Valentine’s Day Bondage

I planned our early Valentine’s Day celebration with care. The weekend before, when Ellen was out at the club, I prepared the wrist bindings that I’d bought during the previous week’s trip out of town, strapping them to the bed slats and stashing them against the headboard out of view. I tried on the harness and got it fit just right, and made sure I understood how to attach the dildo. I made sure a candle was handy for wax, and found a mask that could be used as a blindfold. From our private Christmas gift stash I selected a cock ring vibrator from the selection Ellen had given me. I made sure the new lube and the G-Spot Crystal Wand would be within reach so that we could continue to explore that new and thrilling pleasure together. I wanted this to be special. And it was.

The day before my most recent trip to Africa—I would be missing the actual Valentine’s Day—I’d made it clear that I had plans for us that evening. I made sure the room was warm. I sent the kids to bed after story time, kissing them and giving clear instructions to let Mommy and Daddy have a special evening without interruption. Then I joined Ellen upstairs in our bedroom, where we both prepared for bed. I closed and locked the bedroom door, lit candles, dimmed the lights, and soon had Ellen naked and blindfolded with a perfectly suited navy blue silk scarf that I’d remembered and asked her to find. I had her lay on the bed, and reaching down at the corners of the mattress, freed the bindings and slipped them over each of her wrists, making sure they were snug but not too tight. I could see Ellen’s breath changing; she can be claustrophobic, but I didn’t see panic, I saw excitement.

Ellen was splayed out on the bed, unable to bring her hands together to free herself. She was completely in my control. Now it was time to get her attention. Candle in hand, I let a drop of molten wax fall on her right thigh, and she flinched and gasped. Oh, this was going to be fun. Drop and gasp, another drop, but not at a pace that she could predict. I could see her trying to anticipate where the next drop might fall, and when. But I wasn’t going to let her. I varied the timing, I varied the place—her belly, a breast, a thigh. But I didn’t want to overdo it, I just wanted to give her a taste.

Next it was time for some fun with Ellen’s G-Spot. After lubing up my fingers and her pussy, I began teasing her cunt, seeking to inflame her, and she respondent greedily. Although I was still seeking just the right spot, I knew from her irregular breathing and moans that I was getting closer. In a moment of playful dominance, I suddenly pulled my fingers from her and slapped her hard on the pussy. She gasped and flinched, but did not recoil. With renewed confidence, I continued to finger fuck her and at unpredictable intervals give her pussy another slap. She responded more and more, and again anticipated but could not predict what I would do next. I could see this was something we would have to explore much more. I loved the control I had, the sense of power. It was life affirming, not because I wanted traditional male dominant power over Ellen but because we both liked this new sexual dynamic, which was so different from our usual script.

After a while I decided to change things up. My cock was pretty hard but I had another surprise in store. I covered Ellen with a soft blanket to keep her warm, quietly stole away to the bathroom, strapped on the harness and attached the thick dildo. I should have warmed it, along with some lube, but that would have taken some time, and I was not feeling patient. As I rejoined Ellen on the bed and took away the blanket, I kissed her greedily and nudged open her legs. Pausing to put more lube on the dildo, I then touched it to her pussy lips and saw her flinch from the unexpected shock of the cold, foreign object that was about to invade her. I was hard now, which meant that the further the dildo went into Ellen’s cunt, the more my cock knocked against her perineum. I toyed with the idea of filling her ass with my cock, and might have even asked her, but ultimately we didn’t go there…this time. Tonight was all about thrilling her cunt and reconnecting with my cock.

After a while, I saw the dildo wasn’t having as great an effect on Ellen as I’d expected, so I tore off the harness and tossed it aside, grabbed the cock ring/vibrator and brought it down over my still firm cock to help keep it that way, and then plunged into her. I fucked her like I meant it! And she responded in kind. As I was fucking and enjoying the vibration from the cock ring and the hot wet clutch of her cunt, I sought to maintain both a strong thrust and the right position and leverage. I saw clearly that man on top on a flat bed was just not that great a position for this sort of sex, and decided then and there that I wanted to try out the froggy chair next time we were at the club. I changed position and had her turn on her side so I could fuck her sideways. At one point, in the midst of another change, I slapped her hard on her ass. She gasped but didn’t complain. There’s more where that came from, I thought.

The fucking was good for us both, and Ellen was having some pretty fun mini orgasms but not yet really getting to that earth-shattering place. And I needed a break, as long vigorous fucking was still not something I was fully in condition for—my legs were cramping up a bit from the crouched position I was in and from the uphill run I’d taken earlier in the day. I’ve only just begun training as a sexual athlete, and I know pacing is everything.

So I pulled out and decided to return to finger fucking her, searching that illusive G-Spot. And finally, I found it. I could tell immediately from the change in Ellen’s breathing and her moans and the way she thrust against my fingers. We got so close a number of times, but she wasn’t able to let go. I tried again with the Crystal Wand, and over and over she got right at the precipice but could go over. She was crying out, totally unconcerned about whether young ears could hear, even laughing. She begged me to stop a few times for a rest from the intense feelings, but I only let her rest a moment—even if she didn’t go over the edge, I wanted to keep her at that nexus of intensity between ecstasy and pain and keep building the tension. Finally it was just too much and she pleaded with me to stop.

I was rock hard now thanks to the enormous fun and sexual tension and the help of the cock ring, and so I plunged my cock into Ellen’s cunt, grabbed hold of the headboard for leverage, and drilled her pussy hard. Soon she was thrusting up against me in a way I recognized from our best times all too long ago, and from New Year’s Eve when I watched with fascination as Randy fuck her to multiple orgasms on the froggy chair. As I pounded into her, Ellen came intensely and vocally, over and over again, until I simply could not keep up the pace and needed to catch my breath.

And now I decided to focus on me. My cock had lost some of its rigidity, so I stroked myself at the base while keeping the head in the moist heat of Ellen’s cunt. She suggested playfully that I should come on her belly or face—something I had never done. Focusing on my own orgasm now, I alternated between masturbating and rubbing my cock head on Ellen’s still engorged cunt lips. She was cooling down, but patient and loving as I sought my pleasure. And soon I caught that right moment, as if surfing a wave, and felt the orgasm building. When I was sure I was riding it to the crest, I thrust back into Ellen’s cunt and came hard. I know she loves the feel of a man coming inside her, and misses it with all the other men who must, to our mutual agreement, wear condoms when they fuck her. I knew that she’d cooled beyond the point where she, too, could join me in orgasm, but I wanted to be inside her when I came this time. It had been weeks, too many weeks, since I had felt the deep connection of coming deep inside her. I needed that more than ever. But I also resolved that I would find many more occasions for pearl necklaces and facials.

After a few moments of happy exhaustion, I released Ellen from her bindings and she quickly headed off for a long pee. I realized as I listened to the forceful splash of pee in toilet that she’d been holding a full bladder for some time, and I was glad for that—another way to challenge old habits of interruption. She returned to the bed and we cuddled in the afterglow for a while, chatting about where I had bought the various toys, and we both agreed that this had been the best sex we’d had in many years. I was both glad and sad that this was our last night together for the next few weeks, but exultant that I could depart on such a high note. It had renewed my flagging self-confidence and reconnected us in a way we’d both been seeking for years, and with greater determination in recent months.

There is no doubt that this would never have happened if Ellen hadn’t taken us on the plunge into this amazing world of boundless and varied pleasure.

Thank you, Ellen.

Starvation Economy: My Little Zero-Sum World

Getting over past fears of starvation can be one of the biggest challenges of ethical sluthood. It requires an enormous leap of faith: you have to let go of some of what feels like yours, trusting that it will be replaced in abundance by a general world…Especially in the beginning, letting go of starvation economies can feel a lot like flying on a trapeze: you have to let go of the security you already have, trusting that at the end of the leap there will always be something else to catch you.” The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy

When Ellen first raised the idea of her having sex with others, my libido was low, I didn’t feel interested in sex, but we were living under one roof in Africa and together most of the time, albeit along with children, dog, cat, and various household staff (the housekeeper, the gardener, the security guards that expats typically have in Africa). I agreed to Ellen playing with others because I knew I wasn’t meeting her needs, but also because I felt safe and secure within our home and our relationship, even if that relationship was less than optimal. Sure, we had issues, but we also had the security and confidence to know that we remained committed to each other in a solid marriage.

Then we were apart, for months at a time, after Ellen and our sons and pets moved home to the US. That was all part of our plan—after more than 6 years living abroad we were going home for a bit, but I wasn’t finished with my job. It was during this long physical separation that Ellen began rediscovering herself, out of my shadow and away from my influence and the inhibitions I unwittingly bring out in her. She felt strong enough to ask once again whether I was serious about an open relationship, and again, I enthusiastically said yes—after all, the idea had been titillating us for years.

Over the course of the last five months, ever since Ellen went to her first sex club and met Ron and Nora, I have spiraled down from enthusiastic support and encouragement into uncertainty, insecurity, fear, bouts of insomnia and jealousy, and moments of outright panic. I have been impotent, unable sometimes to get erect even to masturbate, unable at times to respond to Ellen’s patient oral ministrations during those weeks we’ve been together. Unable to do much during my first outing to the club alone.

On New Year’s Eve at the club, my short fuck with Ellen ended with me semi-soft and Ellen unsatisfied and worried. Later that night, having been invited by Mark’s beautiful sexy partner to join in my first ever Gang Bang, when I was on the sidelines uncertain whether to try and join, she looked up from the dog pile of naked writhing bodies and pointed at me, making it clear she wanted me. So gamely I dove in and soon was I lapping and fingering her delicious cunt to her evident enjoyment, but when she tried to get me hard with a lovely warm blow job I stayed as droopy and soft as a limp banana peel. After a while she gave up and moved on to someone else for a good fucking. I was chagrined and shaken. Again.

My entire world has been rocked. Although my interest in sex has increased enormously, along with my desire for Ellen and interest in playing with others, my self-confidence and self-image has taken a huge beating. Even as Ellen has become more outgoing, happier, and sexier, I have drawn inward, struggling to contain thoughts and fears that have at times overwhelmed me. I have questioned the very fundamentals of our commitment to each other, of my own assumptions about who I am and what I believe, and I have found myself falling far short of who I thought I could be. I have both envied and resented the time Ellen has spent going solo, starved for connection with her, especially on those occasions when I was home and she went on her own to a club. Starved. As if any pleasure she took with others was stolen from us, from me. As if her pleasure came at the expense of my own. The more she fucked, the more impotent I became. My little zero-sum world.

This at a time when I should be reveling in Ellen’s discoveries, her enormous multi-orgasmic smorgasbord of pleasure. When I first started this blog, I confidently titled it Compersive Times, in the naïve and arrogant belief that I was perfectly prepared to relish Ellen’s fun from a distance. While I was still in Africa after having been home for a visit over Halloween, I shared the fact of our open relationship with a friend over beers—his wife was hot, and I knew Ellen liked them both—hoping that maybe they would be open to a threesome. Unfortunately it became clear that they were monogamous, or at least he was (Ellen had seen his wife in very compromising circumstances with another man). But he was intrigued about the lifestyle and asked me how we dealt with jealousy. I smiled, and confidently said, “I think I burned out my jealousy circuits a long time ago.” Oh what self-deluding fools we can be!

I hit my low point the night after Ellen returned from her solo trip in January (which she has described with wonderfully hot details in her recent Blissfully Open blog). Somehow I had known that she had fucked the morning after, and when she finally got home that evening and told me a little bit of the evening and hinted that it was also a fun morning, the green-eyed beast began to gnaw at me. I need to know, and I want to know the details of her play, because only then can I fill the blank spaces with reality instead of dark and fantastical fictions that populate my sleepless nights. But the truth and the details are also hard, because they force me to confront my envy, my sense of exclusion and missing out, in my little zero-sum world.

I think I’m getting better. I’m working hard at it. I am taking supplements that are good for the prostate, that increase blood flow to the penis, and that are just good for health. I am exercising my PC muscles and I am masturbating as often as I can, though still unable to carve out the time and emotional space for my once-a-day goal.

Buying a strap-on dildo for a Valentine’s Day gift to us both was a big step for me. It was both an acknowledgement that I had a problem, and a declaration that, one way or another, I still wanted to fuck Ellen. When I bought it, the sales woman was a tall tattooed beauty with whom I was perfectly comfortable discussing the merits of one type of harness over another and which dildo would be appropriate. That was fun. I would love to fuck her!

I do like this lifestyle. I do want to play with other women. I do want Ellen to enjoy her body and the bodies of others. I do want to revel in compersive joy at her carefree fucking.

This weekend, Ellen is out for two nights and two days of fun. I’m back in Africa, this time another country, on a three-week trip. We have written long and very honest emails to each other. In some of my words to Ellen, I have shaken her without intending to, but I have also learned how important it is for me to be able to ask for what I need and to say what I feel, with as much kindness and compassion as possible, trusting that I won’t be misunderstood. And she has done the same, helping me understand just how much she is needing the relationships and support of her new friends with benefits.

Yesterday, I began rereading her blog postings over and over again, seeking the new normal that I crave, seeking to rekindle the compersive and to confront the worst fears and dark emotions. I am reading books that help me understand that what I am going through is not unique, is not a personal failing, but indeed is extremely common in these lifestyles. I am learning that I am not alone, that many other people have traveled this same dark passage and emerged stronger, happier, healthier, and able to love bigger and better than ever. Intellectually I know this is not a zero-sum life.

Every time my demons started to whisper this weekend I have refused to shrink away but instead face them full on and stare them down. I think of the joy and pleasure Ellen is having right now, the way her body shakes and her hips thrust and her moans escalate in ecstacy. And I look past my demons and their whispered lies, tell them to fuck off, take a deep breath, and gaze into my mind's eye and see her rapture. And I feel happy for her and hopeful of myself and renewed confidence in us. It isn’t as easy as I'd like, but today it isn't as difficult as it's been.

And so it goes.

Dancing with Pole

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