After all this time you would think I could remember to remind Mrs. Lion of punishment days. I managed to forget on Saturday. My deadline for reminding her is 8:30 PM. At 9 she asked me if I had reminded her. I had to confess that I didn’t.

“Oh well,” she said and smiled.

Oh well, indeed! I’m due for a punishment spanking. Mrs. Lion spanked me before we started watching football. It was absolutely no fun at all. Being punished is no longer an event with sexual overtones. The idea of being spanked turns me on, but not when I’m thinking about being punished.

rubber tawse

Spanking me is just one more item on Mrs. Lion’s to-do list. Since she evolved into Lioness 4.0, that means punishing me is a dispassionate exercise in making me hurt as much as possible. 4.0 is devoid of sympathy. She knows that her job as my disciplinary wife is to make each punishment as miserable as she can.

From what she’s said recently, she is also working on discovering which paddle(s) she can use to assure I will continue to feel pain for at least a day after she spanks me. It seems to me that she is approaching this with the same experimental sense of adventure she’s exhibited in the past.

Now that she means business when she spanks me, I can’t tell what she is using to beat me. A recent punishment spanking was administered with the heavy rubber tawse. She has three implements made from thick conveyor belt material: the tawse, a 3″ wide paddle, and another paddle the same size with large holes drilled into it. The rubber paddles tend to give me purple marks that last for a few days. They don’t hurt after the spanking, they just look bad. As you might expect, they hurt like hell while Mrs. Lion is spanking me.

Another favorite is the spoon-shaped paddle. This one is made from heavy, imported hardwood. It looks like a big kitchen spoon. It’s not. This is a mean paddle with a nice long handle to give Mrs. Lion a lot of leverage. When she swings it hard, I yelp and scream. I hate that one!

She also likes her bloodwood paddles. These were made for me by John Hanson. He made truly vicious toys. Before the spanking spoon (made by Sporkwood. You can find them on Etsy), they were the most painful paddles in her arsenal. I speculated that perhaps the Hanson paddles might make me more red than purple.

We got into the “color” discussion because pictures Mrs. Lion takes of my bottom after spankings show very little red. She says that my bottom is quite red, but the pictures barely show pink. I stupidly suggested that maybe she should work for a deeper red that might show up better. I don’t know if she plans to see if she can do that later when she spanks me.

I really need to keep my mouth shut.

We have an osmosis filter under our kitchen sink. I hate it. The water is great. There are no nasties in it. But: a) I’m always afraid it will leak, and b) when I changed the filters – with lots of grumbling – something happened to the feed for our ice maker. Since Lion can’t crawl around on the floor, I have to do it. I hate anything associated with home improvement. My ex-husband and I did a lot of home improvements. We fought constantly while we did them. We fought constantly anyway, but particularly when we did home improvements. Thus, I don’t want to crawl around on the floor while Lion offers suggestions as to what the cause of the ice maker’s problem may be.

I started writing this post before we attempted to fix the kitchen light. It’s a fluorescent fixture with four bulbs, two of which worked, and a ballast that buzzed like crazy. The other day, for some reason, all four bulbs came on and the brightness was cut in half. Lion decided we needed to fix it. He’s done electrical work in the past, (I have too in the home improvement hell of my first marriage) and he was sure it would be an easy fix. Ha! I believe in Murphy’s Law. However, Lion was right. The only problem was that he kept telling me to tuck wires that didn’t seem like they’d be in the way and there was nowhere to tuck them until I put the shroud back up anyway. Wires stripped. Wires connected. Shroud up. Wires tucked. Bulb in. Bulb tested. Repeat three times. Cover up. Done. Dare I say it was easy?

As we ate lunch by the light of the newly wired kitchen fixture, Lion conceded that the ice maker is working fine. It may have slowed down, but there are no crimps and there is nothing to do. Is that my second win of the day? I’m getting light-headed. The only chores left today is maybe some laundry and watching our football team attempt to look like they know how to play the game. Yesterday’s chore was much more fun. [Lion comments — Spanking me is also on her list.]

While I dislike waxing Lion, there are some fringe benefits. Number one is, of course, having a naked Lion in front of me. Since he’s normally naked, that may not seem like a fringe benefit, but he’s not normally on full display on a waxing table. And part of the waxing process is oiling him up so the wax doesn’t stick to his skin so much. The obvious fringe benefit there is that my hands don’t stick to him so much either. As in, they glide ever so smoothly over my weenie and the boys. There may not be a lot of hair on my weenie but I made sure the wax wouldn’t stand a chance of sticking. A little side trip to hand job-ville is always fun. You might say he got more of a benefit out of it but I’m not keeping score. I was distracted from the chore of waxing for a few minutes. I think we both took advantage of the situation.

Sometimes Lion thinks playing with him is a chore. I suppose, when it takes a long time to get him to the edge, I might see it as more of a chore than other times. In general, it’s not a chore. Besides, if playing with a hard weenie and making a Lion squirm is a chore, sign me up. It’s as much of a chore as giving a hand job to an oiled up weenie. I’d much rather play with Lion than do a load of laundry. Some chores are obviously more fun than others.

Sometimes I just get tired. It’s a little cold in the bedroom and we are hunkered down watching TV. I get under the blankets to get warm. Before I know it, the program is over. I fell asleep again. When this happens, Mrs. Lion generally assumes I don’t want sex. That’s what happened the other night. Maybe she was right.

The magnetic number on our Lion Orgasm Whiteboard read “5”. That meant it had been 5 days since my last orgasms. As things go for me, that isn’t very long. My last wait was 20 days. Mrs. Lion indicated that was a reasonable number. My birthday is coming up in October. If she waits until then, well, makes me wait until then, it will be in the low 20’s.

She doesn’t spend much time thinking about how long I wait between orgasms. Understandably, it is a subject I think about quite a bit. I’m not yearning for my next opportunity to ejaculate. At this point, I’m perfectly happy. My only worry is that Mrs. Lion will look to me to decide when I get to come. I don’t want that. In fact, I try not to send any signals beyond letting her know when I feel horny. If I say too much, she will assume I want to have an orgasm and then give it to me.

“The bitch!” you must be thinking. “How could she do that to a poor lion?” I know. That never crossed your mind or mine. I think her willingness to get me off when she thinks I want is my own fault. When we first started male chastity, Mrs. Lion decided to unlock me and make me ejaculate every day. After a few days, I begged her to slow down. I think that since then she has used my guidance to pace me.

That isn’t unusual. From what I read, most keyholders gauge at least the magnitude of time between ejaculations based on what their men say they want. Some want enormous waits of more than a year. Others, like me, want much more frequent release. Since male chastity is a sexy game, it makes sense to allow male input.

Mrs. Lion uses comments I make here in the blog to help guide her. For example, she had increased my wait from about 7 days to about 14 days earlier this summer. I don’t think that was a decision as much as a reaction to my apparent inability to reach the edge until about two weeks passed. In a sense, she got me off at the earliest time my body seemed ready.

I commented that I would like to wait a little longer. I reasoned that if the “fun” of being able to edge me didn’t start until about two weeks in, then wouldn’t it make sense to start the clock then? Mrs. Lion agreed and my last wait was 20 days; a week longer than my previous four.

A week is a long time when you are being edged every day. From the 13th day on I was a panting puddle of desire after every teasing session. I loved it. After a week of this, Mrs. Lion let me ejaculate. It was an incredible oral orgasm. I’m not complaining at all. The experience worked on every level. Does that mean I should expect to come every 20 days? That’s the big question in my mind.

Before she told me to put up the whiteboard and track how long it has been since my last orgasm, Mrs. Lion didn’t pay a lot of attention to how long she made me wait. As it turned out, her internal clock is very good. For years, I got to ejaculate about every 6 or 7 days. Shorter and longer waits were very rare. When I asked her to consider making me wait longer, she wanted the whiteboard to help her keep track.

Now that she has it, I wonder how she will use it. Should I be careful to avoid writing and talking too much about when I think it would be good for me to come? I hope not. Part of the fun for me is being able to beg for release and not get it. I like it when I don’t learn when I’m going to finally come until I feel her pushing me past the point of no return. I guess the bottom line is that I like surprises.

Yesterday afternoon, Lion had a doctor’s appointment. I’m sure I remember him telling me when he made it. I just don’t remember when it comes up. He “sprang” it on me the other day when he found out we could get a drive-through flu shot. A what? Yup. A drive-through flu shot. [Lion comments: You do have to slow down while they do it.] The office our primary care doctors work out of didn’t have appointments till October, but we were able to get appointments yesterday in Seattle where his other appointment was scheduled. 2020 is definitely a strange year.

While we were waiting for the doctor, Lion asked what we should have for dinner. I ran down the usual suspects and Lion growled. Why can’t I think of something else? He suggested stir fry. I never thought of that so I agreed. On the way home, he asked if I’d rather have barbecue. It made sense. We were going right past the barbecue place. Why not? Done.

I’ve been trying to get the house cleaned up for a while. I finally found the top of the kitchen table so I asked if Lion wanted to eat in the kitchen. I reasoned that he’d be less likely to create a mess with his ribs if he had a solid surface to eat them on. Just before he started eating, I sweetened the pot by nullifying the spilling rule for the night. It’s almost impossible to eat sauce-dripping ribs without spilling, or at least getting some on your hands that transfers to your shirt even with napkins or paper towels. Lion was more than happy to accept it. And, wouldn’t you know, when he’s allowed to make a mess with no consequences, his shirt was pristine. Go figure!

Once we hit the bedroom, Lion snoozed. I figured the outing did him in. He answered a few Jeopardy questions in his sleep and then woke up a bit around 8. I was about the ask if he felt up to playing when he asked me if we were going to play. He said he could go either way. If he’s not up for it, why do it? I let it go and Lion snoozed off and on for a while. Then, around bedtime, he asked if we could snuggle. Did that mean he wanted to play earlier? I don’t know. I thought by asking earlier, he’d let me know what he wanted. Did he leave it up to me because he didn’t want to decide?

The problem with asking him, I guess, is that he doesn’t want to impose on me. We play for him. I don’t think I’ll ever feel slighted if he says he doesn’t want to play because he truly doesn’t want to play. He’s done that before and I’ve never pushed him to play when he says he doesn’t want to. However, if he says he doesn’t want to play because he thinks I don’t want to play or he knows I’m tired so “don’t worry about it”, then I have a problem. If he doesn’t give me an honest answer, he can’t be upset, annoyed, sad, neglected, etc. that we didn’t play. If I have a reason that I don’t want to/can’t play, I’ll be honest.

This morning, Lion told me I have a horny Lion on my hands. I’m glad. I can have lots of fun with a horny Lion. But first, there’s the matter of de-furring. The hair above his penis is starting to tickle my nose again. But it’s the hair on his balls that is surprisingly long. How did that happen? Maybe the cage pushing his balls out actually increases blood flow and that increases hair growth. Weird. I’m thinking I’ll just do the front side this time. The back end hasn’t been bad the past few times. Of course, it was never as furry as the front. We’ll see how it goes. And, since I’m in the neighborhood of a wild weenie, I’ll have to give him a few yanks if not some sucks. It just has to be done.