress relieving ways, my Mr Kitty is probably the best study aid I’ve ever had.

Microscopic

Microscopic

That’s how he referred to his penis.

Free, but tiny.

Mr Kitty has been unlocked for a long time now.

I’ve hesitated to write about this, because somehow it feels much more personal than my sex life ever does, but I guess there’s no reason not to mention it.

Mr Kitty has an non-fatal autoimmune condition which, for the most part, causes no issues whatsoever. That is, until he has a flare-up. When it flares up he gets to live in constant pain and with limited mobility.

Today is the first day he has been able to walk and move normally without pain since about two weeks ago. Normally he can take medication to try to lessen (but not eliminate) the problems, but due to the nature of the medication, he has to be very careful about not taking it if there’s anything else that might attack his immune system. It’s cold and flu season, and he was getting over a cold, so he had to make do without anything beyond standard NSAIDs and long massages performed by yours truly.

It kills me to see him in pain. It also kills my sex drive. Funnily enough, it doesn’t affect his sex drive because men are weird like that. But even though I am still able to go off and sleep with someone else if I feel like it, I don’t get anything out of that if I know that my boyfriend isn’t going to get any enjoyment from it. As far as I’m concerned, everything in our sex life should involve both of us in some way. Chastity and everything that came with it is a mutual agreement, not an imposed sentence. So neither of us has done anything sexual in about two weeks (beyond the standard groping and teasing, obviously).

Actually, that’s not true. There was that episode – once his flare-up had started, so he was unlocked, but hadn’t yet got too bad – where he took on a dominant role out of the blue. I’m not sure how it happened. We were just chatting in our bedroom when suddenly he was taking off our clothes and moments later I was moaning. It was really hot and unexpected. He is dominant towards me so extremely rarely that it made it thrilling like when you have sex somewhere where you know you might get caught, but that fact makes it even more pleasurable. That brings his count of orgasms to 4 out of 5 until the end of the year. He has one to go, and a month and a week to get that. Not bad going.

I’m so glad his pain has gone away again. Nothing makes me happier than to know that he’s ok.

Why chastity? Because it’s fun

Why chastity? Because it’s fun

An online friend recently passed away after a two-year battle with cancer. I never did meet him IRL, but he was an important part of our online community so I do feel some sense of loss. We had friends in common (both IRL and online).

On the same day, I was told that all my childhood toys, all the artwork I kept from before I was 13, essays, books and notebooks, photo albums… all those things are gone. All the memories from the one happy part of my life before I met Mr Kitty. All gone.

He never saw any of those things. My kids will never see them either. All that’s left is an original green Game Boy, which I brought with me on the plane back when I started getting panic attacks.

I don’t want to be defined by a relationship with a man, but that’s inevitable when I only managed to start living my life again once I met him.

I’m very grateful that I met him. I can’t imagine that there would be someone else out there with the same kinks and with similar interests: overlapping, but different enough that we don’t get bored of each other. Same outlook on life. Hell, even our professional skills are complementary, despite being different.

There was a time when he didn’t seem to be sure that I wanted to continue with chastity. I think he was afraid that I’d realise how weird he was. He was definitely treading very carefully. This was early on, when I was trying to learn the ropes but I was really interested in how it all worked. We were still going out in secret (less romantic than it sounds!) so that in itself was difficult. Keeping the relationship going was challenging, and even more so when adding such a physical kink which had to be kept more secret than the relationship itself. At the time, I was getting over the most boring relationship imaginable, ended in the most theatrical, melodramatic, horrifically prolonged beak-up in the history of my love life. Looking back, I guess I was a serial dater and that particular relationship was the most serious (and most boring) I’d had up until then. So meeting Mr Kitty and being introduced to his fantasy of chastity was so much fun.

I’m not a patient person and idleness isn’t my thing, so I’ve kept busy helping Mr Kitty with his business. It’s been a lot more fun than I expected. Conventional wisdom says that you shouldn’t work with your partner, and I would tend to agree. But I might make an exception for a while and continue helping him. After all, I’m not working directly with him, in the same office or anything. Just providing help with the bits that I’ve more of a talent for than he does. It’s been great so far! And so exciting!

To be honest, I think that’s what attracted me to Mr Kitty in the first place. Life with him is never boring. I hate being bored because life is too short to waste it not doing anything.

That’s also why I like keeping him locked up. It helps prevent our relationship from becoming boring as hell. I guess that goes for any kink, but this one is mine…

…and it shall be my Squishy.

Squishy

Being open about open relationships

Being open about open relationships

Sometimes I’m surprised at the things people focus on when I mention certain parts of my funky relationship with Mr Kitty. For example, the other day I was having lunch with some coworkers. These are people who work in the same company as me but in different departments, so technically they’re not really coworkers, but people I’m friendlier with due to being a similar age. Some are very good friends, and some I barely know beyond regularly having lunch with them. Anyway, one of the girls remarked that she never realised before just how slutty some girls our age are. As opinionated as I usually am, I don’t like getting into certain topics without giving full disclosure of anything that might colour my view on the topic, so before I responded to that, I mentioned that I’m in a “slightly open relationship”. It wasn’t a big deal, as a few of the people at the table knew about the openness, and at least two have read this blog. The conversation went on as normal but no questions were asked about my relationship with Mr Kitty.

At least, not until we went out for drinks later that day.

We went to a nice place and ordered some cocktails. After a while, the girl who’d made the comment about sluttiness asked if I’d mind her asking some questions. I expected the usual stuff I get every once in a while, namely: whether I’ve ever had a threesome, whether Mr Kitty is allowed to have sex with other people, whether I’ve ever been hurt by our arrangement, etc. But no, she asked… how do I protect myself from STDs. Of all the times I’ve had this conversation, this is the first time anyone’s ever asked that question. All I could tell her was that it was the same as when you have a one night stand (I bet she thinks I’m also a slut now!), but she said she’s only been with one guy before, her boyfriend of a few years, and has never given consideration to that sort of thing. To me, that’s crazy. Not the part about only being with one guy, but the part where she’s never really thought about safer sex. Especially someone as smart as this girl.

Another girl (this one is a good friend)  asked whether I have casual sex very often. Coming from anyone else, that might have been a loaded question. In her case though, I know her well enough to know that she was genuinely curious. She sometimes tells me about her own exploits. 😉 But again, it’s not one of the standard questions that I’ve come to expect every time a new person finds out about the ‘weird’ things we’re into. It might be because it’s nearly always guys, not girls, doing the asking.

After those two questions, the evening went on as usual, with no further references to my relationship.

It could be argued that giving details about my sex life to people I could eventually work with isn’t a wise move. For a lot of people, if their coworkers found out that they were into an alternative lifestyle, it could negatively impact their careers. I’m lucky that in my case, that’s not ever an issue. I don’t mention my sex life to my immediate team at work because I feel genuinely uncomfortable with breaking my professionalism when we’re in a professional environment. However, I’m pretty much the only one in my team who doesn’t talk about those things, so if they ever found out, it’s not something that would bother me. I have the impression that I’m one of very few sex bloggers who can say the same thing.

Relief

Relief

We’re both ready.

The metal cage is back.

In truth, I almost felt like starting this blog post with “dear diary”, but I haven’t kept a diary since I was about 9, and I feel like I was less vulnerable then, than I am now. I realised long ago that I draw so much strength from Mr Kitty that when he’s not able to provide as much support as I’m used to, I find it really hard to cope. And I don’t even notice it while things are happening, when I’m trying to help him, or when we’re still ‘getting through things’. I only notice it afterwards, once it’s all done and I’m drained and something feels off.

Mr Kitty is almost fully healthy again. I’m so glad. The last few days haven’t been very nice.

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