In fact, she almost did the other night. Even though she was on her period, she let me finger her before bed and she got so worked up that she brought up the idea of fucking me. I told her I was up for it (or would be once the steel came off) but that I might fuck it up again so she told me to instead go down on her. Until she gives me another shot at it, I can’t know if I can get her off with the penis and not have an orgasm myself. Kind of a chicken and egg thing. But, if it was more about treating me on my special day, then it wouldn’t really matter. Would it. You’d think.

So anyway, we’re laying there on that bright and sunny Father’s Day morning and I’m raring to go. She even asked me something like “what are you thinking” and I said something like “I’d really like to be out of this thing so I could fuck you” and she did something like totally ignore that I said it. And I’m thinking, OK, I’m just as happy getting her off or doing something else. It’s been a while since she hurt me. Maybe something with the nipples or the nuts or Icy Hot or I don’t know. But, the next thing I knew, she was out of bed and I was left clutching the hard steel and my fat nut sack and whimpering quietly to myself.

And then we had a day. Jogged with her, had brunch at the in-law’s house, took the family to the zoo, looked at some monkeys, grilled some burgers. An all-American good time.

Going to bed, I was thinking, OK, now. Now something will surely happen. I had been thinking about it all day and knew, if she asked, what I had hoped would be my treat. She didn’t ask, but I told her I had it all figured out anyway, but she didn’t want the details. So I never got a chance to tell her what I thought would be awesome would be her using one of my belts to tie my hands to the headboard, clamp my nipples, take off the Steelheart tube, edge me mercilessly up to the point of ruined orgasm, feed me my own spunk, ice the penis, put the tube back on, then untie me. Never told her that. She didn’t ask.

So we’re in bed and she’s really tired and she went to sleep. Boom. So I watched the rest of the second season of Game of Thrones (yeah, I’m a little behind). And then I laid there. Awake. Just me, the penis, and the Steelheart.

And I’ll tell you, I honestly suffered. Not in the sexyfun way where I was pushing the suffering so that I could suffer more. In the way where the suffering was pulling me along whether I liked it or not because I had no choice but to wallow in it. I honestly wanted to jack off and I wanted to come. That happens more now that it’s not an option at all. And I felt it again last night. I remembered what it felt like and dreamed about how fucking intense it would be now, after five months, and how especially grand I could make it if I edged myself for about an hour first. I wanted to feel the penis pump gobs of goo from my body and onto my stomach and feel the pin pricks of chemical release run over my scalp and down my spine. Oh FUUUUCK I wanted out.

Took a long time to find sleep. But I did.

This morning, Belle asked me if I was feeling neglected. I didn’t say, but I put my head on her chest and inhaled her freshly showered and ready-for-the-day scent and moaned a little inside. She made no commitments. I didn’t ask her to.

A couple of years ago, last night could have sent me into a nasty tailspin. And I’m not saying I liked it or thought it was fun. But I understand how it’s supposed to work. I understand that’s how I’m supposed to feel from time to time. If I’m really denied and she’s really in charge, then I’m really not going to be happy every once in a while. There was a time when the lizard part of me would have risen up and slapped the rabbit down, bitched and stunk up the place, and made me crabby and nasty. And the lizard was trying last night. But he’s so far deeper down now. It takes a lot more than one night to give him the step up he needs to break the surface of the deep submissive pool he’s at the bottom of, wrapped in chains. In fact, the kind of seemingly capricious neglect by Belle is exactly what I’ve told her I want in our D/s relationship.

So I’m not upset. I may have felt neglected when she asked, but that didn’t convert to anything related to anger and I didn’t feel remotely perturbed at her. When she asked, I felt warm. Cared for. She knew. Acknowledged my feelings. That’s what I find I really crave as a submissive: Acknowledgement from my Dominent that I am sacrificing. Suffering. For her. And now, as I write about it, I feel that deep pool of submissiveness welling up and overflowing into my chest. A current of affection and love and pain and sexual frustration is resonating between my heart, brain, and struggling penis in its cage. This is what I asked for. This is what I wanted.

I never want Belle to feel sorry for me when I’m like this. I never want her to apologize. I never want her to feel guilty. All I want is for her to tell me she knows what I’m going through and that I’ll keep going through it until such time that she decides she needs it to end. For her to tell me that I’m utterly powerless in this. How my needs are utterly beneath hers. And then I can tell her back how utterly in love I am with her and thank her and let it all burn away at me from inside.

I think I mentioned this before, but I think the real difference in truly being gay has more to do with how you feel about loving a man, not having sex with one. I get turned on by submission. I get turned on by thinking about a hard muscled guy pushing me to my knees and having me suck him off or bending me over and taking me hard in the ass. But I’m happily married to a woman and unlike Thumper have never had the experiences that he has (just the fantasy). But I have never felt like I desperately needed or wanted the love of another man.

Recently, as an alternative to finding my fantasy guy, my wife bought a strap-on to train me to suck cock (since I seem to crave it). AND here’s something I never knew…When I gag on that thick dildo, the gag reflex makes my nipples really sensitive and causes a spasm in my ass! Who knew? I don’t know if that’s what everyone experiences or not, but I find it really hot. Thoughts?

WRT “being truly gay,” yes, that’s true. If you can’t love a man and find emotional satisfaction in a relationship with one or even want that, you’re clearly not gay. I can’t/don’t and that’s the metric I ultimately used to decide for myself who I was. However, how many men who also really get off on pussy identify as gay? Not many, I think. Human sexuality is like a Rubic’s Cube that way, I suppose. Anyone can identify any way they like and the sexualistas out there are free say what they want about the whateverthefuck-ist perspective they want to pin on me, but I think they’re both tests of different things.

And yeah, I totally get that being dominated by a guy thing. Totally. Used. Abused. Being his object. Works for me (and while I have had sex with guys in the past, none of it was D/s, so we’re even on that score). Since I’ve been letting myself think about it, I see that it’s the only kind of submission I’d be able to do that wouldn’t cause damaging feedback on the relationship Belle and I have. She would always be primary (and hold the keys to the kingdom, literally) and he’d always be secondary to her, and I’d always be as low as low can be. In my fantasy world, it would be one guy (or maybe an established couple) and not a cavalcade of faces and dicks. I think I’d need that to establish trust and a true connection to the person(s). Also, in a perfect world, everyone would know each other and get along. He wouldn’t be over some black wall in another room in my head where I retreated from Belle. Everything would need to be out in the open so everyone would know the rules and feel comfortable with the arrangement. Yeah, call me an idealist, but that was the fantasy.

However, Belle flat out told me last night she wasn’t going to share me with anyone. Even someone who, by their very being, would occupy places in my body and spirit she cannot. I’m told I’ll have to live with my fantasies only. She admits this is entirely selfish on her part. That she wants even those parts of me she cannot access. I am hers. I admit that, while I never really thought she’d let me, I am a little let down. As a person with sexual desires for both genders, I knew going into my straight, vanilla marriage I was attempting to wall-off a part of me forever, but we’re not that same couple anymore and I though maybe there was a tiny bit of a crack there now, but there isn’t. I don’t begrudge Belle her POV on this and while it leaves me a little wistful for what might have been, it is no different than where I was before this whole thing came up.

The strap-on thing is interesting. Belle said way back at the beginning of our relationship that she’d never do the whole “bend over boyfriend” thing either, but I can see the appeal of being roughly used like that. I don’t recall anything special happening in my nipples or nether regions when gagging on cock, but it’s been a long time. So, have you gone the full Monty yet?

I could have said most of this as a simple reply to justplaying’s comment, but I thought it would be more useful to use it as a way to close the loop on the whole “sharing” thing.

Hm…not to send you back to your 20s angst, but you do realize liking pussy doesn’t stop you from being bi? And there is nothing wrong with being into pussy AND curious about what it would be like to be dominated by a man?

And EsotericNonesense replied…

I’m a bit confused. I didn’t know there was ever any question as to whether or not Thumper was gay. You would think all the pussy licking and fucking (when Bella allows it) would be evidence to the contrary.

And patrick opined…

when to know if you are 100% gay, I’m sure absolutement not; but 100% straight, I doubt it. Just look at your porfolio. But is it really a problem?

I guess I have this idea that everyone who reads me has either always read me or has gone back to read me from the start or can somehow just absorb this whole blog via some kind of alien tentacle osmosis process or something. No, I am not gay, but I’m hardly straight, either. I’ve gone on about it here, here, over here, and most recently there (among other places). I like to think of myself as queer (as in, not amongst how the masses identify). Not gay. Not straight. Just me. Willing to fuck (or, more likely nowadays, be fucked) by anyone of any gender.

I came up with the title and concept for the post “How I know I’m not gay” while listening to Dan Savage during recent long hours driving. He’s said several times that gay guys don’t like pussy. It’s kinda what makes them gay. And I thought, huh, if only someone had spelled it out so plainly for me back in my “o god, what the hell am I?!” phase. I do love the cock. Truly. But I also love pussy. As I said. So, ipso facto, not gay. But also not straight. Commonly referred to as bi (though I hate that term).

I like how Harry said it…

The very best thing about [pussy]… It’s an integral part of this woman, this very loving woman, who shares your/my life…

At first I was like, whoa! We share the same woman!? Then I got it. And I think he’s right.

Patrick went on to say in response to my suggestion Belle may not have been serious about the pro domme thing…

when the sugestion your “Belle”, I do not think it was just a joke. the image that I made about ​​your “Belle” through your blog is that she is a very sensitive, intelligent woman, open-minded and listen to your needs. I think she read you from the beginning of your meeting, and it is you she has chosed. I think she planted a seed in you to enable you to flourish…

That’s possible. She hasn’t brought it up again. Maybe it was serious, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was one of those not serious serious things. I dunno because I haven’t mentioned it to her because I still don’t even know what to make of it. She will be reading this, though…

I told Belle a while back that one of my best friends from childhood (and the best man at our wedding) had opened up his relationship with his husband. Their sex life had petered out (pardon the pun) so they did what a lot of gay couples end up doing (probably more than straight couples do in general, though that might be changing). She didn’t react well to that idea as a concept and thought it was more a symptom of their problems than a possible solution to them as I did. In any event, I don’t know if the whole “sharing” thing is something my Belle could ever wrap her head around completely. I know from experience that my love for her and sex outside our relationship don’t cancel each other out. That is, when I cheated on her (yes, I did that, too, newbies) I ended up feeling more passionate about my relationship with her than before. What I did and how I went about it was all wrong, but that experience and what I’ve learned about relationships and sexuality since both inform how I feel about it today.

In any event, to those who were confused by my odd admission of non-gayness, I apologize.

You know, I have a thing about underwear. Maybe not as bad as this guy, but a thing nonetheless. It’s well-documented (like here, here, there, and here). I accepted it. 

So I’m really kinda digging these new Tommy John 360 Sport Boxer Briefs. They’re super comfortable as underwear and also as “chastity underwear.” Supportive yet stretchy in the way those of us swinging steel need. And yeah, they have that odd little pocket. A pocket on your underwear. Not sure what I’m supposed to put in there. Also, the fly is horizontal (they call it the “quick-draw fly”) which is kinda so totally obvious, I can’t understand why I’ve never seen it before. Makes whipping stuff out at the urinal a piece of cake. Not urinal cake. Fluffy cake with frosting. Anyway…

Like these so much, I bough more plus some non-athletic pairs, too.

My original intention was to just show the way the underwear and the device got along, but then I noticed those thigh muscles (which I wasn’t even flexing on purpose) and thought, Dayum! That’s not so bad!

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

Put yourself in the Steelheart

And I did, using the lock and key from the recently removed Looker 02, and left the key in the standard place for her to retrieve later in the day. Not a moment too soon, really. I was getting kind of bitchy-whiny about being unlocked. No, not in that dreaded top from the bottom way. I just don’t react well to uncertainty. She had said after letting me out that I’d be back in on Sunday, but she didn’t do it. Then Monday came and went with no word at all. As if she forgot my state. So, by the time she left for work on Tuesday with still no word, I was feeling anxious in that way only an annoying sub can. Pulling the ring around the penis and balls and settling the shaft down inside the tube as the two halves of the lock fitted into place zinged a warm and comforting thrill through my chest. Nice that after more than four years, it still works for me.

I expected to have a hard time (ahem) with the nocturnal hydraulics, but I slept mostly through them. The L02 doesn’t wake me as often (the ring’s a little bigger) and it usually takes me a week or so in the Steelheart to get used to the early morning squeeze. I fell asleep on my stomach with the device pushing firmly up into my pelvis and a not inconsequential horny buzz going. Today in the shower, I was doing my tube cleaning routine and found even the sensation of the water rushing by head of the penis was enough to make my knees weak and tummy tingle.

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

Honestly, I don’t even like seeing the penis anymore. Not without something on or around it. When it’s freely flopping, I feel…less. Somehow. When I approach a urinal and whip it out, there’s a moment of disorientation where I forget it’s free. It’s like peeing with someone else’s dick. Getting out of bed Tuesday morning, I watched it flop over to one side lightly and wiggle around with my balls laying there like a deflated ballon and the whole thing looked altogether wrong as opposed to this morning when instead I watched and felt the steel shift and pull and keep the nuts orderly positioned side by side. As it should be. As I should be.

Harry asked (and answered) why chastity? I know he was speaking in the larger sense (and I don’t disagree with his answer, though in my usual way, I’d have said a lot more), but why do I need this thing on me? Why does the physicality of the steel mean so much? As it is with so many kinks, I just don’t know. How can we know where these things come from? I can tell you when I’m wearing it because she told me to, I feel better. Special. Looked-after. Maintained. Even sexier. I recall near the beginning of this blog’s life a commenter suggested I had a fetish for chastity devices. I took exception with that at the time, but I can’t really deny it anymore. I do have a fetish. I am a fetishist. Either I had it all along or my feelings of emotional and relationship well-being have been fused with the device between my legs and what it does in such a way that I feel incomplete without it.

I feel like I need Belle to keep pushing and shoving me into tighter and tighter spots. More restriction. More constriction. Less access. Less pleasurable sensation. What’s the limit? Where does it end? Are we, those who long to be controlled, all like this? Or do I have a reciprocally recursive feedback system that builds on itself in such a way that eventually all my feelings of submission and denial will be compressed into a diamond-hard lump?

Yeah, I don’t know. As long as she keeps me locked up along the way, I guess it’ll be OK.

I say this because while I was gone, I got this text message from Belle:

Want to sit on your face

And I’m like, WOOF. Yes. Sit on my face! Oh, wait. I’m like a thousand miles away. Fuck.

So I got home Saturday and, even though she let me out of the Looker 02 (which I kept on the entire time I was gone, BTW), she did, in fact, sit on my motherfucking face. And it was awesome. Because, as I said, I fucking love pussy. Especially Belle’s. And you can’t experience more pussy than when it’s grinding into your face.

Funny thing is, Belle seems kind of tentative about doing it. She asked me if I really liked it. Yes, I really do. Maybe you didn’t notice, Belle, but whilst you were astride my face the penis was boned out like a little flagpole. Plus, you know, I’ve only posted about a hundred face-sitting images on the porn farm (such as). I love the whole dynamic. Feeling her hips gyrating over my mouth, her fluids running down my chin, the sensation that I’ve turned into a masturbatory device. The fact that she’s on top. No need to feel weird about it, sweetie. Sit on my fucking face twice a day if you want.

After the face-sitting (which I loved…have I mentioned?), she let me fuck her and it was glorious. The next day, I got to get her off again and, while warming her up, I said something about how I wanted to jack off since it’s been, like, forever since she let me.

“Why don’t you put that energy into me,” she suggested. And I did. But when she was done (using Pink this time), she didn’t let me go for a ride. No reason. Told me I had already had a good time the day before and, don’t forget, I’m not the one who decides when I fuck her. Not by a long shot. And of course, jacking off was not in the cards, either. Inside, the subbie bunny part of me was totally buzzing but the reptile in me was seething. A real man would just take her, it suggested. Just fuck her. But I’m not that man. So the bobbing boner was left to deflate all on its own. Not sure it completely has yet, come to think of it.

Before I left, Belle said something about sending me to a pro domme. I can’t remember the context in which she said it, but she was suggesting there were things I wanted she wasn’t all that into giving me. I assume she’s talking about bondage and hitty stuff. In fact, I’m not that into the idea of a pro domme if for no other reason than I can’t imagine submitting to a woman who’s not Belle. Trying to split my submission like that with another female just doesn’t seem to compute to me.

But. Not being gay and totally digging pussy aside, it occurred to me while driving for hours on end that I’d really be into seeing a dom. Being tied up and beat by a dude? Used and abused by someone with a cock? Oh, hell yeah. I’d really like that. But there’s no such thing, as far as I can tell, as pro doms. I mean, maybe there’s a few. Here and there. Or in NYC where all kinky shit originates. But in the Midwest? Doubtful. So it’d probably look more like a “play partner” kind of deal. And who’d want one whose penis is permanently padlocked? And that’s not what she said anyway. And she was probably only joking. So I should probably stop thinking about it.

In other news, I’m still unlocked nearly 48 hours after getting home. She didn’t feel like dealing with putting me in last night and must have forgotten this morning. I was in the L02 for three weeks and, for those curious about devices with urethral inserts, I can tell you it only got more comfortable over time. By the third week, I could barely tell it was in there. Only little issue I had was after I took it off and tried getting my 4ga ring back in the PA that had been empty all those weeks. Things had started to close up, but I was able to get them stretched back out easily enough.

I expect she’ll use the Steelheart now since it’s her favorite, but she might toss me a curve and pull out the Jail Bird. Who knows? Not me.

“How does that make you feel?” she asked. Trigger tripping, that. The tone of my voice made it clear how it made me feel. Making me say it out loud? Ungh.

After a long pause, “Powerless,” I said, “Small and powerless.” The penis shifted and pressed against its cage and choked down more of the device’s insert. Being forced to say it like that welded the commitment to my psyche. I’ll do whatever I can not to take the device off while I’m away from Belle.

Not sure why this time’s different than last time when she told me I could go free, but this weekend’s performance might have something to do with it. She told me she’d let me out but expected me to “stare at the ceiling or think about baseball or whatever the hell you need to do” because she wanted to fuck me and come.

Saturday night started in the hot tub for us. She brought the key with her and I took the device off and she stowed it in her robe. The penis immediately started to chub out (as it does hopefully and expectantly whenever the device is removed), but even though it was dark and we were alone, nothing too rambunctious could happen as there were Muggles about. Eventually, I was behind her and massaging her shoulders while grinding the stiffy into her gently. I moved one hand from her shoulders and neck down to her pussy and rubbed it through the fabric of her suit for a while before slipping my fingers beneath. The feel of her snatch in that very sexual position (though one we never use) made me very hard and quite light-headed from arousal. We stopped after a bit and went inside to bed.

Though my fucking wasn’t supposed to happen until the next morning, the hot tub must have gotten her going because before I knew it, she was on top of me pounding away and I had her tits in my mouth. I was doing pretty good until she started to make “I’m going to come” kind of noises and all of a sudden I lost it. Not an orgasm, but the closest I’ve come since January. One strong surge of ejaculate right at the moment of withdrawal, but none of the accompanying sensations or afterglow of coming. Even though I was able to get ahold of myself sufficiently to let her have another go, her moment had passed. I failed the one thing I’m supposed to do in bed: get her off.

Next morning, more of the same except the close call on my part was avoided. It was very frustrating for both of us. I told her not to worry about me and just go and whatever happened to me happened. I didn’t really want the orgasm, but I wanted her to have hers more than anything. In the end, she had a calmer head than me and again she was left without. I failed again. I felt (and feel) very bad.

“Keep that up and I’m going to have to find a surrogate,” she said, exasperated.

More trigger tripping.

So here it is, the eve of my departure, and she still hasn’t gotten off. I don’t know if she’s going to want to try again tonight or not, but I do know I’ll be keeping the steel on, in, and around the penis until she tells me I can take it off. Whenever that is.

Yeah, a long time. It didn’t feel the same as the first time I wore it. There was still some cellular memory there and it didn’t feel as novel as it once did. Going right to the gym and running on the treadmill for a couple of miles was probably not the best idea I’ve had. I neglected to apply a dab of silicone lube to the insert and wore regular, barely there jogging shorts. The bulb-end on the insert kept punching the inside of the penis with every step. It started out as an interesting sensation but evolved into an relatively uncomfortable one before too long. By the end of the day, it was burning for a few seconds every time I took a piss. The next day, a little tender but not painful. I even ran again in the afternoon, but this time lubed the insert beforehand and wore supportive athletic underwear. By this morning at the gym, totally fine.

Aside from the self-inflicted issues from the first day, the Looker 02 remains a remarkably comfortable device. It woke me up this morning, but not from the hard shaft being squeezed by the A-ring as in the Steelheart, but by it clamping down on the bulb-end of the insert. Sometimes, it feels like this odd little hard spot inside me. Not very painful (and without the testicle discomfort the smaller Steelheart ring can give), but kind of like a mild burning.  Yesterday, I had on a pair of light-brown dress pants and noticed while sitting at my desk that the bulge from the cage was smaller (the tube is slightly shorter) but that I could make out the bars through the fabric. Not sure if anyone not expecting to see a chastity device there would have been able to discern what they were looking at, but I knew what it was.

Speaking of which, this morning while working out at the gym with our trainer, I was trying out a new pair of athletic underwear. The pouch on these is a little more forgiving, though still supportive, so that when I was on my back doing bench presses or while doing crunches on the bosu ball, I noticed that the L02 stuck out more than I recall it doing in the past. The pouch may actually have been holding the package up rather than pushing it down like my other shorts do (which, if you think about it, is probably what most guys want it to do). I remember when I first started my work-out regime that I was very concerned about the devices showing to my trainer (so much so that I asked Belle to be let out when I trained — she refused), but today, even with the trainer there and three other people I didn’t know milling about the free weight area, I just didn’t care. Had they looked (and all guys do), they would have seen what looked like maybe a short little stiffy poking up at an odd angle, but I didn’t try to hide it. I couldn’t and still do my exercises. At this point, whatever the fuck. I’m kinda over all the stealthy theatrics. I’m not going to be vulgar and drag someone into my sex life against their will, but at the same time, I’m not going to act especially self-conscious or be uncomfortable about it.

Speaking of speaking of which, the other day I spied a dude in a parking lot who, it seemed to me, clearly had something in his pants. Something unnatural. Could have easily been a chastity device. Something on the larger side, though, like a Curve. I only mention it because it’s the first time I’ve ever seen another guy in the wild who I though could have been packing.

Anyway, I have another week in the woods away from Belle in a few weeks and I’m thinking that this time I might actually be able to stay locked up. The hygiene requirements of the L02 are somewhat simpler than the Steelheart and my privacy situation might be slightly improved this time. I will definitely be giving it a shot.

Case in point. Belle likes hair on men. I don’t know where the line is (like, this dude’s probably over the top for her, but probably not this guy and definitely not this one), but luckily for me, I’m a reasonably hairy dude. Belle says the first thing that attracted her to me was the view of the triangle of chest hair that stuck out of the dress shirts I wore when we worked together. In fact, in writing that, I remember another girlfriend who was similarly focused. Guess it’s a thing then.

Anyway, the guy who cuts my hair likes dudes with little or no hair. At least, he likes them to have very short hair on their heads (and shaves his own). Unless I remember to specifically remind him not to cut it too short, he will. He also seems to find offense that Belle thinks he’s too energetic with the clippers because when I tell him to leave more on the top than he wants to, he scrunches up his face and like a jealous old drag queen and says, “Why, because Belle wants me to?” But, you know, he uses her real name. To which I reply, “Yes,” and he asks if she’s the boss of me and I tell him, well, in actual fact, she is. He rolls his eyes.

The other thing Belle likes is facial hair. I have a beard right now solely because Belle likes it. I grew it earlier in the year for her and won’t shave it off until she says I can (and even then, I’ll leave the Van Dyke-like thing I’ve had since forever, again because she liked it, but now it’s been there so long I can’t imagine not having it). At least she’s OK with me keeping the beard short. Unlike my pubes.

My pubes are longer now than they’ve been in a really long time. Maybe since I started attaching things to my body down there. I went away on my camping trip with a bit of a shag and, upon seeing the additional growth, she told me how much she liked it. So it stayed. Now, they’re noticeably fuller than usual and I am indefinitely suspending any pube trimming (except for some shaving around the edges and on the shaft, mostly for the devices I wear and because I think hair on a penis is revolting and she hasn’t expressed an opinion on it). Last night, when we were heading off to sleep, she was on her side facing away from me (as usual) and I was nakedly clutching her from behind (as usual) and her left hand happened to land right where her fingers could just touch the lock on the Looker 02 and she made a happy sound.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just felt your little bushy part and liked it.”

Warm.

Had I my druthers, I’d have probably shaved the beard off by now and cut my hair shorter and I’d have definitely trimmed my pubes down to about a 1/4″ , but I haven’t done any of that. How is this different than any person modifying how they are to be more appealing to their partner? Dunno. What I do know is, I’m doing this stuff with my hair because of her and her preferences and that lights my submissive circuits up.

EDITED to add that this, BTW, is my 800th post on the blog. For serious! Eight hundred! 

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“That’s not going to happen.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Are you sure?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“One thousand percent.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“OK, you’re done.”

Looker 02:

Any thoughts on swimming with the Looker 02? I’m curious whether it would be dangerous to have pool water (chlorinated, but possibly kind of dirty) traveling up the plug pipe, if you will…

Also concerned that the chlorine might corrode the integrated lock–I believe brass will corrode, although brass was a preferred metal when it came to pool design years ago, before plastic. What do you think?

My only other thought is that I tend to shrink to a really, really small size when swimming–I’m hoping the plug will keep everything in place until I shower, when presumably I’ll grow back to normal flaccid state. I’m thinking I’ll be keeping my suit on for that!

The Rattler:

I purchased a rattler after reading your review. Does the ball ever get stuck in your rattler? I had a situation where the ball was lodged in the top of the conic section at the top. It took a lot of beating and attempts to heat and cool the device to finally get it unstuck. Mr. S was willing to send it back for repair, but I eventually got it free. If this is normal, then I’m not going to send it back, but if mine is defective, I’d like to have it repaired. So, just interested in your mileage on this one…

Thanks!

Pretty sure I’ve been in a hot tub with the L02 on. Can’t remember if I’ve been in a pool with it, but I wouldn’t hesitate  to swim while locked unless the pool you’re in is ridiculously chlorinated. And even then, I’d probably give it a shot. Remember, stuff doesn’t craw up the insert and hang out. If the pool water in question did work its way in there, it wouldn’t be in contact with much of you and it’d only be there until the next time you took a leak. As I said in my review, urine washes the tube out and even leaks out the sides a bit. I found it to be self-cleansing system that gets flushed about six times a day.

I’ve been wearing those brass locks for a long time now and they’ve developed a nice patina, but haven’t come close to corroding. Even if they did, that’s a slow process. You wouldn’t find your shiny new lock all green and crusted shut back in the locker room after a single swim. If you’re really worried, you (or whoever is holding the key) could give the lock a test turn from time to time. But no, I wouldn’t worry about that.

Yes, unless you totally turtle and find your dick actually indents into your body, the insert should keep you situated until the warm blood comes back and fills things back out. The insert extends past the A-ring, so you’d be good. (Also, keeping your suit on while you shower is cheating.)*

With regard to the Rattler, I’ve found that whatever the little doodad that rattles around in there is, it does, from time to time, get lodged in the top point. In the case of mine, all I had to do was give it a whack against my palm to get it loose (though one time I was “wearing” it and had to perform bit of a hop on a solid surface to get things moving around again). If you’re finding that it’s happening all the time and it’s as hard to get loose as you’re saying, I might consider an exchange. That doesn’t sound normal.

* I’m kidding.

While away, Belle sent the following texts to me (though I didn’t get them right away due to spotty cell coverage):

Currently staring at my fav pic of you (FB profile of the moment) and thinking how I’d like to be on top of you right now…

You may need to stay unlocked cuz Belle needs her Thumpie bad.

Needless to say, that got me going. By the end of the trip, when I was smelling my worst and ready to go home, I kept thinking about having Belle on top and fucking me while I had her tits in my face and, while I didn’t actually play with it, I did find my hand squeezing the resultant hard-on. All the way home, she was all I could think about. I spent a night in a hotel while driving back and put the device back where it’s supposed to be, both because I missed it and know how hotel rooms are a historically tempting place for me and the penis to have some fun.

We were finally able to get down to business Monday night ( a snippet of which I posted yesterday). It was all too much for me, though, and when she finally straddled me, I found there was nothing at all I could fill my brain with that would take me even an inch away from what was happening on the penis. None of my distraction techniques worked worth a damn. The world dissolved into the twin joys of her wet pussy and awesome tits. I had to stop her twice and, the second time, she climbed off. I felt bad, but the pre-game activities had me running too hot to be able to perform satisfactorily.

After getting her off, she told me she was willing to let me have a go at the pussy but didn’t want me to get all uppity and grumpy.

“I won’t be grumpy,” I said, very quickly.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” again, quickly. Before she even finished asking me. Honestly, at that moment I would have agreed to anything she asked just to get inside her again.

It was, of course, glorious, but short lived. I came close to coming fairly quickly and she told me that was it. I need that. To always feel like I’m being contained, deprived, controlled, and left wanting more. I didn’t get grumpy the next day and maybe it was leaving me in that needy state that kept it from happening. From feeling in any way indulged. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t given me pussy for more than a month.

After, I was high as a kite and figured I’d never get to sleep. I asked Belle if I could put the device back on she had just let me take off a little earlier. I needed to feel it on me and not have an annoying tube steak constantly swelling and swaying around. She said, “Of course,” and I pushed and squished the semi back into its home and clutched her from behind, holding her body as close to mine as possible.

“At least I’ll have given you something to blog about,” she said to me as we fell asleep. Indeed.

I honestly can’t recall ever being this happy in my life.

“Do you like that?” she purred.

“Yes,” he croaked. Deeply.

He went back to sucking her tits while she continued to finger herself, hips reciprocally thrusting against her fingers. He moaned. He wanted that pussy. He wanted to eat it and fuck it and be consumed by it. Worship it. Die for it.

She brought the fingers up to his mouth again. He again sucked them clean.

“Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Desperately.

“Sit back. Watch me.”

He got back up on his knees, one inside her open legs, the other outside, and watched her sink her fingers into her snatch and rub and pinch her own nipples. And he moaned. How he craved her body. How sexy she looked playing with herself. The penis, freed from its containment specifically for this event, bobbed and throbbed and leaked nectar. He couldn’t touch it. Only she should. He couldn’t come. Only she could. He could do nothing unless she said. And what she said was to watch. So he did. And it burned.

How long had is been since he was last inside her? A month? More? How long had it been since he last climaxed? Four months? Still so long to go, if it ever happened. If she ever let it happen again.

Once more, the fingers in his mouth. He wanted her so badly and her scent and taste were powerfully received as every masculine receptor in his body yearned for her like a daisy reaching for the sun. He ached for everything she was. He was near tears because of it. And so grateful that she knew what he needed and gave it to him. The loving torment. The adoring torture. His body sang with cravings she would not sate. She knew, that’s what was best for him. For her. For them both.

Squirm. Suffer. Love.

Today, my state’s Senate will debate and vote on a bill allowing same-sex couples to marry in Minnesota. Passage is assured. Since the identical bill has already passed the House, the governor has scheduled a signing ceremony for later in the week. Done fucking deal.

I think a lot of things about this. Just last year, the forces of exclusion and hate pressured the old legislature to place a constitutional amendment on our ballot that would ban marriage equity. Rights would explicitly have been taken away from a targeted portion of the population in the state’s constitution. Even though there was already a DOMA-like bill on the books. It failed by a razor-thin margin. Today, that old legislature has been routed and the new one  has performed a politically dangerous act: They have done the right thing.

I was proud of my state when the amendment failed. I am more proud of my state today. When the bill passes, I will cry. I’m already tearing up. Fuck it. I’m crying.

Hold on a sec…

All I can think about is the thousands of gay kids in Minnesota who haven’t come out to their families (or maybe even themselves) for fear of being told there’s something wrong with them. For fear of persecution. For fear of being different. By the end of the week, they will see that we, the people, want them to know they are no different than anyone else. They will love whoever the fuck they want and we will love them right back, no matter what. There’s not a damn thing wrong with them. Not a thing.

Such a good day.

I especially like “There are people with the same hidden opinions and fantasies and together their thoughts are a silent parallel world where secrets are few.” Awesome.

Originally from Virus Comix.

Well, the pit’s kinda fuzzy, too, to be perfectly honest. I wasn’t ever going to post this anywhere, but Belle saw it and really liked it.

“Is that you!?“

Mmm, yeah. That’s the stuff, right? That’s what makes the gym worth it.

See the stuff after the jump…

It’s a crop and the water was fogging up the lens, so…fuzzy.

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

And yes, I’m still camping. I set this up before I left.

It arrived yesterday and Belle said in advance I could switch from the Steelheart I’ve been in since the beginning of April to the BT2. I wore it from about 5:00 PM yesterday until after my workout and shower this morning. Not nearly long enough to form a complete picture or write up a full review, but I have some observations:

• First of all, Mr. S markets it as the Boy Trainer 2.0, but it’s actually a Birdlocked Neo. I didn’t even know such a thing existed and thought Mr. S had developed this on their own. Not so much.
  
• It’s really big. Bigger than a CB6K (though seemingly not longer than a standard 6K tube). This makes it much more noticeable beneath clothing (even jeans) than the Steelheart. The A-ring (which isn’t really an A-ring since it’s all one piece) is quite wide and the whole thing sticks out more prominently than any other device I’ve worn. When sitting, it gets all squished up so you don’t see a tube outline like with a rigid device, but it does leave an idle observer with the impression that you’re packing something impressive.
• I lost my right nut with it last night. Woke up during the usual early morning hydraulics test not because the erection was biting (it wasn’t) but because my right nut had popped out and hidden itself up inside me somewhere and was aching. All I had left in the device was a flappy pocket of scrotum. Had to take the device all the way off to get things sorted.
• During my shower, I discovered that the device isn’t just easy to pull out from (all these devices are) but that I could remove the entire thing from my body and get it back on again while soaped up, all without unlocking it. You can’t really refer to the BT2/Neo as a “trapped-ball” device since my balls (at least) aren’t at all trapped.
• Since there’s nothing at all adjustable about it, there’s nothing I can do to make it fit me better. The openings for my nuts are just a little too big and the tube is too long. For this reason alone, I’d recommend a CB6K for someone just starting out over the BT2/Neo. Taking the short tube option into account, the CB6K has something like 40 different fitting combinations.

When I’m back from my trip, I’ll write up something bigger, but that’s enough for now. If you’re curious to see what the BT2/Neo looks like on this rabbit, I posted a picture to Twitter.

Speaking of my trip, I’ve decided to try and stay locked the whole time I’m gone. Long time readers will know I did do this over a camping trip a few years ago, but I had significantly more privacy then. I’ll have the key with me so if it gets too difficult, I’ll have a way out.

With that, I’ll sign off for the next couple of weeks…

It’s been coming back to me lately. Usually when I’m partially asleep or just waking up. Not that I have had the dream again (as far as I can tell) but the memory of it is there. Lingering. Of just being fucked. Being a hole for some big dick to use. Not romantic. Just fucking.

The funny thing is, I still have contact with this guy. Not in person. We play iPhone word games against each other. He was not only my on-again, off-again high school kinda-boyfriend, he was the best man in my wedding to Belle. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and has what is in my opinion one of the world’s perfect cocks. Not super long (above average), but thick. Nice and fat.

Anyway, yeah, it’s been in my mind. I can’t get it out. He’s a long ways away so I don’t have the risk of bumping into him. That would be oddly embarrassing. I remember one time, a long time ago, I had a dream where I had sex with a woman I work with and the next day I could barely look at her. It took me a week before I could talk to her normally.

I haven’t told anyone about the being fucked dream. Well, not until now. Certainly not that I can’t let go of it (or that it won’t let go of me). I don’t know how it is for other bisexuals in monogamous hetero relationships, but my desire for being fucked waxes and wanes. I’m waxing gibbous at the moment, if I had to guess. It’s not directly related to being horny since I’m almost always horny and I am not always thinking about the buttsex.

The obsession has led me to realize I’m almost exclusively a bottom (not just in the BDSM context). When looking at images of men having sex, I’m drawn to the receiving guy. When fantasizing about sex with a man, I’m always receiving. I never fantasize about fucking a man. Back when I had actual sex with men, I didn’t really enjoy fucking them. If I’m going to be inside someone, I much prefer women (and one in particular). I don’t know why I never really thought about it before, but I’m a total bottom in every sense of the word.

Why does any of this matter? I dunno. Just that it and this NYTimes essay on bisexuality have been bouncing around in my head. When you’re bi and in a monogamous relationship, I suppose there’s always a bit of you that’s going to be frustrated. Maybe my frustrated halves are merging. Before one of you says it, yeah, I know there are lots of ways to receive the kind of fucking I’m craving from Belle, but she’s never expressed any interest in that whatsoever. So I guess it stays where it is. Bunking with the other frustrations.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

“Yeah,” she replied, “So?”

Ungh. 

Earlier, Belle and I had discussed briefly the grumpiness I’ve been feeling when let out and inside her. We agreed that it seemed to be caused by her indulging me. By letting my lizard brain think there was a chance to come. So, she wasn’t indulging me. But fuck, I wanted to be indulged. Badly.

The kissing intensified and Belle rolled back and pulled on me slightly, indicating I should be up and over her. On all fours, I kissed her face and neck and her hand ran down my naked side, over my ass and thigh, and then back up to find my nuts. She fingered that wondrously sensitive area between my ass crack and balls, including the steel ring anchoring her chastity device to my body. The ring of power, I thought. Where the metal did her business with me. The very spot where her control over me was made real. I felt myself slip lightheadedly into shallow subspace.

Her caressing of the tightening skin felt fantastic. I moaned into her neck and pillow. Her touch was light and playful. Then, SMACK! I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t really wanted it. But not so much that I wouldn’t accept it. She could do what she wanted and right then she wanted to hurt me. She didn’t have to ask permission. I fell more deeply into subspace.

WHACK! *gentle gentle* THWACK! Repeat.

The penis yearned to become fully erect, but the steel restrained it cruelly. The dull pain of the hard ring clenched around the captured erection mixed with the pain she was causing me. I wanted it gentle but also wanted to submit to her. Each time she made contact, I collapsed a bit but raised myself back up again hoping she’d stroke me lightly from then on. I tried to encourage her in that direction.

“That feels so good,” I whispered.

PUNCH! Immediate. No delay. As if to say, Oh? Really?

That one hurt deeply. I collapsed again and groaned as the wave of hot pain radiated out from my groin. But then I raised my ass back into the air and spread my legs a bit more. She was making me crave her attacks, but Thumper Time was up.

She pulled up her top exposing her fantastic tits and their hard, fat nipples. I greedily sucked them, one then the other. The penis raged and the lizard fell back in abject dispair knowing it was a futile effort. This was about Belle completely now. She would not be getting the key. I would not be indulged.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her pajama bottoms and felt the moist heat of her pussy glowing beneath. I pulled her pants off and sank my fingers into her hot wetness. So soft, so smooth. I craved it. The craving ate at me from within. So fucking close, but so far away.

I played with her clit and sucked her tits and she slowly arched her head, neck and back as the orgasm creeped up on her. Her hips started to gyrate beneath my fingers and her breathing grew short and ragged and my hips started to rhythmically grind against her thigh. I humped her leg in my impotent fashion, raging hard-on compressed and painful in its trap, in syncopation with her gyrations. She was coming and I was fucking her in my own way. The only way I could. The only way she’d let me.

After she came (hard) I felt like a man about to reach a summit that was suddenly not beneath him anymore. She was glowing while I was left to try to restrain myself from further grinding. I moaned. I whimpered. She ignored me.

She fell asleep. I stayed awake. I do love her so much.

The toy in question is the Rattler Butt Plug from Mr. S Leather. I’ve been kinda sorta lusting after the plug they call the world’s most comfortable, which is a nice and heavy-looking metal plug, but decided at the last minute to get the Rattler because I thought the sensation of stuff banging around down there would be fun. They’re pretty much the same, except the Rattler is a tad longer (presumably to allow more volume within which to create the advertised rattles). Surprisingly, they’re the same weight which tells me the WMCBP is also hollow.

I vacillated before purchase over two things. First, I wanted to make sure I didn’t get one that’s too big. My eyes are often bigger than my sphincter and while I wanted the extra large one, I opted for the large. The XL version is the about the same circumference as the njoy Pure Plug 2.0 which I find to be just too large for easy insertion. Since one of my hopes was to be able to use this thing for extended periods, it had to be big enough to feel but not too much.

Second was the attribute that gives the device its name. Specifically, how noisy would it be? On the product page, they make is sound like it’s very evident, but the reviews seemed to vary on this. Some said it was quiet and some said it was quite loud. In the end, I rolled the dice. I didn’t want something so loud I’d feel uncomfortable wearing it in public or even around the house (see “extended periods” note above).

Stainless in the front, stainless in the back

The Rattler is, as advertised, the most comfortable butt plug I’ve ever used. The flexible rubber connector between the base and the plug itself is not so big that I feel like I’m being held open as with some other plugs. Once in place, it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere by itself which allows me to relax a bit and not be too focused on it (though I suppose that might not be the case for the smaller versions). The steel is fantastically smooth and shiny (and did you know about the thing I have for stainless?). It goes in cold and comes out hot which I find to be cool. The size is perfect for me. Just big enough to feel like I’m accomplishing something by getting it in there but not so big to give me any lasting discomfort. The Pure Plug always induces a wince while the large Rattler goes right up to that line but not over it. The length, while long for a plug, is fine, though I don’t think I’d want it to be much longer. It provides a satisfying plugged and full sensation.

It is audibly noticeable while in place, but not in such a way that in an environment like an office or on the street it would be obvious. I found that with clothes on and wearing shoes and walking around that the rattle blended in with the other ambient sounds around me. But, when at home and not in street clothes, the sound is more obvious. There’s a distinct click-click, click-click with each stride. When padding around the house in the dark and naked last night, it was really quite loud. There was no missing it.

I will say, though, that the person within whose ass it’s snuggled may not be the best judge of the plug’s volume. When in place, the plug sits either on or close to the base of my spine so some of what I “hear” is the vibration of the rattle conducting through my bones. That’s either something that will freak you out or turn you on (turns this pervert on). You can really feel this thing which is exactly what I wanted.

While it arrived more than a week ago, my first real attempt at extended use was yesterday. In the past, I’ve been able to use the Pure Plug for about 10 hours before needing to take it out. The base of the Pure has unfortunately sharpish edges which annoys me after some time and the thing is just really heavy. Having that weight bearing down all day takes a lot of effort to hold on to. The Rattler, though, isn’t as dense and the base, while larger than I’d like, is smooth. Once the plug gets past the sphincters, it sucks right up there and clicks away on the prostate. It’s not so heavy that it feels like a lot of work to hold onto and the stretchy nature of the rubber connecter give everything a bit of play as I move around (though not so stretchy that sitting on the base won’t push the plug deeper, which I like).

I was able to wear it for about 16 hours yesterday and really wanted to see what it was like to have in all night but couldn’t get past the fact that I was wearing it enough to actually fall asleep, so I took it out. This morning, after attending to my morning ablutions, I put it right back up there. I wore it to the gym and ran three miles with it. Then I came home and shoveled snow with it (yes, snow, on April 19th dontgetmestarted). I don’t know that there’s any activity I couldn’t do with it (except for maybe ride a bike or submit to a colonoscopy). On the treadmill, the sound was totally absorbed by all the other sounds that come from running and the vibration of the rattle was, too. I could just barely feel it.

Downsides. There are only two that I can think of. The base, as I said, feels large. It’s chunky and the diameter is such that I can feel it digging into my ischium (which, until I needed the word, I had no idea was called that). I think an improvement of its design would be to make it ovoid so as to avoid ischium digging (I swear I’m going to find a way to say “ischium” in a sentence before the week is out). Also, the rubber tube connecting the plug to the base is kinda grippy (as you would expect from rubber). Even silicone lube wears off eventually. Not sure how to fix that, but it’s not that big of a deal except when doing something like running three miles.

So yeah, I really really really like the Rattler. If you’re into shoving things up your ass (and leaving them there), this is one of the better things I’ve found for the task.

Last week, I recall with a certain vividness a moment Belle and I shared in our kitchen just after dinner. The kids had scattered and it was just us and apparently she was feeling frisky so she rubbed her tits in my face. Literally. Pushed my face down there and moved them back and forth. I was delirious. Made my head light and toes tingle. I may have just commented on how I had been locked up continuously since we got back from vacation and she may have said something to the effect that a) that’s not that long for me, and b) it would be a lot longer still, and c) here, let me rub my tits in your face you whiny rabbit. After she had me good and woozy, she told me to clean up the kitchen and left me swaying.

She’s off on an international trip now, but before she left she let the penis out for about 24 hours so she could have some fun with it. I was barely able to keep things under control while she rode me for an orgasm. It wasn’t the fucking that nearly sent me over the edge as much as it was the sound of her coming. Her orgasm has become a kind of release for me and I actually feel something like an post-orgasmic euphoria from it. Once she started to come, listening to her ecstatic sounds pulled a trigger inside me and my own orgasm presented itself quickly. I held still, pressed down on the small of her back to keep her from making any motion (she likes to fuck me from above), and it turned out to be nothing more than a copious surge of frustrated goo. Quite copious, it turned out, since she gave me permission to fuck her afterward and I was treated to my own sloppy seconds. I could barely be inside her without getting right back to the edge.

I was again overwhelmed by the need to come. You’re like, well duh, but in the past I would fuck without wanting to come more often than fucking the other way around, but now that I know there’s no possibility she’s going to let me, that internal denial safety is nowhere to be found and I seem to always want to come when she lets me get the penis wet. I tell her how I feel and she tells me it’s just not going to happen and I feel simultaneously a great and overwhelming love towards her (and gratitude) but I also hear the lizard snarl and growl. I fucking want to come. 

And, you know, that’s awesome. It’s way better to feel denied something I really want than something I don’t. But, just like when I was on vacation, I found myself really irritable and grumpy as hell later in the day. I was able to recognize it and kept it from being directed at Belle, but this intense irritability thing is new for me. So yeah, you can be locked up for the better part of four years and still find new things in it.

Like I said, she had me out for one day. Friday night to Saturday night. Then I had to go back in for her trip. I’ve been in the Steelheart for seventeen out of the last eighteen days and will likely remain in it (or the Looker) for nearly three more weeks (with maybe another day out for her pleasure along the way, but that’s not my call obviously). Early in May, I go away for a week’s camping excursion with friends and I’ll be out for that.

After 17 days, I’m more or less back into the groove, device-wise. It’s me and I’m it and I don’t even always wake up from the morning wood (and when I do, I like how it feels rather than being bothered by it). Yesterday, I must have been wearing an uncommon combination of underwear (silly stringy ones with hardly any support) and jeans (third wearing since last wash) because the device had what seemed like a lot of room down there and was taking advantage of it. I could feel it swinging and swaying as I walked around. I was very aware of it. By the end of the day, I was pretty turned on, but there was no Belle to enjoy that with.

This morning, after my workout, I had all those hormones pinging around inside me, so I decided to enjoy a new toy over the course of the day. After getting it all situated, I discovered I needed more and broke out the big guns. Then I put the new toy back (where it is now — more on it in a later post). Needless to say, I was quite late for work.

I wonder if you know of some good reading material, that describes FLR in a non-creepy, not overtly sex-centered way. You know, something to point your vanilla girlfriend to as a starting point. Something along the lines “Why it is a good thing to have a submissive guy in your life.”

Most of the go-to stuff like Elise Sutton or the like strongly advocate the general superiority of women, that I don’t believe really exists and might creep out a vanilla girl more than help her understand what this really is about.

Maybe you have got a blog post of you own, other then the “Dominate me” one somewhere in the depths of the posts I haven’t read yet, that might be what I am looking for. (Or maybe you’d like to write one *hint, hint*)

Hmmm…

I’ve been thinking a lot about this “why is it a good thing to have a submissive guy in your life” question Plotin asked. Like it’s same thing as asking “why is it a good thing to own a terrier” or “why is it a good thing to have DirectTV rather than cable?” And I realize I’m not sure I have an answer. And, even if I do, it’s not the answer I would have given him back when I started my own submissive journey.

It may not be a good thing to have a submissive man in your life. It may be that you’re fundamentally incompatible with someone who needs to sub to you. Maybe submission squicks you out. Maybe you are also a sub and can’t switch or find a way to be happy topping them. Maybe your concept of a male partner is ridiculously and permanently fixed to the Western archetype of the strong and silent man and nothing else will do for you. Or maybe you’re so uptight and weirded out by sexuality in general that the idea of someone with something outside the norm leaves you cold. So, right off the bat, I think I’m disappointing Plotin by disagreeing with his premiss. *sad face*

But let’s say that’s not the “you” in Plotin’s question. That that you doesn’t have any fundamental problems that keeps them from hooking up with a sub guy. Let’s say that this you sees all the other qualities in the subbie guy’s persona that makes them attractive. The way he tells a joke or absentmindedly pushes the hair out of his eyes or how he makes that funny little sound just before he sneezes. Whatever the weird alchemic magic is that makes one person want to be with another. If that’s you, then think of his submissive nature as a prize inside. And think of his exposure of that need to you, specifically, as an indicator that he feels for you the same as you feel for him. That he finds you worthy of his submission.

That’s a Big Fucking Deal.

And yes, there is a sexual element. Sure. He’s going to ask you to do things or approach sex in a way maybe no other guys has. It’s going to seem weird. But let me tell you a secret: Every motherfucker on the planet is weird. There is no normal. There is only the question of whether the person you’re with lets you in on their weirdness or keeps it secreted away from anyone’s attention, maybe even their own. So, I’d say, one reason you want to be with this submissive guy is he’s already demonstrating some emotional awareness other guys don’t. That doesn’t mean he’s perfect, but he’s got a leg up. He knows himself.

Practically, there are some perks for you. He’s going to show an incredible (sometimes obsessive) interest in your satisfaction. He’ll want to do things for you maybe nobody has before and he’ll want to be the best sex partner you ever had and, honestly, he may only get annoyed with you with you fail to take advantage of him in the way he craves. But that’s not all without cost. Sometimes, it may seem overwhelming to have to worry about his fucking orgasms or to make sure he’s obeying all those rules he seems to care about more than you do (but are supposed to be your rules). Sometimes, it’s going to feel like a lot of extra work.

But what relationship isn’t work? What anything worth having isn’t work, at some level?

That’s not to say you should let him off the hook when it comes to holding up his side of the relationship. He needs to be fair in what he wants from you and respect your own needs and desires that don’t neatly fit into his subbie worldview. And don’t imagine that it’ll be your job to satisfy all his sexual fantasies. That’s nobody’s job. He will need to mold his expectations as much around you as you need to adapt to him.

Assuming you can get all that together, you’re opening both of you up to a deep, romantic, satisfying, and fun relationship dynamic. And, really, regardless of your orientation or proclivities, isn’t that what we all want? So give the subbie guy a chance. Accept the gift. You might actually like it.

Now, with regard to what was perhaps the real point of Plotin’s question, I’ll ask my readers to suggest “good reading material, that describes FLR in a non-creepy, not overtly sex-centered way.” I’ll be curious to see what they suggest.

Maybe it is due to asymmetry of a testicles? In normal state the left one is placed higher than other one so that rotated ring can give more comfort. (sorry if my English is weird, it is not native for me)

And I was all like, huh. That’s not a bad theory. It’s not shown that way on the Steelworxx site, so I assumed it was a mistake, but avlaps might be onto something. I’ve been thinking about that off and on since.

This morning, I took a few pictures to get to the bottom of it. I’ll put them behind a jump to help maintain this site’s nominal sensitivity to being totally NSFW.

I’ve got a ton of pictures of my nuts on this site, but this one is for science! Or engineering. Or something. Whatever. What you can see is something avlaps said. My nuts are like most that hang at different heights in that the left one is lower and the right one is higher (numbers on this vary by source, but it appears as though something like 65% of men hang lower on the left — the same percentage as women who have a right breast larger then their left). So, avlaps’ theory could have merit. It could be the case that Steelworxx offset the bend to be more accommodating to male anatomy (it is the Anatomical Ring, after all).

But.

If this is the case, why isn’t it an option? A significant number of men have balls that hang in the other direction (and a few seem to have perfectly symmetrical balls — and probably preternaturally clean desks, too). You’d imagine it would be a drop-down selection on their site or something. But it’s not. Also, the bend in the ring that came with the Looker 02 seems to be in the wrong direction.

The bend in the one I wear is higher on the left side and would appear to designed for a high left testicle. But my right nut sits higher. Again, if this was on purpose, why didn’t Dietmar ask me which way my eggs were laid? It would appear as though this ring is bent in the minority direction.

Now, it’s important to remember, as I said in my review, the anatomical ring (even with the errant bend) is more comfortable than the straight ring on the Steelheart. The bend being off doesn’t seem to make a difference. I can’t tell it’s off when I’m wearing it. And it may still be possible that the bend is intentional and there to better match most male anatomy, though it seems illogical on the face of it.

I’m still planning on ordering a new anatomical ring for the Steelheart and I still recommend the option. I just don’t think, in the case of the one I wear, the bend is intentionally off-center.

What about you? If you have testicles, how they hangin’?

As an aside, let me point out for a moment that while the Amazon Kindle might be the best thing to ever happen to taking books along on vacation (maybe it isn’t, I don’t know), what it has done to my reading habits is ensure I never finish any books. If I lose interest for only a second, I just tap the little shopping cart and have a whole new book on my device in about six seconds. Not the best for those of us with attention spans formed by watching too much MTV as a kid. Anyway…

A few random thoughts regarding random passages I’ve highlighted as I’ve gotten 27% of the way through (the Kindle tell you that, you know, but not what page you’re on, so I can’t tell you where these are exactly).

When we bottom, we feel nurtured and taken care of — so, paradoxically, we may feel safer in the “dangerous” world of S/M than anywhere else.

The parallels are not exact, which I’ll get to in a minute, but this is absolutely true. A lot of people may (do) ask, why in the world would you want to give up your orgasms or wear a chastity device or fill in the blank with any sub-type sacrifice? And yes, on the face of it, it may seem strange to want to give up freedoms or basic pleasures, but in exchange I feel like I get so much more. Belle wanted me back in the Steelheart as soon as we got home last night so I was. And it was a pain because I’ve been out for so long and my body forgot what it was like to be in and it woke me up like four times when the stupid penis tried to get hard and, good lord, on the face of it, why o why do that? But I didn’t once feel put out. I didn’t once feel annoyed by it. I felt just what the authors said in the quote. Taken care of. Comforted.

Being locked up is a physical manifestation of Belle’s love for me. It’s what I need and she gives it to me. Submitting to her makes me all warm and gooey inside. It just does.

Bottoming offers us a chance to please the people we care about, with a perfect pedicure, a dusted mantlepiece, really skillful oral sex, of whatever else gives pleasure.

Again, true. And this is one of those areas where I think I’m a sucky sub. I want to do things for Belle and make her happy, but she likes to do things for herself. To the point that by the time I thickly understand she needs help, she’s all pissed at me for not. And I’m just not very creative when it comes to thinking of things I could do for her. Also, I’m a slug and need to be given a jolt to move. So, I’m bad at spontaneously seeing things and she’s bad at asking. Something we both need to work on, but me especially.

I recently suggested that she could “order” me to do things for her by saying “I’ll let you do such and such for me.” Seems like a good phrase because I do want her to let me do things for her and she’s not so good at always using the standard issue hawt domme lingo. Also, “I’ll let you do this for me” can be said in front of the Muggles and they’ll never know any D/s is happening at all. She used it once already and just hearing the words turned me on and energized me. I hope we can keep this in the repertoire.

The part where it gets kind of fuzzy for me is the “if you were a halfway decent partner, you’d want to help anyway” thing. True. But I can’t help the subbie pixie dust that gets sprinkled on stuff she “lets me do” for her. I can’t separate it. And why bother? If it works, it works.

[T]he desires we play with are not rational. The desire you may have to be utterly bottom, to be operated by and operated on by another, to be very small, to be owned: this desire is not reasonable. It is, however, powerful, and even the best bottoms have many a desperate argument with themselves on the subject of lust versus sanity.

I needed to hear that. We kinky folk seem to spend so much time thinking about this shit. I know I do. Why? Why do I want this? Why does it make me feel good? Especially the other day. But, I read that and hear, “It’s OK to be a freak and stop thinking about it so much.” I’ll try.

“Normally, you have a ‘bubble’ of protectiveness you put around yourself to prevent yourself from being physically or emotionally hurt. When you agree to top someone, you’ve agreed to put that bubble around you and your partner for the duration of the scene.”

Except we don’t do scenes. Well, not as such. She will occasionally tie me up or hurt me, and I guess those are “scenes,” but we live this stuff. While I don’t think the sentiment is wrong at all, it just highlights how the book (so far) seems to be written with a very scene-based approach and not from a lifestyle perspective. That’s not a fault as I would assume most people are looking for that kind of POV.

In any event, it’s a good example of how hard it must be being the F in an FLR. Bubble extension? Like, all the time? Of course, she can’t do that. So I need to fill in the blanks for her when she’s not feeling it. Even if you don’t buy the bubble extension metaphor, I think it must be harder being a top all the time than a bottom only because topping, to me, sounds like a lot more work. Kinda related to this next one…

If you try to make your scene look exactly like your fantasy in every detail, you’re scripting too tightly: your top will find it virtually impossible to play with you, and you are very likely to encounter interruptions and disappointments as reality stubbornly refuses to conform to your fantasy. Fortunately  you can help reality along by running the complicated or excessive parts in your imagination.

This resonates because, as I said, above, sometimes I need to fill in the blanks created by Belle not wanting or being able to be what I need her to be 24/7/365. This is not a weakness on her part at all. It’s just reality.

Also, for those guys who are just starting out or trying to find a way to approach their partners about denial or chastity or FLR or whatever, reality will not be what your fantasy is. The faster you figure that out and not define success by how closely the two mesh, the happier you and your partner will be. They cannot be your fantasy partner because they are, in fact, real people with their own needs and desires, etc. It seems to me being in a D/s relationship — or any relationship — is compromising on those areas where your partner cannot meet your expectations, molding some of your expectations around those desires they are able to partially meet, and totally reveling in those areas where they meet or exceed your expectations. Your relationship is a Venn diagram and there will always be two circles, not just your one.

As I read more of the book and find things that move me to expound, I will. For now, though, that’s enough expounding.

Belle woke from her afternoon nap (laying out by the pool can really wear a girl down) and I, laying beside her in wait, jumped her. This is in itself a bit out of character since I had no reason to believe she wanted me to, but she was already naked so I made my move. She was apparently amenable to the idea since she let me put my mouth on her nipple uninvited.

Sex comes, of course, in many varieties. Among the best and most indulgent examples of the art is the kind known as “afternoon sex.” A truly decadent derivative of afternoon sex is the “afternoon while on vacation and the kids and rest of the family are downstairs but our bedroom door is locked so it’s OK and, oh, did I mention the warm Trade Winds blowing in through the huge windows and over our naked bodies” kind of sex. That’s what we were having. I licked and suckled her nipples and traced her moistening clit lightly with the fingers of my right hand and the penis was ridiculously hard.

My assertiveness continued when I offered Belle the penis as the vehicle to her pleasure. I wanted her to fuck me. Or, more precisely, I wanted to fuck. Maybe I’d be able to hold it together, maybe I wouldn’t. I really wasn’t thinking that far out. I made the offer out of a selfish desire. She commented that that was usually her decision and, since she didn’t mount me, left it to me to figure out all by myself that I was to continue along the lines of what had already been started. Eventually, though, my fingers and mouth proved not to be enough and, rather than take the still rigid and needy meat for a ride, she had me use Pink. My Belle’s orgasm was still reluctant to show itself, so she took the vibrator from me and took care of herself while I was left to nipple duty and the penis, once filled with such optimism and enthusiasm, was left to drip forlornly all by itself.

It was during this period of my being only somewhat tangentially involved in the activity I initiated that whatever lizard-driven assertive zeal began to falter. By the time she came, the penis had lost its stiffness and I felt somewhat guilty at my previous behavior. Belle, of course, didn’t know what was going on in my head or that I was once so focused on getting the dick wet (damned the torpedoes!). As she was enjoying her post-O glow, I felt as though I shouldn’t get any more. I knew she was about to invite me to fuck her and didn’t think I deserved it. As I was formulating a way to express this, she told me I could go for a ride if I wanted to.

Which is to say, I had a choice. And I had a preference (not to). But when the time came to make the call, the lizard showed that he still had some fight left in him and pulled me, penis first, into Belle. This whole trip, my trigger has been very itchy and I was on the verge of coming almost immediately. I wasn’t just riding the edge, I was tiptoeing over the individual atoms of the razor sharp knife. The kind of edging where a simple shift in position causing the penis to move a half an inch inside her would send the whole thing over the falls. The kind where the lizard with his usual marginal influence over my actions has a disproportionate ability to make things my bunny side would rather not happen. This time, though, the lizard was in the ascendence.

Belle perhaps sensed where I was and told me to get off. Ride was over. And that command, which I’ve accepted is entirely hers to make, planted a seed of anger. I wasn’t mad at her. More likely myself for doing what I didn’t think I deserved and letting myself get so close to the forbidden objective and resenting her authority over making me stop. That little seed, fertilized with my guilt, sprouted and grew as the day went on so that by the time night fell, I was being sullen and standoffish to everyone.

In thinking about it afterward, I think my button got pushed too many times. Too many times at the edge. My hormonal load had to be sky high. Sometimes, denial can be very hard and not for the reasons that seem obvious at first.

My emotional issues came back a few days later and with greater intensity. I was making dinner and it wasn’t going perfectly. Not badly, just not perfectly. But each little imperfect thing was snowballing exponentially with every other little imperfect thing and I found myself swimming in anger.

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll just skip ahead to later that night.

Belle came to bed and was mad at me for being such a child. I was still mad, and she was there, so I attached it to her. But I wasn’t mad at her. By that point, I was mad at myself for being an ass and ruining our evening. Our conversation started out as an argument but devolved quickly into me sobbing inconsolably for being such a pathetically bad partner. All trip, I had been telling Belle how badly I wanted to make her happy and, due I think to the symptoms of the very act of my submission to her, I failed miserably.

I hadn’t cried like that or felt like that about myself in a long time. So much self-doubt. Self-pity. Intense feelings of being weird. Of being a freakish burden to her. I was afraid she’d make me come just to snap me out of it and that sounded so much worse than anything else. I felt convinced that if she had known the real me when we married she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Pathetic, really.

But I’m better now. The tears were cathartic and I’ve apologized to Belle so many times she’s told me to shut up about it. All I can do now is learn from the experience and try to realize when it’s happening again and try to stop it before it goes too far. I’ve redoubled my focus on her and her needs. More than anything, my little tantrum felt like a deep betrayal of my submissive nature and promise to Belle. Thinking about it now leaves me feeling deeply ashamed of my actions. I am profoundly sorry.

We’re leaving for home today and Belle’s said I’ll be going straight back into the Steelheart as soon as we get there. We both feel my attitude would have been better had I been locked up. Being contained changes me for the better. It’s been far too long since I’ve done hard time and I have a deep craving deep in my soul for the comfort and security of the steel. I have a week-long camping trip at the beginning of May and Belle’s said I’ll be locked until then.

God, I need it. And god, I love her for being able to see that I do.

Yesterday, after several rum rum drinks (strong enough for my face to get numb), I found myself sitting in the hot tub and asking Belle if she wouldn’t mind really hurting me. If she would be so kind as to hit me in the balls as hard as she could again and again. I’d say I had built up the courage to ask her to this, but as I said, rum drinks. I did have the wherewithal to further request that she not let me chicken out. This had to happen. Even now, after all I’ve shared with Belle, it’s hard sometimes to ask for the things I really need. And I needed this. I needed it bad.

So this morning, pretty much the first thing she said to me was, “Are you ready for me to punch you in the nuts?”

I cringed. The affects of the rum had long worn off, but I had had a restless night where pleasant tropical breezes wafting through my body hair along with hormonally charged dreams and an achingly hard penis I wasn’t allowed to touch had conspired to wake me several times. I held her close and left my hand on her beautiful curvy hip, but yeah, I cringed.

“Yes,” I replied quietly, “But I’m afraid.”

She reached down and wrapped one hand around my scrotum until its contents were held tight by the stretched skin and rubbed them with the other hand.

“Well, you need to roll over. I can’t hit you when you’re like this.”

So I found myself in that moment of fear. Of total vulnerability waiting for the thing I asked for, craved, but was dreading. She touched her target tenderly at first. The evolutionary safeties pointed out how nice that felt and asked why that couldn’t be enough for me. Shut up, safeties. This is hard enough without your meddling.

Then she hit me. Hard. But slightly missed her target. Still, it was enough to knock the wind from me for a moment and set my heart to pounding. This was for real. She was really going to let me have it.

The second time, she found her mark. My right nut took most of the blow. I gasped for breath and drew my knees up involuntarily. I let the initial wave of intense pain flow through me until I could uncoil and breath a bit. Then I let my legs fall apart. I could feel the scrotum laying open, my balls shifting inside. Then she hit me again.

Either she was swinging with more gusto or landed a little more efficiently, but this one made me see stars. My breath was locked in my chest. My legs came up again as my whole body seized and the pain from my crotch grew and grew and felt like it was going to eat me alive. God, why did I want this? What was I thinking?! Then, as fast as it had been created, the initial shockwave dissipated and I felt myself breath. The dull aching pain left behind radiated down my legs and into my stomach and felt…warm and comforting. I had barely recovered when I started to will my legs open again. I wanted more.

So she hit me again. And again. And again. The cycle repeating and my legs reopening a little more slowly each time, but not because I wanted it less. The fight between my inner kinky pain slut and those pesky evolutionary safeties from deep in my brainstem was escalating. They hadn’t broken out of their little box yet, but its hinges were straining. At least my fear was gone.

I don’t know how many times she punched my nuts, but it wasn’t enough. Or maybe it was because I was in no condition to decide. Whichever it was, I laid next to Belle, embracing her whole body, and felt the occasional aftershocks twinge through my tender balls and let the afterglow lay over me like a warm blanket.

Fucking hell, I wish she was still punching my nuts right now.

Turns out, WordPress may have been the culprit. I haven’t tried this myself, but apparently you can “find friends” through the WP back-end (I found friends through my back-end, once upon a time, but in a different way). Somehow, through the intricacies and annoyingly complicated tendrils of the social interwebs, my friend (whom I will now call J) was suggested his old high school buddy’s secret sex blog. This is odd because I’ve tried to be somewhat careful with regard to keeping my two web presences disconnected. I have a Facebook account for Thumper and me, but I’ve never connected mine to this blog, just Thumper’s. I also have separate Gmail accounts.

Ah, well. As I’ve said many times in my professional life, there is no such thing as privacy on the internet.

J asked if I was OK with him reading my blog. I thought that was nice. I basically said, well, I put it out there to be read, so if you’re game, go for it. I am, ultimately, not ashamed of this site or myself and J is an old enough friend from so far back (when all our sexualities were bumping around each other like baby hippos learning to walk on land) that at least 17% of that I write here won’t come as a surprise to him.

I sometimes (well, a lot of the time) resent the whole “code of anonymity” thing that comes with blogging about one’s sex life. This is sort of the opposite issue from the other day (or maybe it’s the ultimate symptom of it), but sometimes I wish none of this was secret. It adds a layer of emotional and mental overhead that I’m not crazy about. Now J knows. Add him to the two or three other people who know me in real life who are also aware. Funny, the sky hasn’t fallen.

The way I think about it is this. I will not advertise to anyone in my circle of friends, family, or coworkers that this is who I am. Some people do advertise and vociferously, of course, and more power to them, but I don’t like living that way. But, I will not deny who I am when the subject comes up, however it comes up. If someone happens upon this site accidentally, I can’t be blamed. I did my best to keep them from having to know this about me (there are people I know whose sex blogs would drive me screaming into the hills, so I’m not pretending everyone I’m acquainted with really and truly wants to see my penis selfies). However, if after they find it, they don’t spontaneously combust and actually start to explore this part of my life, I would prefer that they somehow make it known to me that they’re doing it. It won’t change anything about how I do this, but I’d like to know just the same.

The remaining scrap of me not embracing my nascent small penis humiliation kink would like you to know that the penis is at an odd angle to the camera and only looks non-existent. The rest of me is all like, “Oh yeah, it’s just like it looks! Really tiny!” (Though, you know, it’s not.)

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

Oh, yeah, hey! I got this blog thing I do, don’t I?

So…where were we?

I was in SXSW. Then I was home. Then I was off for another trip. Then I came home. Then we went on vacation. That’s where we are now (and that’s our view above). Too much traveling in too short a time. I was mentally and physically tired and too busy to even think about blogging, though it’s not like I didn’t have anything to say.

Belle sent me to SXSW unlocked, as I’ve said, and I stayed that way for most of the time. It’s odd being the “chastity guy” and not wearing a device like that. I’ve always said I didn’t have the self-control to be able to pull it off absent her supervision (or even with her supervision, now that I think about it), but there I was in a hotel room far away from Belle and…nothing. It was like a force field was around the penis or something. It was still there and I would have liked to play with it, but somehow it never happened. Finally, after three days or so, I was laying in bed getting ready for sleep and it started to twitch. I grabbed at my nuts and pulled on them, trying to ignore the penis, but just the feeling of its rapidly swelling weight on my arm was enough to send me scrambling for the Looker.

So, in the end, I did what I was supposed to do. I locked the penis when temptation reared its head. Also, I admit, I missed the feeling of being constrained. But, before then, I was effectively in a chastity device made only from my dedication to her control over me.

After I got home, Belle left me out until I had to travel again, but after that I was locked until we left on our trip. We didn’t bring a device with us, so I’ll remain out for at least the next week. Belle leaves town shortly after we get home, so I doubt it’ll stay free n’ floppy then.

Yesterday as Belle and I were soaking in our vacation house’s hot tub, I mentioned to her that I had more or less stopped counting days. Like, I have no specific idea how long it’s been since I came (and stop myself from thinking about it to keep it that way) and, even though there’s a link over there in the sidebar, I’m not thinking about the year and half or so left. I’m just being. Orgasmless is how I am. It’s not some little town we’re driving through. It’s freeing, in a way, not to focus on the beginning or the end.

But then I’ll find myself inside her (as I was this morning) and fuck it all if I don’t want to come worse than anything in the world. Every little cell and all the energy they contain are focusing all their wills on the penis and the feeling of the heavy PA ring sliding around inside its head and the hot, wet walls of her pussy slipping and sliding along its shaft and HO. LY. SHIT but I want to fill her up. As it was, I leaked enough to have it run down her leg when she got out of bed, but the craving cells were left wanting more, as usual.

This afternoon, she napped and I sat naked out on our balcony enjoying the late afternoon sun. The family is here, but the balcony is strategically positioned so as to be hidden from the rest of the house. There are other houses on the surrounding hills, but few appear to be close enough to be able to make out a small naked figure outside ours and, even if they could, I wouldn’t care. There is one house close by, but it appears to be deserted (not “nobody’s renting it right now” deserted, more like “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids” kind of deserted). If anyone was there, they’d see me easy, but there isn’t. In any event, this is the kind of house where I could easily be naked for a full week and nobody but Belle would know. Someday…

So anyway, I let her sleep, but when she woke up I was making moves on her which she easily rebuffed. I was good and didn’t push it, but she let me jack off for ten whole minutes. That’s the first time I’ve done that since I can’t remember when. It felt wonderful. I went right up to the edge pretty quickly and milked a solid slug of goo from the happy shaft. Then again, and again, and again. I licked it all up and let it all sit in my mouth, enjoying the flavor and feel of it running over my tongue. I was a real little cumslut and had a mouth full of the stuff before gulping it down in two swallows. Once it was milked dry, I was able to well and truly pound away at the stiffy for several minutes before getting back up to the edge again, but it felt different this time. Like a dragon rushing up out from a great crack in the earth. It wasn’t going to be denied, so I wrenched my hand away and was left panting. Looking at my iPhone, I saw I still had almost three minutes left, but I dared not tempt it.

We still have a full week in this paradise. If anything good happens, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the mean time, wanna see a picture of me in my new hat?

The first was the double-edgeness of how the internet allows us to see the entirely of possible human sex and sexuality for perhaps the first time in history. Every kind of permutation, from the most straightforward and mundane and obvious to the most convoluted and extreme and nuanced, are laid out for anyone with a smartphone to consume. If you’re like me, this can mean a dramatic expansion of your sexual horizons. Providing form to the amorphous urges and desires I’ve had for as long as my little gonads produced hormones. This is, undeniably I think, a Good Thing. I mean, were I to have been born 30 or 40 years earlier, I’m not sure how I’d have ever found out as much about myself as the web showed me was possible. I am not alone.

Of course, the opposite side of that is young people can find all the same stuff I can. Kids, I’m talking about. And depending on what part of the internet’s sex district they find themselves, they can get a very skewed perception of what sex between adults is like. Since our culture’s so fucked uptight about sex, this may be the only significant sexual education a lot of kids get. This resonates with me especially since I have a fourteen-year-old son who I know for a fact has set out on his own nascent relationship with porn. And now I’m in the position of being the sex blogger who can wax poetically (or, at least, at length) on every kind of thing in his own head but can’t figure out the best vector to take in explaining to his kid what porn is and is not. And then to redirect him towards real resources (like Scarlet Teen or maybe even Dan Savage).

The second thing that’s stuck with me is an extension of the above, I guess. How by putting our sex lives and sexuality out into the world (like I do here) helps destigmatize and perhaps even legitimize alternative deviations from the norm. Think of all the hundreds of thousands (millions, even – tens of millions?) of sex blogs out there now. Think about how the better ones (those who are more than just a thin shell of titillation and provide some insight into their author’s lives) can put a real faces on what could otherwise be stereotyped as prurient deviance. One of the tweeters in the session audience went to far as to say all this helps advance revolution. I’m not sure I’m personally interested in revolution (at least, not yet), but I get his point.

I suppose we lesser mortals separate ourselves from us the revolutionaries by the use of our pseudonymous identities. Real revolutionaries use their names. I’m a cowardly little rabbit. No, really. Another person in the audience, seeing me tweet about the session, recognized me though the blog. She readily identified herself in a friendly way and I…did nothing but compliment her backpack (which was, admittedly, pretty cool). I should have at least said hi when it was over, but passing through the membrane of this world and the one I walk around in is harder than perhaps it should be (overly-often shared pictures of my junk aside). After the fact, one of the panelists also reached out via the Twitter to say hey and let me know she’s read the blog.

It’s very, very weird to be known in such a public place (if even to a handful of people) for such a public display of anonymity. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced and it leaves me somewhat uncomfortable. Not that these nice people have made contact, but that it’s so unexpectedly left me nervous and weirded out. And for what? I’m not ashamed of how I live or what I’ve shared here. Not in the slightest. But I am, ultimately, deeply introverted. And that’s not something I can just skip over lightly. So, in the end, it wasn’t the confidently sexy young woman saying she liked this blog that was surprising, I guess, but me walking up to her and saying hi back would have been significantly surprising. At least for rabbit like me.

That’s quite enough of that. Suffice it to say, the panel was fantastic and my only regret was they couldn’t keep talking for another hour.

I’m leaving for five nights to go to SXSW and Belle’s agreed to give me a test. While I’m taking the Looker 02 with me on my travels, I’m allowed to stay out of it as long as I’m a good bunny and follow her no touching rule. I’ll only touch the penis to clean and groom it or relieve myself. No pleasurable contact. If I break her rule or think I’m about to, she wants me in the L02. This is, obviously, an arrangement that relies quite a bit on my own ability to be good, but I think (hope) I’m up to it.

I’ll have more to say on this new application of my denial, bit for now I’ll just leave you with an extreme close-up of the thing I’m trying to ignore as we prepare for our big test. The image is to scale (at least based on how much of my attention it seems to take up).

The Portfolio gets an alternate shot where you can see the near-permanent groove the steel ring of Belle’s chastity devices have put in my scrotum.

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

But I can’t. The penis is locked up. And even if it weren’t, Belle has forbidden that I touch it in that way. In the past several weeks, I’ve jacked off for a grand total of ten minutes because Belle told me I could for five minutes twice. That’s it. So, even if I didn’t have steel restricting the erection that wants to be stroked, I wouldn’t touch it because that would be against the rules I have taken to heart very seriously and promised I’d follow.

So, instead, I look at porn. Which makes the penis even more constrained in its steel cage and makes the desire to stroke it even greater which causes me to want to look at more porn which makes me…well, you get the point.

Lily identifies three types of rules:

• Ritual and Protocol – Activities and  standards of behavior in which a Dominent and submissive engage to reenforce their roles.
• Standing orders – Rules the Dominant expects the submissive to carry out on a regular schedule or when a particular situation comes up.
• Behavior modification – Rules that are intended to help a sub develop a new habit or shed an old one, with the objective of changing the sub’s life for the better or making the sub’s behavior more pleasing to the Dominant.

In addition, she says the use of rules in a D/s relationship have their own simple rules:

• They should bring you closer together.
• They should build a dynamic you both want.
• They should enhance (or minimally not detract from) the well-being of both partners.

This is, of course, eminently logical stuff. It is true. But that doesn’t mean any of it was obvious to either me or Belle as we stumbled into our D/s overlay. Some of what Lily says in the book we’ve already come to realize but other stuff I don’t think we have or didn’t realize we realized it until I read it all laid out as she has. If you’re a D or an s (or a little of both), you should read this book. I’m not finished with it yet, but am just about half way though. That’s enough for me to be able to say with full conviction that if you read my blog you’re likely to get something out of this book and should do yourself the favor. (I mean, come on. It’s only three bucks.)

As a sub, I love rules. Just thinking about them and writing that statement makes the device’s contents tingle and swell. On paper or conceptually, rules sound boring, but in practice (and specifically how the concept of being ruled percolates through my brain) they’re fucking hot. Combine this with my natural predilection towards process and definition and you get a nerdy subbie squirming mass craving order and discipline. Especially the discipline.

Belle doesn’t love rules. She’s the one who doesn’t measure the ingredients to a recipe and just eyeballs it (which drives me crazy) and is the first between us to do what she wants rather than what is expected. This is a natural point of friction in our foundational relationship, let alone a potential pitfall in our D/s overlay. Without thinking, it makes me want to say I don’t really have that many rules, but after some reflection, it turns out I do have more than just the one. In no particular order…

• I have to wear the chastity device of Belle’s choice whenever and for however long she says.
• I’m not allowed to have an orgasm until July 27, 2014.
• I’m not allowed to refer to the penis as mine.
• I’m not allowed to use the penis in any pleasurable ways without Belle’s permission.
• I am to turn the TV off in our bedroom whenever Belle wants it off and I’m not to complain about it. (That one was my idea. I love the TV in our bedroom, she claims to hate it.)

There are a few that have become defunct.

• I used to have to ask permission before getting into bed. This one suggested that the bed is Belle’s and she decides where I sleep, but she’s never made me sleep anywhere else (like on the floor or in another room).
• I used to have to ask permission to sleep naked. For whatever reason, I just sleep naked anyway. On the rare occasion that I don’t, she asks what’s up.
• I used to have to prepare the coffee machine to make Belle’s coffee in the morning. Belle bought a fancy-shmancy coffee machine that only requires the push of a button to make an apparently tasty beverage (I wouldn’t know since I don’t drink it).

Maybe there were others, but I’ve forgotten them. We both need to be invested in rules in order for them to work and these obviously weren’t that important to one or both of us. One that I particularly like that Lily requires of her girlfriend sub is to spend five minutes a day quietly contemplating their relationship and then to text her when she’s done. This is kind of like my desire to have to thank Belle every day for acceptance of my submission. It’s a difficult thing to stay in the subbie state of mind and a daily reminder, even something so simple, is appealing to me. Also, vocally reiterating my position is a profoundly energizing thing for me to do, especially when I’m not feeling it all that much.

As I said above, I’m all about the rules. I love them. I know I loved them long before Belle loved them (or at least appreciated them). When she really took charge of the device and when and for how long I’d wear it, it made wearing it ten times more appealing to me (and it was already appealing). That’s when it became a rule. One that she set and I follow. Same for her recent investment in my denial. Now, we both own that. Her commitment to the rule that I won’t come for another 520 days (it’s true – look it up) makes not coming so much more profound for me than back when she’d fuck me all she wanted and if I came it was my problem. I want to follow her rules. I want to obey. But I’m only a man, after all. You keep fucking me, I’m going to come eventually. It means a lot to me that she wants me to succeed as much as I do.

Same goes for the “no playing with it” rule. I was out this past weekend and that fact kept waking me up (as a hard, sensitive penis will do) and each time the first thing through my mind was that I could not touch it. I’m choosing to interpret “playing with it” to mean no pleasurable touching, not just jacking off, so I have to be very careful not to grab it just because it’s needy. In any event, that one simple rule that you would have thought seemed pretty obvious for us has resonated in me very deeply. I suspect (though I haven’t had a chance to put it to the test) that I feel so strongly about obeying her that she could leave me alone sans device and I would be good. That’s a huge difference from how I felt just a few weeks ago.

Friggin’ rules, man. They’re awesome.

I have more to say about using rules to modify behavior, but will save that for another time.

After the sex on Saturday, but before she resecured me, I told her how guilty I had been feeling about taking advantage of the time she lets me out to jack off (yes, I did manage to get some in). This is a new feeling for me. In the recent past, I’ve assumed that if I was out it was more or less a free-range penis, assuming I didn’t come. But as we’ve been having all this fantastic sex lately, the idea of seeking this pleasure without her knowledge or consent hasn’t sat right with me. Maybe it’s the copious hormones produced by all the edging and psuedo-ruined orgasms and the low-grade blue ball tenderness I’ve been sporting, but I was feeling very much the need to be backed into a tight little submissive corner. The penis is hers, not mine. I can’t just do whatever I want with it. If it’s out, it’s out for her. This is a fact. There’s no such thing anymore as a time out for good behavior. I get out for a specific purpose and it’s not to jack off.

In any event, the rule now is I am not to play with the penis at all except when specifically allowed to do so by Belle. Seems like an obvious kind of rule for someone in my position to have, but I’m not sure it’s ever been so explicitly stated by her before. At least not for a long time. Just thinking about it now makes the tube pack tight. I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be if I’m left alone with it in an accesible state.

After clearing that up, she produced the Steelheart. I had to put it on while she watched which is very hard for me to do. It puts my assembly skills in a race against the penis’ hydraulic system with only my brain trying to run interference as an ally. I did manage to get the tube on and the increasingly fat and solid meat shoved up in there and in place so she could slide the lock home and turn it in its slot, but barely. As soon as she removed the key, a deeply satisfying warm wave of submissiveness washed over me. In an instant, the steel tube merged with its contents in my mind and I was seemingly as I was always meant to be.

We went to the gym after and I ran for four miles on a treadmill with the Steelheart heavily swinging between my legs. I’ve been in the Looker 02 so much recently that I forgot what the dense steel monolith of the Steelheart felt like. Not at all uncomfortable. Actually somewhat comforting. A subtlety different mindfuck than the lighter L02. Also, I had to reacquaint myself with the sensation of shifting meat within the tube. The L02′s insert keeps the meat inert and unmoving while the PA fixing in the Steelheart allows some shifting. The penis gently bumped against the inside of the tube with each stride.

That night, my new little nympho wanted another orgasm. I had my doubts that it was even possible considering the number she’s had this week and the one she had had just that morning, but she was feeling the itch and it’s my job to scratch it. After lengthy ministrations by me and Pink, she eventually called the effort off. I couldn’t get her more than 85-90% there. I felt defeated. There were a couple of times I thought she was going over, but it didn’t happen. She packed Pink with her on her trip so she’ll not be denied should the urge strike again while she’s gone.

As I said, I had a hard time sleeping again last night and am very tired as I write this. The lack of sleep is aggravatingly non-specific. Sometimes, it’s because I’m too horny and I know it and I can’t stop imagining things. Lately, though, I’m just too alert and aware. And every time I shifted in bed, the Steelheart would heavily flop to the other side. On my stomach, it was a hard, dense presence between me and the mattress. On my back, it would pull the whole package down between my legs. I was never alone.

But it wasn’t a total wash-out. I did get about four hours sleep again, though the morning wood made the last couple pretty restless. A benefit of the L02 is that it rarely wakes me in the morning anymore. Belle’s back tomorrow night late. I’m looking forward to not sleeping next to her again.

I told my Belle Fille last night while making dinner that I really needed some quality time with her again before she left. Sunday mornings have recently been a highly reliable time of the week where the lack of job, kid, or trainer obligations coincide with an increased energy level on her part. If she’s not on the rag, I can usually depend on some kind of bunny lovin’ before we start our day. But, this week, she’ll be leaving and the hole her absence leaves both in my heart and schedule has been hard to accept. All I really needed was to feel her come to sate me until she gets back.

Happily, she wanted to come. And, it turned out, a bunch more. She unexpectedly stripped down leaving me to discover her nakedness. My usual state when going to bed is to be naked, so we basked for a while in the sensations of the full length of one another’s skin pressed against each other, with the small exception of the well-packed steel about midway down.

“What if I unlocked you?” Hell, yes. What if? Oh, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease unlock me. And she did. I shall remain unlocked until she leaves or feels I need to be in again. I am a spoiled rabbit.

My Belle has a long refractory period. Girls don’t usually have to recharge following orgasm like guys do, but my Belle is special. So, going for three orgasms even in six days would be a challenge. But, it was a challenge I was happy to accept.

After the penis was released, we laid beside one another some more, this time with a hard and poky member between. Her hands on the penis was heavenly and I realized how well she’s used the device to manipulate my desire for her recently. Note that I’m perfectly happy being manipulated in this way. I said as much to her.

“I love how this makes me feel,” I breathed out between kisses, “I love how this makes me act toward you.”

“I love how this makes me feel,” she replied through her wonderfully full and fragrant lips, “I love how this makes us.”

Yes, exactly. Sacrificing my orgasm and free access to the penis in exchange for a stronger and more intense emotional bond seems a bargain in my book. I never ever want to be anything other than totally sexually controlled by her.

She climbed on top of me and guided the rigid meat home. The heat and ease with which it slid in made me gasp as she settled down to business. But this wasn’t the usual fuck for her. Instead of quickly finding her rhythm and riding me to a relatively quick orgasm, she lingered. Slowly moving up and down of the shaft, luxuriating in the sensation of being penetrated by her cock. There was no rush. There was no reason. This was about the ride, not the destination.

“I’m acting like you,” she said about half way along, meaning this was fucking for fucking’s sake. She had no motivation other than to enjoy it.

I soldiered along. Sucking her tits, nibbling at her neck, running my hands down her back and over her ass, I tried to contrate on everything other than her gyrating hips and the pussy between them and the part of me the whole kit was enveloping. I wanted to go for however long she needed me to, but I don’t think I made it longer than eight or ten minutes. The thing that finally got me (what can almost always get me) was what she said. She repeatedly told me how good I felt inside her using language her mother would not find acceptable. Thing is, it’s really hard to cultivate a nascent small penis humiliation fetish when your partner tells you every chance she gets how awesome she thinks your erection is. So yeah, I had to stop.

But it was just for a moment. She rolled on her back and told me to fuck her instead. I did as commanded as best I could, withdrawing at least three times to clench back an impending rush of semen. Twice, I managed to keep it in, but once I didn’t and thick slug of the pungent goo landed on the sheets. Regardless, I went back in because she wanted to feel me in there.

As I fucked her, she was constantly moving beneath me, gyrating and reciprocally thrusting and generally really getting into our sex like a hormonal coed. I found myself feeling oddly non-subbie. Yes, she still owned my orgasm, but I felt like I owned her. She was my woman. I cradled her head while slowly fucking her, one hand in her hair, the other holding her jaw. I nibbled, kissed, and cooed at her. I felt like my larger male frame was shielding her. I could feel my ass muscles flex and contract as I repeatedly claimed her with every thrust. My fucking woman.

It was weird. I haven’t felt that in a while.

One more close call in which I leaked inside her caused her to push me off. She still hadn’t come even though we had been going at it for a half hour. This is highly unusual. Even more that she was at an impasse as to what to do next. She wanted to come but couldn’t figure out how.

Sensing that she needed me to take a little more control over the situation, I said, “Can I go down on you?”

She purred at the suggestion at first but than said, “But you’re in there. You don’t like that…”

“I love it until I come,” I reminded her before heading south.

Her pussy was open and soft from the fucking and smelled and tasted like both of us. I eagerly tucked in and lapped up whatever juices I could, swallowing repeatedly the ample supply. I can’t tell you how much was her and how much was me, but it was all heaven. I reveled in the messy, sticky, humid and heat of her. As the minutes passed, I found myseld determined to make that pussy come if it was the last thing I’d ever do. Eventually, she did. Intensely. Electrically. But I lingered. As soon as her clit’s hypersensitivity had passed, I rubbed my whole face in her. I deeply inhaled her scent and could feel a powerful masculine response from a deeply encoded place. My fucking woman.

As I got up, I rubbed the excess moisture from my face all down my chest and stomach. Like I was using her essence as war paint. I wanted her everywhere on me. I didn’t even ask before reentering her and I continued to fuck her, slowly and gently, long after she came. It took a while, but the submissive resurfaced and I started to feel guilty for claiming such indulgence without her consent. She didn’t seem to mind, though. It wasn’t until she was pinching my nipples with all the force she could muster and biting my neck (leaving faint yet obvious monkey bites), that I crested one final time. Our long, wet, sticky, smelly and wonderfully glorious weeknight lovemaking session was over.

Well, for her. I was trapped in the hormonal spin cycle and could feel the entire night sleeplessly stretched before me. This time, though, before it got too late, I downed a couple of Tylenol PMs and was able to salvage four hours of very weird sleep. Weird in that my body chemistry pushed me in one direction while the pharmaceuticals pulled in the opposite direction.

Eventually, sleep. Then, too early, wake. Now, tired. But happy.

It’s not just physical, though it is that. I often reach over to her in bed at night and everywhere I put my hands feels different (in much the same way I feel like a different person almost everywhere). And it’s driving me kinda nuts with desire. Luckily, these same changes seem to be simultaneously improving her outlook on our physical relationship. We had some of the best sex we’ve had in a long time last weekend (I’ll get to that in a minute since that’s why most of you pervs are here in the first place) and I can’t necessarily peg all of it on mutually inclusive positive body images (in that, she’s more comfortable with herself as I am and we’re both a lot more into each other’s new selves if for no other reason than the novelty of having hotter new spouses), but I think that’s a lot of it.

More than anything else, I’m very proud of all the work she’s putting into this, whatever the motivation and whatever it means in the bedroom. She’s healthier, happier, and helping to set a fantastic example for our kids.

So yeah, the sex. Oh, man.

For some reason, it made me think of the first night Belle and I had sex in which I didn’t come. I remember very well how amped up I was and how it felt to have all those hormones pumping around and a wet, hard dick and the exact opposite of that usual drowsy post-orgasm feeling. Belle, who was deep in the “well, if this is how you want to do it” phase, laid next to me and stroked my inner arm and tried to help me down off my high. Didn’t work, as I recall, but it was really nice of her to do that.

Saturday night, she let me out of the Looker 02 for easy access and, like last time, the penis immediately started to get hard. It did that “snake in a can” thing where, as the device came off, more penis came out than seemed possible to fit in the little cage. I started to kiss her and, since she responded to that, started to feel her up. I didn’t really think it was leading anywhere serious, but next thing I knew, she was pulling her top off and I was sucking on a nipple.

Of course, none of this was planned and there were no discussions beforehand so I wasn’t really sure, now that there was actual sex happening, how she wanted to come. I was doing a fine job fingering her and she really seemed to be liking it so I just kept going figuring she’d tell me what she wanted sooner or later. At about that point, she started to stoke the penis. Not like seriously jacking it, but since I hadn’t come in a month and was pretty liquored up on the hormones anyway and had my hand in her fucking hot wet snatch, it didn’t need to be serious jacking to get me lathered up.

“I think I might need to fuck you,” she said. I love it when she says that. I love it when she needs to fuck me. But she didn’t just yet. “Roll on your back.”

“Uh, OK,” I said.

Then she went down on me. Seriously, go back real quick and read this whole blog and I bet you won’t find more instances of her blowing me than will fit on one hand. But there she was and doing a bang-up job. Thing is, I’m not sure I’ve ever come from a blow job. Maybe once a long time ago. It feels really nice, but it’s not a way to get me off (like I get off anymore). But this time, maybe because of the stroking and maybe because of all the aforementioned preconditions and maybe just because her mouth felt really fine bobbing up and down on me, I started to think, “Holy shit, I’m actually getting close here.” Like, not about to come close, but more like hey, I’m in the neighborhood, mind if I drop by kind of close. Luckily, she stopped.

“I want you to go down on me.” Don’t have to ask for that twice. Her pussy was glorious. I inhaled her pheromones and anointed myself with her juices and licked and lapped and went to fucking town.

“I still might need to fuck you,” she told me. This concerned me because I knew the hard penis I was laying on really wasn’t up to the task. I was cruising very close to the edge and feeling her ride me with her bucking hips, tits in my face, would likely wipe me out pretty quickly. But it never happened. Turns out, she came hard, my head clamped between her thighs and my hair grasped in her fist. I didn’t want to leave, though. I rubbed my face in her pussy before moving north.

Then, I got to fuck her. A lot. It was fantastic. I won’t tell you all about it because there’s not a lot to tell (and I already have so many times already), but she felt So. Fucking. Good.

So anyway, I was turned the fuck on, as you might imagine. She gave me a blow job, I ate her out, I got to fuck her for like 20 minutes, all on a Saturday night when things like this hardly ever happen. Unlike that very first night, though, this time she hardly gave me a notice. No arm stroking. No TLC. She just rolled over and let me stew. Definitely now in a “so this is how I want to do this” phase. So awesome. I love her so much.

But it wasn’t over. The next morning, more of the same. This time, though, she finally got her fuck. It was one of those times when I was a thousand miles away from coming and then suddenly found myself on the cusp. I stopped and withdrew and she didn’t do what she normally does which is just keep fucking me and not really care about my orgasm in search of her own. This time, she told me it was OK and rolled off. We finished her off with Pink. After she was done glowing, I apologized for my shortcomings. Even though I didn’t really think I had earned it, she let me fuck her again. I thought about how she stopped when I got close and didn’t force me to do what I really didn’t want to do and the usual surge of emotion and gratitude that normally rises up in me while inside her and not allowed to come doubled then doubled again.

God, I was near tears, I felt such love. Not love. Devotion. I wasn’t going to come because she wasn’t allowing it, not even by accident. I don’t know. I can’t really describe it, but I felt like she really and truly owned and cared for my denied state as much as I did. And it was like my heart was trying to swallow us both up. I fucked her as deeply and gently as I could, frustrated yet again that I can’t go any deeper than the average little penis allows. I wanted to fill her up on the inside and totally envelope her on the outside.

She let me stay out until after we went to the gym that morning, but then I had to go back in. I don’t think I was out more than twelve hours. And now she’s going away Sunday for a few days on business and I’m totally crushed. I want her. I need her. I love her. My Belle Fille.

All soaped up and nowhere to go…

Followers of The Portfolio snuck a peek at this shot last week.

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

Cooling down after the gym, tending to Tumblr. You can tell since the contents are pressing against the bars.

The companion piece for this.

More HNThumpers here. Read all about Half-Nekkid Thursday over at Osbasso’s.

Belle was funny when she let me out. She was obviously pretty excited to see the device emerge from under the covers.

“I like it when I lock you up and I like it when I let you out,” she said, “For different reasons, obviously.”

Her genuine excitement and the way she’s so well embraced her position over me makes me a very happy bunny.

As I was saying, I fell asleep wanting inside her and woke up in pretty much the exact same spot. As soon as we were both awake, we went right at is like a couple of teenagers. Her snatch was wet and her nipples were hard and she came riding the stiff penis in no time. Jesus god, she felt good.

Then she let me go at it. It was one of those times where I could fuck her and fuck her. I only got close to coming once and, as soon as that passed, I felt like there was no way I was getting close again. I fucked her long and hard and drenched her in my sweat. Faster, slower, deeper, shallower, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I get really emotional in these moments. When I’m fucking her and loving the feeling of her sliding up and against the hard shaft after having felt northing really pleasurable there for nearly two weeks. With every stroke I feel a deeper gratitude to her for allowing me to be as I am. To having so well taken the responsibility of a denied husband to heart. I came out and said it while balls-deep and kissing her full, delicious lips.

“I’m so grateful to you,” I said, breathy and low.

“You should be,” she replied, calm and clearly.

And I am, of course.

I’d still be fucking her right now it if she hadn’t told me the ride had to end. And I’ll be damned if, as soon as she said it, the penis didn’t start to go soft. Fucker’s pretty well trained. I rolled off of her wet, sweaty and smelling of pussy. Ah, bliss.

The only real downside to all this is, about an hour later, my nuts really started to ache. Especially the right side. My balls felt tender, swollen, and heavy. Surprisingly, I don’t get blue balls all that much anymore, but they were full of their unnecessary product and complaining loudly. I told Belle it was nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix, but I won’t be having that before I go back in. No hot n’ soapy access to penis meat for me.

• “Locking something solid to our bodies to imprison a part that has no bone structure is an engineering mystery.” Hell yes. Stupid things are like octopi in their ability to squish and squeeze into and out of the darnedest predicaments. If only we had penile bones. He recommends a PA for the ultimate chastity experience.
• “I don’t recommend buying an expensive device early on,” warns Dalton, “Wear a few of the more affordable devices to find what works and what doesn’t work. You will end up with a more satisfying experience, or should I say less satisfying.” Amen, brother! Testify!

He also has a Madame Dura Lancelot which, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I find distractingly intriguing. Lucky him. In any event, he includes images with links of nearly all the major players in the cock locking biz, notably excepting my German friend.

Via Metalbond (who called me a “muscular bisexual guy” and made me feel all funny inside).

In any event, she let me out for a few days which gave us the chance to have the sex I talk about about back on the 14th. Since then, I’ve been back in the Looker 02. For the active boys in the audience, I can report than I’ve run about 17 miles since then with little to no discomfort or issues. I’ve found that if I wear my normal compression underwear while running and apply a dab of silicone lube to the L02′s plug prior to starting, everything’s cool. Nice and supported, but not too much.

The other morning, I was still in the L02 when Belle reached over and started to touch me in a way that indicated we’d be having some action.

After she got the meat nice and compressed, I said, “I bet you wish I wasn’t locked up.”

“You mean you wish you weren’t locked up. I’m just fine with you in there.”

Yeah, she was right. I was trying reverse psychology on her. Didn’t work.

Still, she gave me and the constrained meant lots of attention. I was on all fours, half over her on her back, kissing her mouth and her neck while she gently caressed my tight balls and perineum, letting her fingers trail down my inner thighs. The penis was quite tight in its confinement, both within the cage and clamping down on the invading plug. She had me get the sack o’ nipple clamps from my nightstand and attached a moderately grippy pair of rubber coated aligator clips. Pulling on the chain, she’d force me into position so that slapping my nuts was easier for her. Nipples searing, cock raging, balls stinging and aching, on all fours like the moaning horny pain slut I am.

Then I reached down to finger her pussy and…

There’s that moment when you realize your historically vanilla wife is obviously getting off pretty hard on locking your meat into a steel vice, clamping and twisting your nipples, and knocking your nuts around like a little punching bag. That she’s obviously doing all that for your benefit, but also for hers. And that, since it’s not all for you, that means you have less control over how and for how long it happens. She’s actually getting off on your discomfort. There is more than just a little bit of a sadistic streak in there somewhere. 

All of a sudden, it went from a series of perfunctory actions to an exchange. She was hurting me because I liked to be hurt, but also because she was enjoying hurting me. And that, in turn, made me want to show her how much hurt I could take. It made me want to give her my discomfort and suffering. As much as she wanted.

Eventually, the clamps came off (with the sudden rush of blood and searing pain that always goes along with that) and slapping stopped and she let me sorta bask for a little while. The cage, however, did not come off.

By the time I started in on her, her snatch was hot and dripping wet. My fingers slid and slipped freely over her clit as my mouth hungrily devoured her nipples. My fingers, though, were not enough. She had me get Pink and the little vibe thrummed to life (with its new batteries) as I rubbed it over and into her wetness. She came weirdly and intensely. It wasn’t like normal, but still apparently good. I still wanted out of the Looker. I still wanted to feel that hot pussy from the inside. But that wasn’t up to me and it was not to be.

As I sat up to leave the bed, the sticky and sweet clear nectar of my desire shot from the hollow titanium shaft in the penis.

I admit, I’m fortunate because I’m able to hire a professional to kick my ass several times a week. Even on those days when I don’t want to drag myself out of bed, I do because there’s a dude I already gave money to waiting for me at the gym. I’m not, therefore, a typical example. But. What I can say is, trainer aside, I know I’ll be active for the rest of the time my body will let me. Every day, I crave the activity. I crave the treadmill or the weights or just sweating. I want to run more than my legs will take me. I want to lift more than my joints will allow. If only I had started doing this ten years ago. Or twenty.

And that, I guess, is the thing. I’m 45 and might be in the best shape of my life right now. Maybe. I’ve been in OK shape before, but it’s likely that, big picture, I’ve never been fitter. I have actual muscles in places that have never shown them in the past and my resting heart rate is in the mid to high fifties (not bad – could be better). I’m losing weight, though not as quickly as I’d like. Still, it’s heading in the right direction. Problem with the weight thing is, all the charts say my maximum healthy weight is 188 pounds or so. I’ve been that low in my adult life, but I was a skinny punk. I can’t see how muscly me will ever be that low.

But whatever. What I’m saying is, if you’re unhappy with your appearance or are tired of feeling tired and old, now is the time. Not tomorrow. Not next month. Now. It doesn’t matter what shape you’re in or your age or anything. Start small. There are pretty cheap of gyms out there (like Snap or Anytime) and you can go in and do lower-impact stuff like the elliptical or bike for half an hour three times a week. Eventually, you could work with a trainer (they usually have them on staff) even if it’s just once a week (my trainer has several once-a-week clients). If you do that and stick to it, I guarantee your body will start to ask for more. Your cloths will start fitting different and you’ll see a new person in the mirror and people who see you every day will say something. It works. You’ll go from being tired for no reason to being tired from making yourself move. That’s the best tired there is. And even so, you’ll crave more.

And, since this blog is purportedly about sex, I’ll tell you it improves that, too, no matter how you take it. Belle seems especially affected by my arms now. So much so that I am now certain when a chick sees a muscly guy and tells you, “Well, I don’t like men with too many muscles,” they are probably lying. Also, when you and your partner are feeling more energetic and overall better about your self images, chances are you’re likely to want to be naked together and do naked stuff.

The final thing I’ll say on this topic (for now) is to recommend the Nike FuelBand. In a nutshell, this is a little gizmo that measures your activity during the day (like the FitBit  or Jawbone Up or a few others) but it also does some kind of proprietary mumbo jumbo that turns that into something called NikeFuel. Basically, a point system. It’s not the conversion of activity into points all by itself that’s genius. The genius part is the accompanying iPhone app and/or website. You can set a daily goal for yourself and make tracking your activity level into a game. I have, in the past, made a point to go to the gym because my Fuel was too low and I wanted to keep my string of achieved daily goals in tact. In fact, even though my calves were aching last night and I really should be taking the day off today to recoup, I’m thinking of doing it again today because I’m only at 816 at 1:00 and I need 3,500 before the end of the day and have managed to make my goal six days in a row. Anyway, there are a bunch of devices on the market now like this and I’ve tried several of them. The FuelBand is the only one I really like (even though it doesn’t track sleeping like the FitBit or Up). It syncs wirelessly with my phone and looks good on my wrist. I like it so much, I got one for Belle and my son, too.

One of the greatest, most perfect slogans in the history of marketing and advertising is Nike’s “Just Do It.” You can’t even understand how good it is until you take its advice and get up off your butt and do something. Listen to it and you’ll be thankful you did.

Preachy bit over.

Did you cry? I would have.

No, of course I didn’t. Haven’t you been reading this blog? I only would have been disappointed if the number had been less than 24.

Mykey said,

I suspect belle will miss a good hard fuck before then.

And…

I’m surprised she doesn’t miss that more given it used to be one of her favourite things. What’s changed in her mind?

Belle had a pretty good fuck on Sunday and I didn’t come. Pretty good fucks don’t have to have a guy coming at the end. With regard to Belle changing her mind, I don’t think she has. My demonstrating that she can fuck me and get her orgasm while not leading to my own is, I think, the one thing that makes this long-term stuff possible. Even now, she’s said it’ll be July 27, 2014, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be way more shattered about screwing up before then than she will. I think she thinks not coming is my problem, not hers. As long as she gets what she wants, it works for us.

He also said,

If you continue with an orgasm once a year and a half, I will have more (delicious) orgasms in the next month than you will ever. Just thought that idea might tickle you!

And yeah, in a fucked up way, knowing others are having all kinds of orgasms while I get none does make me itch a little inside. Irony. Or just a demonstration of the “divide by zero” nature of orgasm denial. At some level, logic fails.

Atone and I had an exchange about whether it’s better to know the length of time involved or not. Is staring down the throat of 566 days worse than just knowing it’s not today or tomorrow or next week?

I think this is going to be different for everyone. Personally, I don’t think of the period of denial as something I have to get through before I get to come again. It’s something I get to go through before I have to come again. And it’s so far away I can just live my life as though orgasms are not something I’m ever allowed to do ever. The one on Saturday was a good example of whatever conscious or subconscious combination of discipline in my head allows me to get fucked by her and not come “rounding up” and letting it happen since The Day was so close. If The Day is fixed in time off over the horizon somewhere and not a nebulous “not right now, maybe soon, maybe not,” for whatever reason, I find it’s usually easier to keep the natural response to the fucking at bay. That’s what works for me and us.

In a way, I think we’ve finally come to the logical extension of where we’ve been heading for the past four years. I like myself better when I’m not having orgasms. Both my attitude and affection and behavior are more Belle-focused and I feel more alive and invigorated with my arousal on a hair trigger. I think Belle likes me better this way, too. I have wanted and hoped Belle would take my orgasms away completely for a long time. And now, essentially, she has. Combining the period we’re in now with the one we just finished (and assuming there’s no accidents along the way), I will have had only two orgasms in over two years. If that turns into one every 18 months or so or none ever, I’m really OK with that. I can’t explain it and I’m not going to say it’s the logical extension of how everyone should play this game, but I couldn’t be happier with where we are right now.

The number was 30. That ends up being Sunday, July 27, 2014. Five-hundred fifty-nine days from today. Unless I screw up somewhere along the way.

“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh.

That was yesterday, just a week into the period of indeterminate length (at least a year but possibly two) in which I won’t have any orgasms. It’s as close as one can get, I guess, to living without them at all and that’s fine by me. I did want to come and would have if she had said I could, but she’s not going to let me. Not one more time this year. Not on purpose.

The last time I came prior to the weekend of January 5th was way back around July 4th. The date she had picked out for me to come again was January 6, but it actually happened accidentally the day before. She let me out that Friday from the Looker 02 I had been in nearly continuously for about six weeks. She may have been more turned on by the idea of fucking me than the other way around and on that Saturday, she climbed up on me, all naked, hot, and wet. It had been so long and we were so close to D-day that six of the seven seals I try and keep up in those situations were hanging loosely on their hinges. It was, for both of us, a very fine fuck. I was in OK shape until I felt her start to come and I found myself completely unable to hold back. Belle just felt so fucking good bouncing up and down on the penis. Turns out, I was a dead man from the moment she got up there.

The orgasm I had was unlike any I can recall having before. The typical male orgasm, if you graph it, has a period of build-up followed by a relatively short “oh my Jesus, here I come” segment followed by the back-of-the-head-eye-rolling spurting bit and finishing with the crash and sleepy-time moment of zen. This one, though, had all the grace and elegance of a tactical nuclear device. One second, I wasn’t coming, the next I was. And it was so intense and overwhelming that it pegged every sensor in my body. I tesned up solid and couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t as much distinct spurts of ejaculate as what felt like a jet of goo painting the walls of her snatch. Then, as soon as that was over, I could feel – distinctly – each and every one of the nerve endings on the penis head firing little individual needles into my cerebral cortex over and over again. I had to ask Belle to stop moving as it was all too much for me to bear.

So yeah, I came. Explosively. If I only get a handful more in my entire life like that, I’ll count myself a lucky man. But, it wasn’t the day, so she made me do it all over again the next morning. This time would be different. I’d be on top and, according to a previously negotiated agreement, if she hadn’t come before me, I would have to make her come by eating her out. Honestly, she wasn’t even trying to come before me. I was up there doing my best and all she was doing was letting me. As I got closer, a little voice in my head reminded me that no matter how hot I thought it was at that moment, I really wasn’t going to like the clean-up and that was sufficient to hold me back a bit, but the inevitable inevitably happened and I shot a healthy load deep inside her.

She gave me a few moments to bask in which I started to feel the revulsion of what was about to happen. I rolled to her side and started to finger her, hoping to get her into that and avoid my end of the bargain, but no dice. Actually, that made things a bit worse since I could feel how slimy and loose I had made her. Accepting my fate, I got to work, though I couldn’t allow myself to open my eyes and concentrated all my attention on her clit. Sensing this, she brought her hips up making me slip down and allowing my tongue to slurp in a gob of my revolting seed. God, the smell of it. Finally, she came and I was out of there in a flash. My own ejaculate was all over my nose, cheeks, and lips and ran down my chin.

And that was that. Last one of the year. I’m still not sure how she’s going to pick the date in 2014 on which I’ll be made to come again, but obviously, there’s no rush. We have all of 2013 to get through yet.

The Onion: Investigation Finds Appalling Conditions In ‘Cosmopolitan’ Magazine Male-Pleasure Laboratory

What I will talk about today is the relative popularity of male chastity as measured through the internet-using public’s interest in my CB-6000 Tips and Tricks page. I published this nearly four years ago now and, as you can see from the chart below of that page’s daily views, it’s never been more popular.

Over the years, it’s been linked to by a number of sites, but most of its traffic is through search engines (and almost all of that is Google). It’s become almost always the second-most visited page on my site (after the homepage) on any given day. The only pages that get close to beating it on a day-to-day basis are the HNThumper posts which require jump links to protect the vaguely SFW status of this site.

Anyway, the first little spike you see there from October 2009 was due to a link to the page from a UK BDSM forum topic on chastity. It was just blips like that, though, until July of 201o when Sarah Jameson had a link to this blog on every page of her site. That drove traffic in general up, but to that page specifically. I don’t know why traffic drops off in April of 2011. It could be because Sarah eventually removed the link to this site from hers or it could have been because I took the link out of this site’s main navigation. In any event, it spiked again in October 2011 when the Locked Men website added the page to their Link menu. After that…I don’t know for sure.

This could just be the power of the Google algorithm (trusted sites on certain topics linking to others) finally kicking in or, more interestingly, it could be a higher general interest in the practice of enforced male chastity. Personally, I think that’s the cause. There are a crap-ton of people doing Google searches on the CB-6000. One sure way of knowing would be to graph the sales of A.L. Enterprises (the maker of the CB-6000) against the page’s traffic, but since they’re a private company, we’re unlikely to know anything about that.

At the end of the day, if the still-growing popularity of the Tips and Tricks page is due to an increase in general usage of male chastity devices (and since nearly everyone seems to start with the CB6K nowadays), I would count that as a Good Thing. I’ll be curious to know if anyone else with similar types of content (like Aarkey’s FAQ, or Tom’s site) are seeing the same thing.

Edited to add this screen shot from Google. Don’t know why I didn’t bother to look at this before, but the Tips & Tricks page is in the fortunate third ”organic” position (as opposed to paid) behind the CB-6000 website and Amazon. So, that explains a lot.

The thing is, it’s too tactical. Too in the moment. It’s transitory. What I feel isn’t transitory. It comes and goes (really, waxes and wanes, swells and subsides), but it’s not insistent. It’s not the kind of thing a regular guy would feel which would make him jump his bed partner or, if that was unsuccessful, go rub one out. I don’t do that. The end of horny is orgasm and I rarely (and even more rarely soon) do that. 

But I don’t know what word to use instead. I’m not sure we have a word for what guys who are not allowed to orgasm feel. Yes, horny, but so much more. So much deeper. This morning, I was dressed to go run in my shorts and had not yet put my track pants over them (since it’s freaking cold here and while I run on the treadmill in my shorts, I don’t get from my door to my truck to the gym in them). I hopped up on the kitchen counter and watched Belle make another cup of coffee and she came and stood between my legs and ran her hand up my thigh and under the flimsy running short material. I dropped my face into her neck and smelled her and whimpered. Then, as I was about to leave, I went into the bathroom where Belle was applying her makeup to give her a kiss. Her lips were full and plump and tasted of sweet coffee and I kept kissing her and pressed my body against the length of hers and wrapped one knee behind her where I also slipped my hand so I could finger the cleft above her ass and I just kissed and kissed her and felt a swelling both physically in the device but also emotionally in my chest. I left weak-kneed and light-headed. I fucking wanted  her. I wanted to feel her hot, wet snatch and suck her tits and hear her ragged breathing and tense up as she did and feel my own pale reflection of her release as she arched her back and came under my fingertips. How does “horny” capture that?

Being horny is about craving the thing that makes you not horny. I crave that on some level, but more than that I crave the craving. I crave the feeling that sinks its structural elements and builds a foundation on “horny.” The thing I don’t have a word for. The thing that makes me love being essentially orgasmless.

Yeah, I need a new word.

I had a weird dream last night. I don’t often have sexual dreams, even in my denied state, but this one was. I was at some office or meeting place or something with this other guy. I knew who he was (we had come together) but he wasn’t anyone I know in real life. The people we were there to meet never showed up or were late or something and next thing I knew he was unzipping his pants and shoving my face into his crotch. This didn’t seem strange to me in the dream but I know it wasn’t a common occurrence in the dream world since I was pleasantly surprised to find his dick was on the large side. After I started sucking him off, I found myself naked but never actually got undressed (you know how it is in dreams). The dude I was blowing was fully clothed which had me in that awkward spot of being the only locked-up naked dude giving blow jobs in the conference room (not again) and, of course, the door was open. I think I saw a secretary or something sitting outside in plain view of what was going on. He kept trying to reach down and grab the penis on me but it was locked (in a CB-6000, oddly) and I was trying to hide that fact and keep him from finding it out, but he eventually did get his hand on it. I could feel the heat on my face as I blushed but I kept sucking him. He didn’t say anything. Somehow, I knew he expected to find it that way. Then he started to shoot his load with his cock shoved deep down my throat so that I swallowed it all but didn’t get to taste any of it, but my gag reflex must not exist in dream world since there was none of that. And then the dream ended.

Second thing…

I was in the gym with the trainer dude the other morning and he was having me do bench presses on the Smith Machine, but these weren’t normal presses. He wanted me to push the bar off my chest and toss it up away from myself and catch it on the way down (on a Smith, the bar is on rails so it wouldn’t have gone flying across the room or anything). I had never done this before and while it seemed perfectly safe, I put the safety stops up so that on the odd chance I missed or couldn’t hold the bar, it wouldn’t land on my chest and crush my ribcage. That’d suck.

Anyway, the thing about weight training with another guy is whenever you do something like that, you get shit for it. Like how I wear gloves to work out in because I don’t have nasty callouses on my hands or put the pad on the bar when I do squats so it doesn’t press directly onto my spine. But, you know. It’s all in good fun. Or something.

So yeah, I put the stop in and the trainer dude gives me shit. Something like, “Oh, you need some protection or something? Is that like your chastity device?”

I shit you not. He says this (or something very close to it). And I think a couple of things at once. First, what the fuck sense does that make? How do you go from the built-in safety feature on a weight machine to a chastity device? Second, even with my odd bulges and weird muffled clanking, he’s obviously not ever caught on because then he said…

“You know what a chastity device is, don’t you? You know what it’s used for?” in a tone like he’s telling me some kind of clever dirty joke or something.

“Yeah, I got a pretty good idea what it is.”

You might think that was some kind of passive-aggressive way of him saying to me he had caught on at some point, but trust me, he hasn’t. No clue.

In any event, I did the weird presses just fine. No crushed bones or anything.