Her Pleasure

Who Gives Pleasure to Whom?

A man who lives to serve a woman can get pleasure from giving her pleasure. This is why I maintain, “There is no selfless serving by a male.” He always gets something out of it.

The concept can be explained in terms of the yin and yang. Yin being basically the female or the devotion to the female, and Yang being the male or his offer of this devotion. I hesitate to get too deeply into this, because I don’t have the necessary learning to support my assertion. It would also be unproductive to get off the subject. The bottom line is, “It is my pleasure to give her pleasure, and I don’t feel bad about being so selfish.” In fact, I feel very good about it. I could do it every day for the rest of my life.

I know that there are some stylized D/S relationships where the man is not supposed to get any pleasure out of it, but ours is not it. We both want to be pleasured, even if it is only through my service. I think that the relationship will survive only if each partner (out of two or more) gets roughly equal amount of pleasure out of it.

About Being Horny …

If some unbiased observer were to describe me with respect to my libido, he or she could call me a horny bastard, and would be absolutely correct. Although I am able to concentrate on my immediate task, even plan long-term tasks, this trait is ever present. I can walk into the dregs of society (as I have while in law enforcement), and find some female who stands out among them in a good way. She may not be cocktail-party quality, but would be passable in, say, at a local hardware store’s plumbing section. What I am saying is, I am not looking for perfection. If I occasionally find perfection, it gives me feelings of inadequacy. So, I would rather deal with less than perfect, but satisfactory outcome. I am not talking of personal beauty here, rather, situations. I love to have a good time, and really don’t long for the perfect time. In retrospect some experiences I have had I considered perfect, but only upon reflection on the experience. During the experience perfection was not an issue.

This condition of mine may be a chromosome thing. With men in general it does not take much to be pleased by a female. My wife can please me in a seemingly unbounded ways, and most of it takes little effort. It does take some thought and imagination, however. Almost any attention from her is good, even if my ass hurts afterward.

My Wife Requires Perfection

This darling woman thrives on perfection. She goes out of her way to make everything she does or experiences perfect. It is great.

We can have a home-cooked hamburger, for example. We sit at the table with all the ingredients within reach. I poke a fork into a patty and drop it onto my plate. I scoop some sliced onions, tomatoes, and a jalapeno pepper next to it. I may squirt some barbecue sauce on top of the meat, grab a slice of sourdough bread, and I am ready to eat it with my knife and fork, taking bites out of the bread.

Not so MW. She slices a bun or some other whole-wheat carrier, and puts it on her plate. It is followed by a beef patty subsequently covered with mayonnaise and ketchup. Over that a slice of lettuce, and sliced tomatoes and onion are placed. Pickle slices are next. And so on …

I am half done eating before she puts the other half of the bun on top, and is poised to take a bite. I would have to unhinge my jaws to be able to bite through that. She, on the other hand, has had a lifetime of perfect hamburgers, so it seems so effortless for her to eat it while holding it between two hands. Only sometimes do I need to dab her chin to remove the juices. That is perfection. Whereas in my case, close enough.

That is the way it is with sex for both of us. She wants it perfect, I want it close enough. Consequently, unless the setup is perfect, sex may be postponed until perfection is achieved. Based on this, I conclude that the quantity suffers. But that is just my male chromosome talking.

From time to time I step into perfection inadvertently. We seldom get lucky just by serious planning. For example, the day before yesterday she told me, “Tomorrow evening you will wear the signaling device (see Signaling Device). I will summon you when I need you.”

Well, “Tomorrow” was yesterday. After dinner I took care of the dishes while she went to shower, and such. She mentioned that she might be viewing some material of prurient nature, and that I should not bother her. Fine. I showered, put on the device, and sat down with my computer. Oh, I was also wearing a CB3000 that she had me put on earlier in the day.

At some point I got zapped in the private parts. That was her way to summon me. I hastened to the bedroom where I found her on the bed au naturel. That condition of hers always impresses me favorably, and the little guy began to fill the already tight space allowed to him by MW. She presented her backside to me, and I was ready to work. To make sure that my attention is fully focused on her, she “asked” me to bring tit clamps. I did, and she installed them. On my tits.

Well, you know, my attention was on her, but also on the immediate pain. I did my duty, and enjoyed it very much. I worked on her front side next with similar results. Apparently this was a perfect setup for her. She made it possible for me to put my tongue to work.

I am a very conscientious worker when it comes to this particular chore. I guess her earlier viewing of some videos helped also. With my fingers getting into the act, she soon had her pleasure. A few times. Then she was done with me.

I savored her scent on my face and in my nose. It would not have taken much to get me off, but that was not on her agenda. After she calmed down I asked whether she wanted her leg and feet massage with the lotion. She did, so I did.

Afterward we watched something on a DVD. We had dessert. I had tea to try to keep me awake. The tea may have helped, but not for long. I don’t remember what caused it or how it happened, but she began to gently whip the little guy, who was inside the cage, and the boys, with the little metallic flogger (see Flogger). I am as appreciative as the next guy when it comes to getting all that attention, but once in a while some thin skin was caught between the beads and the hard plastic of the cage, and I yelled. Her comment was something like, “You are lucky I am being gentle.” She got tired of it after a while, and I went to sleep.

This morning, after I was done with my work, she watched me approaching in my natural state. She asked about the damages. There were a dozen or so small cuts and contusions, but all were healing just fine. She said, “See, I do care about you!” She can be very kind.