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Jan 27

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Training update

I have this neat scale that connects to the internet and keeps track of how much I weigh on my iPhone and iPad. As you can see from the above image (top graph), I’ve managed to lose about seven pounds since I started going to my personal trainer on the 16th. That’s not quite as much as I would have hoped, to be honest, but the trend is pointing in the right direction (the bottom line shows how much of my weight is fat).

In practice, I’ve found that while still a thorough ass-kicking, my sessions don’t leave me feeling as though I’m about to drop dead. Also, the aftermath is much less of a problem. For the first ten days or so, I was a giant mass of sore muscles unwilling to allow me to conduct such frivolous maneuvers as turning over in bed and walking across a room. Now, I feel the work out, but the muscle soreness is much less.

With regard to the steel device locked between my legs, I continue to find that the compression shorts do an admirable job of keeping things in check. I’m pretty sure that it’s been visible while getting stretched out stretched by the trainer, but that happens at the end of the session and I’m honestly too wiped to give a shit about it at that point. My attitude continues to be that while I’m not going out of my way to advertise how I live, I won’t feel especially embarrassed about it. As I’ve written before, the device mostly feels as though it is me. I want it to be there much more than I feel the need to hide the fact that it’s a fundamental part of my existence.

Jan 19

4 Comments

HNThumper XL: Flushed

Sometimes, a boy likes to have that superclean feeling.

Read more

Jan 15

4 Comments

Compression

Dutchbound said:

Hey Thumper – I’m very excited to hear that you got a trainer and look forward to reading more. Now, we can look forward to, and benefit from, Thumper-analysis (Thump-alysis??) of what it is like to not only workout frequently while locked but also how to manage the bulge in workout gear in a public setting. I’ve been working hard to manage those logistics myself.

I start the routine tomorrow so I can’t yet speak more than I already have to that, but I can add some insight into the “bulge management” situation.

Part of me want to say fuck it and bulge naturally, but perhaps a modicum of discretion is required. This morning, I was stretching in the workout pants I’ll be wearing while training with a “fashion” jock on underneath. I say fashion because it was sold though one of those underwear sites that has all the buff dudes modeling them and is as much a soft-core porn experience as it is for shopping. This particular pair I like because they have a generous pouch (to give that “no underwear” look) that’s not too constricting. They are definitely not concealment wear.

Anyway, during the leg stretching, the jutting steel bullnose was amply visible. While wearing my usual best concealment underwear when with the trainer was an option, they’re all high and tight cotton briefs and didn’t seem right to get all sweaty in. Therefore, a trip to Dick’s Sporting Goods was in order (yeah, I know).

What I settled on was a couple pair of Under Armour compression shorts. Note that there’s a couple different styles of these, if you’re thinking of getting them. One style — the kind I got — is made of the same super-stretchy material throughout while the other has a more breathable (and less compressing) crotch panel. Those didn’t seem to do a thing to help conceal. The more concealing style, as you can see, isn’t exactly the sexiest things you’re ever going to find me in, but that’s not what I got them for.

Once home, put them to the test. I put them on along with my workout pants and went through the stretching motions. I found that the visible bulge of the Steelheart was reduced by about 50%. There’s still a little bump there that’s not entirely natural looking, but it’s far less noticeable than it had been earlier in the day. The proof will be how they are to work out in. They push the whole package down and that puts extra pressure against the otherwise abused and disrespected nutsack, but it’s hard to know if it’ll prove to be too much. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.

Jan 14

10 Comments

A different kind of training

Every muscle in my body aches. Even ones I forgot I had. Even ones I didn’t know I had. Maybe even some I don’t have.

I’ve decided to start seeing a personal trainer since, over the past couple years, I’ve allowed myself to get to a point physically that I’m just not very happy about. I’ve also noticed, now that I’m solidly into my forty-fifth year, that things don’t work as well as they used to. I’ve lost strength, stamina, and flexibility and I’m just feeling old. I’m too young to feel old. And yes, while it is January and all kinds of bullshit resolutions are made at this time of year, I can say that had little to do with the timing of this decision. I’ve been thinking about it for some time and simply finally got around to it.

So I met with the guy Friday morning. He’s the proprietor of a small gym near our house and our first meeting was so he could evaluate my sorry condition. The guy is massive. Not big like a muscle bound linebacker, but proportionally huge. As if he’s been genetically manufactured to be a new kind of superhuman. He’s a former basketball player and has got to be at least 6’10″ tall. Being from West Africa, his skin is very dark. He’s bald and has arms as big around as my thighs. Practically. Either way, he’s an intimidating specimen. Being six feet tall myself, I’m unaccustomed to being around people significantly taller than me, let alone guys I need to crane my head up to look at.

Of course, it’s like he walked straight out of some cuckolding wank story. I admit that the question of his endowment was often in my mind. But that’s me. A pervert.

Anyway, this was just a short evaluation session, but it still kicked my ass. He had me doing lunges, squats, jumping jacks, leg presses, and this sit-up-catch-and-throw-a-ball exercise. All that after he told me I had the hamstring flexibility of a 300 pound guy. Nice. And yes, all this was done while locked up.

I was’t sure if I would need to be unlocked to work out with him so I didn’t ask Belle to let me out. The only time it may have been visible was when he had me flat on my back and was holding my leg straight up and pushing it forward in, I assume, an attempt to rip it from my body. I’m fairly certain a somewhat out of place bulge may have presented itself then and I may have even seen him glance at it, but honestly, the searing pain of the ordeal has clouded my memory. There were no issues after that, though, so I’ve decided to continue on without special access to the penis and see how it goes. Besides it becoming visible, I don’t think there will be a practical reason to remove it. It won’t get in the way of any exercising I can think of and wasn’t at all uncomfortable during or after. Asking for access to the key would be all about vanity and that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to me. I’ve decided that being locked up is who I am and how I live so I won’t let something like an occasional unusual bulge change that.

While this is a sex blog, not a workout blog, I have to imagine that as this new endeavor unfolds I will bring it up often. I will be seeing the trainer (either the massive black guy or his more reasonably-sized assistant who just happens to share my first name) three times a week. The device may or may not become an issue, so that would be a germaine DT topic. Plus, as I get into better shape, my body image may return to a point where I would feel comfortable sharing HNTs of something other than the penis and its steel tube.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Between now and then, it’ll just be nice to have a place to whine and/or talk about how I’m less of a giant white lump than I used to be.

Jan 11

4 Comments

Liv and let Liv

I got Belle a new vibrator. Buying new sex toys for her has not been without risk in the past. So far, this is the list of things I’ve brought into the bedroom that have stuck:

  • Pink – Her traditional go-to vibe (so good, we bought another when we thought we lost the first)
  • The Steelheart
  • Various pinchy nipple things

That’s it. All the other stuff I’ve bought, like the rabbit vibrator or any of the various hitting implements or bondage accessories, basically sit in the toy box (which itself is inside a hamper and buried by a bunch of other crap). But I thought this new vibrator, the Liv by Lelo, looked promising, so I took a chance. It was “pretty” (Belle likes her sex toys to be pretty) and was longer than Pink but not too fat. Turns out Belle doesn’t like to play with things that are too big (which may explain her fondness for the penis). It showed up yesterday (I found it on Amazon for only sixty bucks — in a lot of other places it was $100 or over). I plugged it in to charge its battery and waited for Belle to get home.

Later, once we were settled in for the night, Belle told me to give her the new vibe. She held it in her hand, felt the silky smooth surface, and generally fondled it while I watched (and my tube tightened). She told me to turn off the light and get naked (since I can’t sleep that way without permission from her) and I got kind of excited. I really wanted to get her off.

My excitement was premature. She didn’t want me to participate. Belle intended to christen the Liv all by herself so all I got to do was lay there and hear the thrum of the vibe’s motor do its business over her clit. Eventually, she told me to suck on her nipples, so it wasn’t a total loss. After she came, she passed the still-warm-from-her-pussy vibrator to me to deal with as she rolled over.

“It has potential,” she said.

Whimper.

Jan 11

11 Comments

Spam attack

In one night, Denying Thumper has collected over 1,200 spam comments. The vast majority of them have been automatically quarantined, but maybe two dozen have made it through so that if I didn’t require approval for new commenters, they would have been visible on the site. I’m curious to know if this is happening only to DT or if this is a WordPress-level assault. Any other WP bloggers out there seeing massive amounts of spam today?

UPDATE: I neglected to say this is far more spam than I usually see. Like, 1,000 times more. It’s highly unusual and I don’t recall anything like it happening in the three+ years I’ve been blogging here.

Jan 9

10 Comments

The pits

Over the time I’ve been curating The Portfolio, I’ve come to realize that I have a serious thing for guys’ armpits. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to call it a fetish, per se, but when I see them they give me a funny little feeling in my stomach. More than a good set of abs or a nice ass or strong legs or even a big fat cock. Like, a lot more. So yeah. There’s something going on there.1

I rest my case. I mean, just look at those fuckers.

I followed a few tumblrs that were dedicated to male pits, but they don’t really do it for me most of the time. It’s not just any pits that make me wobbly, after all, and the editorial thinking for a lot of them seem to be, “Oh, there’s an armpit. Done!” So, in keeping with the web’s model of empowering self-publishing the work of other people, I decided to start my own site dedicated to just those pictures that show just the kind of armpits that get me going. It’s called Thumper’s Pit Stop.

There are still a few things I’m working out. Like, do I put an image I like on both tumblrs? I probably will if I like it for reasons other than the pits but also in addition to them. There are some images I leave off The Portfolio right now because they don’t fit its raison d’être (whatever that is — it seems to change from day to day and can only be interpreted by unlocking my deep reptile brain), so now an image that is nothing more than a gratuitous Portfolio-inappropriate pit shot has a place to go. Also, it will not always be the case that the pit or pits is/are the main focus of an image featured there. Only those that spoke to me in that fuckinghellletmeputmyfacerightinthere kind of way.

Anyway, if you dig dude’s pits, check it out. If not, skip it.

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1 I like girls too, of course. Let’s not forget. ↩

Jan 8

3 Comments

Wanting to want to

Strongandsubmissive said in response to the idea of permanent denial:

I don’t quite get permanent denial. I’m not saying it’s fiction only, just that it’s not for me. Perhaps it’s just my inexperience with chastity talking, but part of the fun of the whole process and not knowing when you’ll be allowed out or allowed to orgasm. The perpetual drive to be better and the emotional changes seem to be linked to the idea that “maybe if I’m a good boy, she’ll reward me with an orgasm”.

If you are permanently denied, that mystery or trump card is gone, because you’ll always know what the answer is.

That may work for some, but I’m not sure it’s up my alley.

Of course, everyone’s different. And it’s possible with the knowledge that there would never be another orgasm ever again that a certain edge would be removed from the practice, but for me anyway, it takes so long to get to a point where I actually crave an orgasm over the feeling of being denied one.

Take this morning, for instance. I knew when I put my hand on Belle’s hot, wet pussy that I wasn’t going to get in there, let alone make it a gooey mess. It is an established fact that I’m months away from coming again. What I find is it’s only that knowledge that really allows me to get into it. See, I do not want to come. Not one bit. I want to want to come, but I don’t want to come. If that makes sense. And this is in the face of absolute knowledge that it will not happen. With the possibility of orgasm removed, I’m more free to enjoy having sex with her.

Not every guy is like that. Most men are entirely driven by their desire to squirt. That’s OK. It’s “normal” and culturally acceptable. Other men (a smaller number in practice, but I suspect there’s a much larger unrealized number out there) like to have their orgasms controlled and even limited. An hour, a day, a week. Whatever. Take it as far as you want, at the end they want to come, even if they don’t know when it’s going to happen. I can get to this place, but it literally took me three months last time. Then there’s a third type. The type I think I may be and the type Sarah’s John may be. The type in which it is all about the chase, never the capture. Unending, unquenched desire. The absolute end of orgasm.

But I’m not really in that position and am unlikely to be as Belle shows no interest in it, so it’s impossible for me to know exactly how living with the understanding that I have come for the last time in my life would work with me. I do know, since I just finished a month where she let me come nine times, that I like the denied me more than the sated me.1 Sure, I liked (most of) them. We’re wired to enjoy the feeling of orgasm. But I did not enjoy the wasteland of sensation that followed the afterglow. The near-constant state of being sexually charged and frustrated has apparently changed my basic psychology and/or brain chemistry. At least, I think it has. I can’t really know, right?

In any event, the juxtaposition of this comparatively ejaculate sodden month to the newfound near-certainty that I’d like to stop coming forever is not entirely lost on me. I don’t think this is the hormones talking. I think this is as rational an insight as I can achive.

It’s obvious to anyone who does it that this whole orgasm control, denial, chastity thing comes in many flavors and styles. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t need all these damned blogs, would we? As with so many other things in life, the right way is the way that works for you for as long as it works for you. Maybe that’s the root of the issue people have with permanent denial. Forever is a really long time.

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1 Pretty sure Belle like the denied me better, too, but not, ultimately, better than she likes the feeling of me coming inside her. ↩

Jan 6

5 Comments

My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

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1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. ↩

Jan 5

5 Comments

Forever

I happened upon yesterday’s post by Sarah on the topic of permanent orgasm denial. In it, she said (among other things) the following:

We are def­i­nitely lean­ing towards per­ma­nent orgasm denial, but we do have some con­cerns, none of which are to do with John miss­ing out on them (it’s really more about what I’ll per­haps miss out on, but that’s another story).

I think that neatly summarizes the issue for us, too. A lot of men assume that when they orgasm it is an experience all their own when in reality most women also seem to get a lot of enjoyment from the event. The ones that don’t are typically fictional (though I’m sure there are some real ones out there, too).

Honestly, this is something I didn’t really understand until I stopped having orgasms, but Belle likes it when I’m inside her and also, I’m pretty sure, likes it when I come there. My assumption had always been that women weren’t especially into the mess since it’s practically entirely up to them to clean it up afterward. Personally, back in the days when the occasional man would fuck my ass, I didn’t especially enjoy the aftereffects. I mean, there’s no place for it to go (and it didn’t really have much of a reason to be there) so it had to come out eventually and I just found the entire thing kinda gross. For the record, only three men got to do that without protection and only one of them was iffy, but that was like twenty-some years ago.

But anyway, as undeniably hot as the idea of never being allowed to come again is for me, I’m not sure I’d ever want it unless I was confident it was what Belle really wanted, too. Our recently concluded month of relative freedom was, I think, more about Belle pining for some old fashioned bunny loving more than anything else. I have no reason to expect her appreciation for that kind of sex will ever change, so I have no reason to expect she’ll ever really and truly end my orgasms.

Yesterday evening, as we laid in bed, I was curled up into her and craving her pussy. I pressed my hand to it through her pajamas and, with my face near her breasts, it was all I could do not rip her clothes off. She wasn’t having any of it, though, and told me she quite liked to see me miserably desperate. She also said I should expect the kind of sharp contrasts like I’m going through now in the future. Hard denial followed by relatively lavish releases. Nine times in one month. That probably doubled my entire output for the year.

So I went to sleep pretty horny. Interestingly, when the morning wood woke me up, it didn’t feel at all like someone had kicked me in the nuts. There was intense pressure from the tube, but I liked it. Instead of trying to get rid of it, I flexed the penis so it would be more intense and even rolled over on my stomach so blood would rush to the area. I didn’t expect to adjust so quickly. Next step will be sleeping through the wood. Once that happens, I’ll know things are back to normal. But I digress.

I guess what I’m getting at is that male chastity and orgasm denial might, on its surface, appear to be mostly about male orgasms. But it’s not. And as badly as I want to hear her say someday that I will never come again (and I do, really), there’s no way I could live with that situation unless something big and drastic changed with Belle and I knew for a fact that she would still be able to get whatever it is she wants from sex (even if that thing happens infrequently). There are many trade-offs in a relationship where the man doesn’t get to come, but in the end, asking her to ultimately sacrifice something so important to her is unacceptable to me.

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