By:
In: Lion's Journal, Life with Mrs. Lion

Christmas Eve is here at last. Our turkey breast is defrosting in the fridge. We have the fixings for our Christmas dinner for two. We exchanged gifts earlier. Mrs. Lion got a twelve-inch iPad and I got the smaller one from Santa Lion. We are enjoying our gifts. We upgraded our computers too. Mrs. Lion had been using an old (6 years) HP all-in-one. It was so slow that she could hardly play her SIMS game. She now has a 6-core Dell with lots of memory and a solid-state disk. My computer is the same model but over five years old. I ordered a new one similar to Mrs. Lion’s. My new one will have 8 cores, 32 GB of memory, and a 1TB solid-state disk. If you are technically inclined, all this power is needed to support Photoshop, and get this, MS Word. Word eats up resources with its auto-update feature. While writing, I get frequent stutters. Hopefully, the new box will fix that.

We don’t have a tree. We haven’t had one in years. It seems like too much trouble just for us. One thing we have that has served us very well in the pandemic is our unsociable way of life. We are both very happy with each other’s company and being quarantined is our normal way of life. Tonight, we will snuggle and, if we have any, drink some eggnog. That’s a tradition we have enjoyed since we have been together. We may miss it this year because we don’t go out unless we have to.

The best Christmas gift for me is my life with Mrs. Lion. It seems so improbable that we would have met. We came from different worlds. Thanks to a dating site we connected. I have no idea why she agreed to meet me, but she did. I had absolutely no way of knowing how incredibly well we would fit together. I’ve always been attracted to tomboys. Mrs. Lion is most certainly a tomboy. She played soccer, loves football, and doesn’t mind getting dirty. She’s also developed into a frighteningly good spanker.

We both make sure that the last words we say to each other are “I love you.” It’s a sort of superstition of mine that if I don’t wake up, those will be the last words we share. It may sound sappy, but I go to sleep each night with a smile on my face. I look forward to waking up on Christmas morning next to the most wonderful gift in the world: my sweet lioness.

By:
In: Lion's Journal, Sex

This is the time of year that you usually find heart-warming stories of generosity and love. From Dickens “T’was The Night Before Christmas” to O’Henry’s “Gift of the Magi,” sentimental tears are shed. This year, love and goodwill aren’t on many minds. Between a global pandemic and a crazy person in the White House, it’s nearly impossible for even died-in-the-wool optimists to crank up “It’s a Wonderful Life” and shed a tear when a bell rings and another angel gets his wings.

I admit that I’m an optimist, a glass-half-full guy. Even I find it hard to understand how to get through until the end of January. I’ve never counted the days until the presidential inauguration before, but I am now. No matter where I turn, I see the destruction caused by the combination of a lunatic and a virus. It’s a horserace which of the two has done more damage.

In the face of all this, I’m expected to write about sex. Well, maybe that’s going too far. I expect to write about it. As of yesterday, It’s been 23 days since my last orgasm. That’s a new record for us. Only one other time did I wait longer. That was due to surgery and the wait was 28 days. It’s not like I’m in a frenzy begging Mrs. Lion to end my misery. I’m not all that concerned. I can’t explain it, but I’m not.

Mrs. Lion has been trying to help change that. I’m not cooperating. I have posited that my work on my book has used up my sexual energy. That makes zero sense. If anything, it should be revving my engine. I’m sure that in due course Mrs. Lion will get me as frustrated as she likes. If she follows through with her threats of anal penetration and relocking in a chastity device, she will probably jump-start my libido. If not, it’s OK, I’ll just read The New York Times and cry.

By:
In: Lion's Journal, Male Chastity

It’s hard to believe that the year is nearly over. I’m glad that the stimulus bill looks like it will pass. Like millions of other Americans, my unemployment runs out on December 26. I’m still on furlough with no sign I will be called back to work. Meanwhile, we are both doing our best to stay isolated and healthy. Fortunately, we are both happy being together without outside contacts.

I’ve hesitated writing about sex because I don’t want Mrs. Lion to think that I am signaling that I want something. I am very happy to wait until she is ready. Meanwhile, we snuggle and enjoy each other’s company. You won’t be surprised to learn that I have been thinking about sex. Admittedly, my thoughts haven’t been very specific. I really don’t mind waiting.

Mrs. Lion mentioned locking me up again. I have mixed feelings about that. We didn’t solve the fit issue with the Evotion Orion. I remeasured and ordered a longer and wider center section. Within minutes of putting it on, my cock was swallowed up inside the new part. The original center section is much shorter and narrower. In the past, I think it caused some irritation. I never figured out why. One theory is that the section is too narrow and abrades the area just under the head. But, I ended up with a single sore spot, not overall irritation. Also, this happened twice at different times, but in the same spot on my penis. If Mrs. Lion locks me in it again, we will both have to be very careful to look for potential irritation.

Since she is home all the time, I’m never really alone. There isn’t the slightest risk I will misbehave. Locking and unlocking me may be extra distractions for her. As you probably guessed, I’m ambivalent about returning to wearing a male chastity device. It might not be up to me, but Mrs. Lion is unlikely to lock me up unless I want her to. At least, I don’t think she will.

By:
In: Domestic discipline

One of the strangest ironies of the Christmas season is the intense focus on behavior. You know, Santa won’t visit if you’re naughty. In fact, the word “naughty” comes up more often at this time of year than at any other. Doesn’t it seem odd that in the time of year we are supposed to be most generous, we focus on transgressions?

It would be one thing if we did this because we could then announce, ta-dah you are forgiven. But forgiveness isn’t a feature of Christmas. How many kids go to bed worrying that there will be coal in their stockings on Christmas morning? I know that when I was a cub, Christmas was a time I was constantly warned not to be naughty. Apparently, when Santa Claus comes to town, it’s the day of reckoning for boys and girls. Makes a kid want to be Jewish!

Now that I’m an adult in a disciplinary marriage, the word “naughty” is used year-round. Santa is relieved of the annual responsibility of assessing my naughtiness. Mrs. Lion has that job and she performs it all year long. I no longer worry about coal in my stocking. Now, it’s a paddle on my butt. Deck the halls with Lion’s red rear, Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

There have been a couple of developments in the naughty lion department. The first was that Mrs. Lion found some chocolate fudge on my chest the other morning. The night before, we had hot fudge sundaes in bed. I almost never wear a shirt or anything else, so any spills end up on my skin. Mrs. Lion commented that maybe my rule should include spilling food on my chest. I wonder if she is going to make that change. [Mrs. Lion — If Lion continues to spill things on himself, it might have to be a rule.]

In her post yesterday, she observed that even though I had been punished for failing to set up the coffeepot only a few weeks ago, I nearly did it again on Saturday night. She had to give me several “hints” before I realized my error. She assumed that once I learned something, I would always remember it. [Mrs. Lion — I don’t assume. I just can’t believe he forgets so quickly.] I don’t do it on purpose, but apparently my ability to consistently do what I am supposed to fade over time. A fresh punishment renews my sense of responsibility. I’m not alone in this. I’ve read accounts by disciplinary wives that they had the same problem with their husbands.

Apparently, a disciplinary wife’s work is never done.