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Posts tagged ‘relationship’

May 10

14 Comments

Bean spilling

I have a couple friends with whom, regardless of time apart, I can fall into conversation with as if we did it every day. One is the boy I kinda sorta dated during high school and after who ended up being the best man in my wedding and the other is a friend I met though work twenty-some years ago (and to even be able to write a sentence with that kind of time span in it freaks me out). Last night, she was in town on business. It happens somewhat infrequently, but we ended up having a lot of one-on-one time. I suppose I should come up with a name for her, but I can’t think of anything at the moment so she’s just “her.”

So anyway, we spent a lot of time taking about our personal lives and how they’ve evolved over the years. Both of us happened to fall in love with married people at about the same time, though the outcomes were very different, so there was much catching up and comparing of experiences. Also, after I first moved to this city, I wrote a lot. I did this because I was an angst-filled youth in a new town with no friends and not even a TV. There was time, so I wrote. Not unlike how I write now, but that was all fiction while none of this is. I used to send it to her to read back then. This was, of course, before the internet. We’re talking wood pulp marked with petroleum-based ink being manhandled by government workers.

In any event, she asked me a couple times if I still wrote and I gave sort of mumbling noncommittal answers. She even suggested I was writing in secret which was either very perceptive or a lucky guess, but she eventually pressed me by saying, “You don’t even have a blog or anything?”

“Oh, I have a blog.” What? How are you going to explain this, bunny boy?

I guess I thought I’d just say it was secret and leave it at that, but over the years we had shared very personal details about ourselves and she was having none of it. She wanted to know what it was about and why was it a secret. I told her it was started immediately after Belle and I had issues in our marriage and it detailed our relationship. She pressed some more. I said it also described my evolving sexuality. She said she knew I was queer and I said there’s a lot more to sexuality than gender preferences. Finally, I told her reading the blog was not unlike cracking open my head and peering into the most intimate and private part of my brain. And that there were explicit pictures. Of me.

She was perturbed. She felt I was keeping it a secret, even then, because I didn’t have faith in her and didn’t think she could handle what she saw there. I tried to explain that it was not that at all. That not everyone wants to know the kinds of things I say here about the people they associate with. I have many friends whose sex life I’m not even remotely interested in and frankly don’t want to hear about. My reticence in divulging the blog and its contents were out of respect for her right not to know everything about me. But she wasn’t buying it. Then I got nervous.

It’s not that this blog is embarrassing to me. It’s not. Really. This is who I am and I have no issues with it, but there are only two people I know of who know me personally who also know about this blog (and I’m married to one of them). Widening that circle is sort of a big deal. Also, it’s not just about me. Belle’s in here, too. At this point, I maintain my secret identity mostly out of respect for her.

In the end, I spilled my guts. Everything. We discussed my perversions, we discussed the relationship dynamic, we talked hardware, she knows I haven’t come in a month. The sky did not fall. There were many questions and I was forthcoming with answers to them all. We have very different life perspectives, but we respect one another and (I assume) her opinion of me is safe (but there are almost 700 posts here for her to read, so we’ll see how that goes).

So now there are three people who know (you know, not counting the teeming horde of you guys who come and read my drivel).

Apr 23

9 Comments

Harry gets it

I was cruising the chastity blogs and found myself on Harry Haversackers’. A couple of weeks ago, he had this to say:

[I]s teasing really on the same level as put-it-in-her-pussy-and-blow-your-load sex??  I guess everyone has to answer that question for themself.  For me, at this stage in my life, it’s better.  Way better.  The daily fondling of my balls as my cock throbs in its cage, or experiencing frequent blow jobs that end just a nanosecond before it’s too late, is miles ahead of a “not tonight, dear” and a quick kiss before rolling over to go to sleep.  And the bonus is that I wake up as horny as a goat every morning!  No post-orgasm refractory period.  Best of all, there has been a steep rise in intimacy between Mrs. H.  We get along better, kiss more passionately, cuddle more, and she offers me her magnificent tits to fondle way more often…

Yes! That’s it exactly. I don’t suppose it’s possible for someone who hasn’t lived like that to understand, but being brought to the point of orgasm over and over and then staying there for a long time is way more enjoyable (for some of us) than going all the way to squirtsville. But why? And if it’s so obvious, why doesn’t the whole world practice orgasm denial?

I think some of the answer is earlier in Harry’s post where he mentions his age. It’s not universally true, but it does seem like most couples doing this are in their forties or later. Most have been married a while. Not all. Most (if, at least, the blogs and forum comments are to be believed). The problems in our marriage were evident, but I didn’t realize how much my libedo had changed prior to being denied. According to the internets, this process can start for men as early as their twenties, but usually begins in their thirties. I recall being in my late teens and fucking like an absolute rabbit (hence the nickname). One day, my girlfriend and I had sex like six times. I remember how bad it hurt just to come (and how it was all muscle flexing and no ejaculation by that point). It was, in a word, awesome. Who doesn’t want to feel like that?

I don’t know how it is for women, but a man’s constant companion from puberty on is his sex drive. It becomes part of a guy’s identity. It helps produce (or is the product of) high levels of hormone. Testosterone is like a wonder drug. Having it means feeling alive. Not having it means feeling old. So, in a way, denial of orgasm is a way to at least feel like you did in your teens and twenties. It makes you young again.

Layer on top of that how it can rejuvenate a relationship. The denier can become the center of the denied’s universe. If, as Harry points out, the one being denied is only being denied orgasm, not the affections of the denier and not other sexual stimulation that in that past might have ended with mutual orgasm. I can’t recall where I read it, but I recently saw someone again use the word “celibacy” to describe a denied man’s condition. No! A thousand times, no. Locking up a dude and then making him celibate is like a fucking prison sentence. Locking up a dude and then teasing him unmercilessly is heaven.

Which gets back to the point Harry made that I agreed with so much. The one that can be controversial even in the community of orgasm denied men. The one that, in a way, punctures the premise of so many wank stories. Being teased and left wanting orgasm is actually better than fucking and being allowed to come. Being denied is the point of the exercise. It makes you feel like a kid again. It makes you desire your partner more. It can make any number of things better. Orgasm is fantastic for about 6.2 seconds, but when it’s done, you’re human again. You can lose interest in sex. It can remind you that you’re getting old. It’s kinda like kryptonite.

I’m sure I’ve said things here that will annoy some. I’m sure to some I sound crazy or too strident or…I don’t know. Too something. I’m not saying (and have never really believed) that living with orgasm denial is the One True Way. But is it a way with some fantastic benefits. I think the world would be a better place if more couples tried it.

Knowing what I (and, apparently, Harry) know now, I’d never want to go back to living permanently with free orgasms again. They’re just not worth it.

Mar 18

3 Comments

It’s a team sport

Friday night I was laying in bed flipping and flopping and trying to ignore the fact that I was working up to another sleepless night due to an overabundance of hormones. It’s been a hard few weeks since Belle and I had so much time apart, but also we’ve been in a period where she’s not been too interested in me or what I’m able to do for her (i.e., little or no sex). It was three o’clock in the morning and I was stewing.

Apparently, my tossing woke her up. When I realized this, I started to talk to her about it. I told her that the game we play is a team sport. It requires two to work. I can’t do it by myself. Also, our relationship is enhanced by the hardware that’s attached to the penis, not defined by it. If she didn’t feel interested in engaging, then we didn’t have to do it. Indeed, “setting and forgetting” has the opposite affect on me. I didn’t feel closer to her, I felt more distant. And while I wasn’t trying to guilt her out or sound angry, I could feel myself moving in that direction.

She told me to take it off. She also told me I could come. I was simultaneously sad and excited. I couldn’t really discuss the prospect of having an orgasm rationally. My hand was even shaking. She unlocked the lock and I disassembled the steel and jerked off next to her. When I came, it was a relief. I could feel the wave of sleep-inducing chemicals wash out of my brain. After wiping the goo from my body, I found sleep.

The next morning, she wanted to fool around. Surprisingly, I had it in me. I offered to let her come by riding the stiff penis, but she opted for the usual fingering. She said she’s been “trained” to want it that way. Funny. We’ve both been trained. After she came, I fucked her to completion. Two orgasms in less than six hours. The decadence.

We’re not on a total break. I’m not allowed to come without her, but I’m not sure if that means there’s any limit to how often I can come as long as she’s there. Even though I’d done it twice in the past day or so, I want it again. I’d be doing it right now except she’s not home. The device will be off for at least two weeks since we leave next Saturday for our Spring vacation.

In any event, things might get a little quiet around here for a while. I’ve got some HNT queued up for Thursday, but other than that, I’m not sure what else I’ll have to talk about.

Mar 14

9 Comments

Mailbag

Catching up on some mailbag items…

Thanks for a great website.  I am about to start a long time in a CB-6000 with PA cable on Thursday.

I do have an odd question for you….

I need to wear an athletic cup for sparing in martial arts.  I know I can get the cup over the device but I suspect if I actually get kicked, the device and cup will work together to rack my balls badly.  Any advice on this?  (I wear the cup to prevent damage to my balls… I can handle some pain… I THINK!)

I know for a fact that one can wear these devices during physical activities, but I wouldn’t wear one while participating in a contact sport. A device ties all the squishy bits together in a way they weren’t designed so that as one part moves in one direction during a hit and another part might move in an opposite direction, they’re forced to move together and that might be bad. Especially if you’ve got a cable running through the whole set up that fixes the end of your penis in place with a ring that’s been punched through your urethra. Man. I get creeped out just thinking about it.

The cup might offer some measure of protection, I suppose, but if it’s like ones I’ve worn there won’t be much room in it for all the extra plastic. If it were me, I’d figure out a way to take it off while kicking and being kicked.

I have recently found your blog about male chastity, actually, I have recently found out about male chastity.  I have been looking for a way to spice up my marriage a little.  I have been married to a great wife for 14 years now, 3 kids and the spice is not what it used to be.  We are both just starting to get back into wanting sex more.  Although, she likes missionary only.

I am researching this as much as I can and like to talk with normal people that are doing this and what I can learn from them. Bringing this up to her and getting her to go along with this will be difficult, so wondering if you have any suggestions.

If you’re asking about how to approach her, I’m not a very good resource. I don’t really have a strategy because when I first found out about enforced chastity I immediately shared it with Belle and we were on our way. We were in a particular place in our relationship where I felt comfortable sharing this interest with her. The best advice I have would be to explain that normal people really do do this. Really. Yes, it’s kinky, but not like taped up hamsters. It’s pretty tame, actually.

If you’re looking for things to share with her, I more or less think Sarah Jameson’s stuff is pretty good. That’s not a bad place to start. She puts things in a way that might appeal to the average woman and, as long as you can see through her submissive male bigotry, is reasonably practical. Obviously, I think the stuff Tom’s written is another great resource. Belle in particular has appreciated his point of view. Don’t forget Dev, either! I also think the gang over at the Chastity Forums are pretty levelheaded. That’s another good place for you to go as you figure out a strategy on how to move forward with your wife. Finally, I’m asking others to add their two bits and/or links in the comments. I know there are smart people reading this who could help.

Good luck!

I read your blog because you are an honest writer.  You don’t pull punches or shy away from topics that um, well might embarrass others.  However, having said that, you may not want to tackle the subject I am about so ask you to write about, because it’s so full of emotional, political, and even religious focus.  The subject is homosexuality versus bisexuality. I have commented before that I find the idea of gay male sex a real turn on, but I have never felt a “man crush” for any man. Conversely, I have had many a crush on woman that don’t physically turn me on.

I also am one of the many guys that finds lesbian sex a huge turn on, but other then the fact that its usually two very attractive woman doing things that I like to do with a woman, I don’t know why it turns me on.  Just watching two beautiful women kiss drives me crazy.  And although two guys can talk about lesbian sex with zero social stigma, you rarely hear two guys talk about gay male sex.  Kind of a double standard there, I think.

So, that double standard got me to thinking that bi-sexuality might not have the “falling in love crush” attached to it, but rather is simply physical pleasure derived from both the physical act and the “taboo” nature of the act. (not unlike anal sex for some). The hardcore homosexual organizations talk about bisexuals as a cop out or as an out right denial of sexual identity.  And mostly they take this position for political reasons.  They seem to be saying “We’ve worked so hard to get our rights established in the law, we don’t want any of you fence sitters screwing it up, come out or shut up.”  That’s why I think that bisexuals get this horrible rap of being confused or closet homosexuals. I call bullshit on that. I’m not confused, I like the same kind of sex that homosexuals do.  I just don’t feel like I could fall in love with someone and have a “pair bonded” relationship with them.  Thank god there is strap-on sex…the closes thing I’ll ever get to gay male sex!

Help me explain this better can you?

I spent many years of my life essentially paralyzed by my seemingly contradictory impulses with regard to sex. I kept trying to find a paradigm I could fit myself into and it just wasn’t there. By the time I decided to stop obsessing and get on with things, I was approaching thirty. I lost most of my twenties, sexually speaking. It is a waste of fucking time.

Fact is, people are going to feel how they’re going to feel. Kinsey nailed it back in the Forties with his scale. Human sexuality is a fluid continuum that simply cannot be diced into orderly blocks to suit anyone’s moral preferences. We are all born this way, to one degree or another, as are many other animals. There is no right answer and its society’s problem that this isn’t recognized and accepted, not ours.

I’ve recently started reading a book called Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality. Here’s a snippet from the Amazon description:

Like the typewriter and the light bulb, the heterosexual was invented in the 1860s and swiftly and permanently transformed Western culture. The idea of “the heterosexual” was unprecedented. After all, men and women had been having sex, marrying, building families, and sometimes even falling in love for millennia without having any special name for their emotions or acts. Yet, within half a century, “heterosexual” had become a byword for “normal,” enshrined in law, medicine, psychiatry, and the media as a new gold standard for human experience.

I recommend you check it out! It’s an eye-opener.

The following came from a comment to another post.

This is from http://chastewench.blogspot.com/ and has nothing to do with your recent post, but it does describe my exact situation and I hate it! Any suggestions you might have that would smooth out the ups and downs?

Rollercoster

Various blogs suggest that the way to motivate a man is to keep him desperate. It’s so scarily true.

A few days of tease and denial and I’m ready to do anything the Empress of my cock says. Yet once I’m sated it’s difficult to relate to why I was so malleable and so desperate to be dominated. It’s like looking at another person, one you don’t quite get, and finding yourself a little shocked by their antics. Thinking ‘was that really me?’

The peculiar thing is the more I’m denied, and the nastier she is, the more I crave submission, discipline, humiliation, abuse, pain. The desire to be dominated builds and builds. The constant forfeit of control and state of excitement is so addictive. Crazy as it sounds it’s almost as if the more she denies me the more a part of me wants it to continue. The more I sink into submission.

Then she lets me cum and then buzz is gone. I’m left bemused, shaking my head at my own behaviour. Having to remind myself that I signed a contract, try to rationalise putting the chastity belt back on, when I no longer really want to be locked away, I’m no longer in the mood. Then with a snap of the lock the ride starts all over again.

So, so familiar with that particular ride, as would be anyone who’s found themselves locked up for more than a single play session. It gets to the question of what is a true submissive. If one only feels that way after being denied (or feels it much more strongly), then is that person a real sub? Honestly, I leave that question to others to decide. For Chaste Wench and for me and for many others (maybe even you), we like that eventual feeling of profound submission. The part where you can’t get enough of whatever she’s dishing out. As far as I’m concerned, you need at least a seed of submission in you somewhere for it to grow, but really, if it feels good, who cares?.

The cratering of desire for all this chastity play after orgasm can’t be helped (assuming it’s a pleasurable orgasm). It’s chemical. Once you come and the brain releases its happy juice into your bloodstream, it snuffs out the other chemicals that drive the need to be locked and disciplined and abused. There really is no way around it, other than either always ruining the guy’s orgasm or never ever letting him have another (which is rife with its own set of issues). After the spurt, you feel kind of embarrassed for ever wanting to wear the thing in the first place and wonder what all the hubbub was about. If you have a blog like this one, you go back and read things that, even though you wrote them, you have a hard time feeling.

Personally, my advice would be to enjoy the ride. When it’s up, it’s the best fucking thing in the word (or at least feels that way). When it’s down, you simply need to take solace in the fact that, given time and a secure device, all will feel right in the world eventually. For me, assuming it’s just one orgasm, that’s about 2-3 days. Hardly any time at all!

Feb 20

3 Comments

Three colds and a period

It’s been more than two weeks since Belle and I had any kind of sex. First, she had a nasty cold. Then she got her period and, a few days later, I got a cold. Not the same cold since at about the time I started to feel OK again, she got my cold. It’s all conspired against us.

So, this is one of those periods of time when a guy like me starts to question his predicament. I was fortunate in that there were few times in which I actually felt the “otherness” that sometimes attaches to the device. When the facade slips and my brain recognizes it for what it really is: A foreign object locked to my body. It’s the worst when it feels unnatural. That just acerbates my stewing and foul mood. For the most part, though, it’s cloaking device has worked and I’ve accepted it as part of me. Even with how it flips and flops and is constantly pulling in the opposite direction of the rest of me. Even in the morning when the nocturnal plumbing it at its maximum. It hasn’t woken me up more than just a little in days and, to the extent that it does, I simply roll over and go back to sleep feeling comforted by my constricted state.

When things are like this, when there’s no sex and it’s been more than a month since I came and my brain continues to buy into the fantasy that the penis is made of metal, I slip into this weird void space. I start to feel like this other kind of thing. A being that’s simultaneously sexless yet instantaneously aroused. Not a man. Something we don’t have a word for.

There may be some of you out there reading this with your free-range dicks getting all hard and turned on by that kind of talk, but it’s simply the most difficult thing about long term enforced chastity. Not being able to have a proper hard-on, not being able to wrap your hand around it, reaching down to find only an unfeeling mass of hot metal and a sack of fat testes as your only genitalia. Having nothing at all to do with your need for any kind of sexual release (even if its hers). When it’s bad, it’s really bad. It turns you into something you have no experience being.

And I have been feeling that lately. It’s not Belle’s fault and I don’t feel any anger at all toward her for it. It’s just how things are. Last night, though, as we watched TV in bed, things changed somehow. I actually do have experience being this way now. With a little inadvertent help from Belle, I found my way out.

It started with her hand on my ass. Sometimes, we lay in bed and I put my head on her midsection and stretch out in the opposite direction. Last night, in that position, she slipped her hand into my pajama pants and lightly stroked my ass. This kind of simple affectionate touching is like catnip to a guy in my position. It simultaneously excites and soothes my hormone addled mind. Sometimes, when we’re in bed with the Sunday paper, she strokes the hair under my arm. Same thing. I could let her do that for days. I literally can’t get enough of it.

Anyway, hand stroking ass cheek. Two hours later, it was bed time and I was really worked up. Lights out, Belle asleep, and I’m feeling sorry for myself. Not mad. Not annoyed. Just sorry. After several near misses with sleep, I realized that I wasn’t in the void space anymore. The hand on the ass had been enough to stir me and I was coasting on the sleepless wave of chastity, constantly almost asleep only to be made more alert by a momentarily filled tube reacting to a new sexual vision or the turning of my body to a new position and feeling how that made the device press into me in a different way. I was fucking horny.

On the one hand, I really wanted to sleep. I was tired, still recovering, and have an appointment with the trainer this afternoon. I need my rest. On the other, I was excited and even happy to be back in frustrated horndog mode. As annoying as it was, it’s why I do this, after all. It’s the feeling I’ve come to associate with good things. It’s my natural state.

Somehow, I eventually did fall asleep. Sometime between midnight and one o’clock. Then, awake with Belle’s alarm at quarter to six. Not much, but enough. Just happy to be out of the fog.

Jan 6

5 Comments

My mantra

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

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

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

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

Good bunny.

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

Jan 5

5 Comments

Forever

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nov 5

10 Comments

The fruit of my frustration

The deal is, I’m really fucking horny. Soooo fucking horny. And Belle’s on the rag. God. Damn. It.

This morning, we were rolling around in bed (read: I was holding on to her while I rolled around in frustration), kissing her face and putting my hand on her ass and generally going mad. I got pretty worked up. So much so, that a little later I had one of those patented long-term chastity precum eruptions that ran out the tube and was all cold, sticky, and wet down my left leg. There was a gooey patch on the inside of my pajamas and the tube’s end got all crusty as the fruit of my frustration cured.

How long has it been? August 25th was the last day I came. So thats…seventy-two days. And at least twenty-six more to go. Will she make me go an even hundred? Conveniently, the first Saturday in December would be exactly that.

In talking about her decision to let me go free once December rolls around (as in, free to do with the penis whatever I want whenever I want to), we agree that we’re both a little nervous. Part of me hates the idea. Not so much the coming a lot part, but the lack of all that coming being connected to her. If she told me she wanted me come every night for a month, I’d be cool with that. If she said I could come whenever I wanted as long as she was present, I’d be cool with that, too. For the past three years, I’ve essentially lashed my sexuality to hers. Pushing off from that will be hard. And somewhat sad, to be honest.

Then again, there’s another part of me (the part that’s so fucking horny) that can’t wait for twenty-five or however many days it will be so I can come again. As soon as I knew the plan, it felt like the penis was pushing against the inside of the tube wanting to get out. Everyone knows what’s coming now. The stasis field has been broken. Come on, already! But no, Belle says I will wait. So here I sit.

The other day, while tending The Portfolio, I found what I think is a picture of the world’s most perfect cock (with this one being a close second). Unsurprisingly, it is not entirely dissimilar to this one yet is totally different than the one currently secured in my pants. It inspired me to reignite a fiction project I had been working on involving my sexual fantasies. I had, in a sense, found my leading man. I’ve mentioned before how hot and bothered stories involving cuckolding get me so, of course, that’s what this is basically about. One of the main issues I have with written porn (besides the numbing redundancy of so much involving chastity and denial) is when it veers into the unbelievable. I get that it’s fantasy and all so a certain suspension of disbelief is required to enjoy it, but when it gets ridiculously silly, I lose my interest. So, in coming up with my story, I decided to try to lace just enough reality into it to ensure the reader can empathize with the happenings. Also, for me, what the characters are feeling is almost as important as what they’re doing. Maybe more important.

And now it’s gotten a little out of hand. I have so many scenarios and ideas in my head and am spending so much time trying to put myself in the shoes of each of the three characters, it’s become less a short story and more a novella. There’s a chance it’ll never get done, of course. The problem I’m facing is when I write a scene down, I get so turned on doing it that I have a hard time focusing my thoughts and making my fingers type the right keys. I may be too horny to write porn. Regardless, I posted a small (yet critical to the story) snippet to The Portfolio last night.

It’s interesting to me that I can post pictures of my junk online but writing down my fantasies like this makes me feel more vulnerable and nervous. I guess that’s because it’s a peek into my head while all the HNT in the world doesn’t give you much more than a surface view. I know that the story is from the part of my fantasies that will remain firmly planeted in Fantasyland, but maybe that makes it even harder to reveal.

Oct 31

4 Comments

Thirty before sixty

“It’s nearly November, Thumpie.”

“Yeah…?”

“November’s your month.”

“No it’s not. You said December was.”

Pause. “I did?”

“Yes! You said December!”

I pulled up the relevant blog entry on my phone and showed her.

“Oh,” she said, “You’ve still got a ways to go, don’t you?”

Fuck.

–

We were out Saturday night on a date when that exchange took place. We saw a movie and were having a late dinner (by Midwest standards). Apparently, she forgot I was being punished. Had I just gone along with it, I’d be coming in a matter of days. As it is, 30 more days before it’s even an option.

After we had that misunderstanding resolved, she surprised me by telling me that once I come in December, she plans on leaving me out for up to two months during which time I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want. She says she recognizes I’ve settled into a nice place living without orgasms and she likes what I’ve become, but she wants to see what I’ll be like if I go back to living like I used to. As if I’m Pinocchio and she’s the Blue Fairy come to turn me into a real boy. Regardless, she says I will be locked up and denied again at some point and she expects me to be whiny and complain about it when it happens but that I will have no choice.

This news has left me with mixed emotions. On the one hand, as soon as she told me her plan I wanted immediate release. Why wait, I asked. Let’s just go now! But no, I have 30 more days, like it or not. Knowing that I will not only come in about a month but likely come a lot has got me so horny I can feel it in my teeth. She’s perfectly happy watching me squirm over it.

Then again, I admit to also feeling a sense of loss at the prospect of regaining this element of my life. When you live as I do with a deep well of desire never far away and a piece of equipment immovably affixed to your body, there’s a certain sense of specialness that goes along with it all. The device and my denial demonstrate that someone cares for me enough to take on the responsibility of tending to my sexual release. I’m not like the other boys. Once it’s off and I can squirt away to my heart’s content, I become like any other guy who can masturbate in the shower and come weakly whenever he wants. After living as I have for the past three years, I don’t ever want to go back.

Which, of course, is not to say I don’t have the raw desire to jack off daily. Of course I do. That’s nature. It’s my lizard brainstem pushing to execute its programming (and right now, it’s pushing pretty hard). But enveloping that is the belief (perhaps enhanced and perpetuated by the very hormones it produces) that being denied my orgasm has made me a better person. Once I come (and I will, a lot), this sense of “enlightenment” will evaporate. That’s the thing about denial. It’s like a perpetual motion machine. Once you start, you want to do it forever but once you stop, you barely want to do it at all.

I think what Belle wants to know is if any of my “better spouse” mojo will stick after three years of building it up or will I revert to what I was. I think I know what will happen. Knowing that she’ll eventually force me back to where I am now is a comforting thought.

Oct 11

4 Comments

Clarification

Celtic Queen, in response to my last post, left the following comment:

Thumper, this sounds like a trite question (it isn’t meant to be) but are you happier as a person now?

Put another way, did control of your sex make you unhappy?

Then Chaz added…

You state that your OK with it. I think those that say you are trained might offer congratulations, yet I get more a sense of resigned acceptance from this post. It almost has a BCWYWF feel to it. I would echo CQ’s comment. Are you happy? You say you have changed, I would like to ask is it change for the better? Are you a better husband lover friend father? “BROKEN” as a title I would take to mean your will, but could it refer to something that needs to be fixed?

As I started to formulate a reply, I realized I might need a little more room, so here we are.

Starting at the end and with the title “Broken,” that was just a play on words. I used the “broken horse” metaphor in the post to describe how I was feeling about my sexual urges and it was a reference to that. Also, as I alluded to in the post, “broken” might have been how I would have described those feelings at an earlier stage in our dynamic. I wasn’t trying to say I was broken or my sex drive was (hell no!) or we were or anything ominous like that.

With regard to resigned acceptance, I guess that’s not an inaccurate description. What other option do I have? I could rail against my confinement and the generally low level of sexual activity we’ve had lately, but to what end? To put extra pressure on her? To make her feel guilty? To suggest I want out of the device and from under the dynamic? I don’t want any of those things. Hell yes I want more sex, but the timing wasn’t right and no matter how horny or frothed up I get, there’s nothing I can do about it. So yes, resigned acceptance. Acceptance that being the object of long-term enforced chastity isn’t always a crazy pornfest type of existence. Sometimes, things don’t work out how you’d like them to. You might be able to characterize resigned acceptance as negative, but you might just as well call it a healthy frame of mind and more productive than moaning and pissing about my grievances.

With regard to the “be careful what you wish for” vibe, yeah, totally, I was going for that. I can remember how incredibly turned-on the idea of chastity made me even when I was actually in that kind of relationship. I can remember how surreally horny I used to get and hopped up on hormones I’d be. This, though, is perhaps what the long tail of chastity looks like. Once your body adjusts and the new device smell goes away, you have to figure out a way to live with it. Be careful because sometimes it’s not all that hot. Sometimes, it’s freaking boring.

Am I a better “husband lover friend father”? I would really have to let Belle answer that, but I think I am a better husband. I think I was already a pretty good lover, though now I’m not able to use the penis on her in the way I know she likes. I was already very attentive in bed. I’d say that’s a push. Better friend? No, we’ve always been good friends. Better father? I’m not sure any of this has impacted that aspect of my life much at all.

Now, am I happy? That’s a bit trickier.

CQ asked, “Did control of your sex make you unhappy?” In a way, yes, because control of my sex led me to cheat on Belle. But, larger than that, control over my sex also led me away from her as it was easier and more convenient to pleasure myself than to seek that pleasure from her. I’m not making that “masturbation addiction” argument as I think it’s crap, but had I been able to jack off at will over the past few weeks, I wouldn’t be at all drawn to Belle for my needs. And isn’t that pretty much the entire point of enforced chastity? To bring a couple together so they can enjoy sexual intimacy only with each other and not by themselves? That morning we finally had sex was fantastic even though I was fucking horny as hell and left literally dripping with desire afterward.

No, I won’t say control over my sex left me unhappy, but having her control my sex does make me happier more often than not. Nothing in this world in perfect. There are no silver bullets. Living as I do is the same. There are good days, there are bad days. There are fucking amazing days, there are god awful days. In balance, though, I am where I want to be.

So, as a coda to my previous post, I should say having that one sexual session has changed my attitude remarkably. I’m feeling much hornier and more connected to my desires than I was before. Even to the point that holding the device in my hand as I clean it makes me think so much about what it means to have it on that it fills up with chubby penis meat and I can’t flush water through it. I’ll find myself fingering the hard ring under my waistband and, again, the stupid penis will try its best to plump out.

I am denied. My sex is totally controlled. And I am so fucking turned on by that.

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