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Posts tagged ‘tease and denial’

May 23

Aaaand, we’re back.

Got back from my trip early. I wasn’t sure I could take that long in the wilderness (I was an hour from the nearest highway) two weeks was too ambitious. Maybe next time.

As expected, my privacy was very limited. There were several of us sharing a remote cabin, so I didn’t even have the luxury of a tent wall. We did have one of those pop-up camp showers, but even then it was just a tall tent with a door that threatened to flap open in a stiff breeze. Except for the random morning squeeze in my sleeping bag, I left the penis alone while there. I did have two hotel nights on each end and that first night was incredible. I was as close to the edge I could possible be. There were times when the slightest touch would have set it off. My friend (the one who knows) was surprised that I could masturbate without orgasm. As if it was impossible. Fact is, that’s pretty much the only way I do it now. The best possible outcome would be to feel as I did that night. With the penis all hard and quivering and slimy with its own leakage, my balls all tight and swollen and ready to pump…but nothing else. No actual relief. In any event, my ability now to slice the space between stimulation and completion into smaller and smaller units is, when I really concentrate, pretty amazing. Ironic that being denied orgasm puts you so much more in touch with how it happens.

On the way back, though, I barely touched it. Something about getting closer to home and likely lock-up and Belle’s control made it seem less appealing. First thing I did when getting to my room was to strip down since I do so love being naked and there were no opportunities to be that way on the trip, but that didn’t lead to the orgy of self abuse I had on the first night. Sometimes, I even had a hard time keeping it up.

Upon my return, it didn’t take Belle too long to tell me she wanted the penis back in its home. She said I might get a “holiday squirt” this weekend, but not with any certainty. I locked myself up yesterday as soon as I was done with the trainer. She patted my crotch when she got home and told me I was a good boy for making myself the way she prefers me to be. She likes that she doesn’t have to tell me to lock up, only that she wants me that way, and I do it willingly. After ten days, I admit to wanting it as much as she did.

May 11

4 Comments

Unnecessary hardness

The conversation with my friend lasted past midnight. By the time I got home, it was 12:30 and I was exhausted. I set up Belle’s coffee for the morning and plopped into bed. And laid there. And laid there some more. I cursed my hormonal state and tried to think about things that usually make me go to sleep, but no dice. Every time I moved, I could feel the penis shift or graze the sheets and the small flame in my brain would flare briefly and refuse to extinguish. Two o’clock ticked by. Three o’clock. I may have fallen asleep sometime between 4:00 and 5:00, but it was useless restless sleep and Belle was up around 5:15. That was that. Just another night in the life of the habitually denied.

Yesterday was awful. I had the trainer at 7:00 and it was the worst session since I started going. Even worse than the first few when I was certain death was descending upon me. I struggled through that and the rest of the day, slogging zombie-like though meetings and the young one’s choir concert until bedtime. As exhausted as I was, it was our last night together for two weeks. The penis was out. I was super horny. I had high hopes that she’d let me come. Unfortunately, I was grumpy.

Of course, it had been nearly 40 hours since I last slept, so the random bullshit of life was annoying me and Belle was spending a lot of time doing small things elsewhere while I was thinking about using toothpicks to keep my eyelids open. By the time she got to bed, my tone was decidedly un-bunny-like. Thankfully, she persisted until I snapped out of it. Going to bed mad that night would have created very bad juju indeed.

After some talking about my trip and a few other things (like my friend, whose new insight into our relationship she didn’t know about until then), she pulled up her top and told me I could give her an orgasm. I rubbed my face against her breasts in my sleep-deprived stupor, feeling her nipples graze against my nose and lips. Heaven.

“How do you want to come?” I asked dreamily.

“In the usual manner.”

“The penis is right here,” I pushed its hardness against her thigh to help demonstrate its proximity and preparedness.

“I know.”

“…” Gah!

“I’ve come to appreciate your other talents.”

So that’s that then. I was there, hard and unlocked, with my wife whose historical preferences strongly leaned toward penetrative pleasure, and she was choosing my fingers. My built-in equipment was redundant and not preferred.

“And you’re not going to come.”

“I’m not?”

“Nope. And I don’t want you coming while you’re gone.”

“Oh. I was sure you were going to let me come tonight.”

“I know.”

So then I got her off. The penis was throbbing but the best it got was rubbing up against her leg while my fingers danced across her clitoris and my tongue flicked across her nipple. It was painful. As her desire rose and her hips moved against my hand, palpable sensory phantoms of the penis sinking into her hot wetness flashed like bombs in my head. I wanted in her so bad. I wanted to fuck. The craving for an orgasm was ringing though me. The lizard of my sexuality roared in its cage but the rabbit was in control and, though sweating profusely, made sure I performed my part of our sexual dynamic so that Belle’s satisfaction was maximized.

After she came and while she was basking in the afterglow, I moaned pitifully with the stupid stiff penis quivering against her.

“That’s not going to move me, you know.”

“I really want to be inside you. I really want to come.”

“You’re not going to.”

After a few quiet moments, she got up to use the bathroom and left me to clutch the unnecessary hardness. I laid across the warmth of the spot where she just came trying to catch any lingering energy she may have left behind.

“Move over.”

I did and then moved back, clutching her from behind and holding her and smelling her and needing her.

“I don’t want to you staying up all night tomorrow looking at porn. You need to rest before your long drive.”

“But I like porn.”

“I know.”

I pressed into her more intently. Jesus god, the desire was incredible within me.

“You can stay there as long as you’re not annoying. If you don’t behave, I’m sending you to the other side of the bed.”

I stopped squirming as best I could. We laid there, breathing together. I was still raging inside, but the massive bulk of sleeplessness was crushing my desires, compressing them into diamonds.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for giving me what I need instead of what I ask for.”

“I know you, Thumpie. Good night.”

“Good night.”

And I slept.

May 9

1 Comment

Triple play

Belle gave me the key this morning which was a bit of a shock. I didn’t think she’d let me have it until tonight for some reason. The unexpected freedom meant I could stroke the penis while tending to the porn farm (where, by the way, I found out I couldn’t queue more than 301 images at a time). There was some dribbling but nothing approaching orgasm.

Being out and totally unencumbered is an odd feeling after sporting steel for so long. I’ve said in the past how it seems to fuse to my body and become part of it as opposed to a separate object. At least, that’s how it feels when I’m in the right place and enjoying it. Being out this morning left me feeling…well, naked. As I was putting the Steelheart away, I found an old three piece triple cock ring (kind of like this one) and decided to put it on. It’s not a long term item since the ring that goes around the penis shaft is just a little too small when the penis gets stiff, but it felt better having some metal around me (even if popping my nuts through the rings caused nuclear powered winces).

Getting dressed, I decided to go commando. It’s a treat I don’t often get with the device because it needs some support. I find freeballing for too long causes irritation around the ring, but I wasn’t wearing heavy steel today so I went for it. The unexpected consequence was a riot of sensation where there’s usually very little. The cock ring makes the penis sit up and out more than it would normally and that in turn causes it come into more frequent contact with the inside of my jeans. Along with the penis’ newly hatched sensitivity after three weeks in the tube, walking around has become an invigorating activity, to say the least, and has made me thankful for my untucked shirttails.

May 8

Left to drip

I get out tomorrow. Belle’s on another trip and she told me before she left that I’d be out on Wednesday. That’ll end three weeks of being locked up. No idea if being out means I’ll get to come, though I really hope she’ll let me get her off one more time before we’re apart again. I’m leaving for a ten day trip on Saturday and will get back just before Memorial day. It’s one of my long summer camping trips and, while I have been able to do it locked before, Belle’s letting me out in this instance. If I get to come, then it’ll be about four or five weeks since the last time (I can’t remember exactly when it was). If not, it’ll be like eight weeks before the next opportunity presents itself. I assume I won’t be allowed to do so while gone.

In any event, before she left, Belle gave me access to her snatch and the activity left me feeling pretty charged up to put it mildly. After she came, I was laying against her, my leg over hers, grinding the device into her thigh and softly moaning/whining.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said lazily.

Desperation. My nuts ached and I told her but she only said that’s how they were supposed to feel. I’m not sure the penis ever got soft before I eventually fell asleep. Then she left on her quick trip leaving me to drip. Sunday night, I tended the porn farm late into the night and had a very difficult time sleeping. Last night, not quite so bad but the penis is waking me frequently. I’m in Tumblr overload trying to load up the queue before I leave. Not sure I can get two weeks worth in there to post automatically while I’m gone, but I’m trying.

Here at the blog, things are likely to be pretty quiet for a bit. I have an HNT set up, but unless I need to post again before I leave, it’ll be almost June before I can get back to it.

Apr 30

Reentry

Getting back into the swing of things now. It takes a bit of adjustment having Belle back. I’m not able to stay up all night abusing myself and looking at porn. I’m once again locked up beyond my control, not because I want to be that way but because she wants it. She did allow me to get her off on Saturday, but I’m wanting more. Last night was spent nuzzling into her, hard penis straining against the steel. I wanted her. In no particular way. Just wanted. Her breasts, her snatch, her everything. I wanted to feel the strain of my desire against the device and at the same time wanted to thrust it into her. I wanted to eat her and lick her and fuck her, but she said wanting rather than getting was good for me. She said she had no idea how long I was going to be locked up and she wouldn’t tell me even if she did.

She fell asleep stroking the hair in my armpit. I fell asleep somewhat later, still thrumming and happy to have her there with me.

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.

Apr 19

2 Comments

Locked plugged pinched

As I mentioned, I’ve locked myself up in anticipation of Belle’s return next week from her international business trip which will also mark the return of our D/s dynamic. As I also mentioned, I’m pretty fucking worked up. It’s been something like a week and a half since my last orgasm and while normally this would be a highly frothy period anyway, the fact that my body got used to not carrying any excess hormones for a while can’t be helping.

Last night, after all the offspring where sequestered for the evening, I had every intention of going to bed as I was tired. The intentions evaporated, though, when I spent a few minutes curating The Portfolio (and it’s little brother). Tumblr led to Literotica and it’s wonderfully implemented story tags where you can mix and match perversions to your heart’s content. Many words were read. That led me to bring out the njoy Pure Plug 2.o and my six pinchy things.

Of the pinchy things, I chose the two most vicious: the alligator clips and the pervertable Old Navy clips. It was one of those nights where there was no such thing as too much pain and suffering. Starting with the alligators affixed to the very end of my nips, I graduated to the badass Old Navy clips and then to both. At the same time. In fact, the gators and two different sets of the Old Navy clips. That’s three clips simultaneously chewing on my nipples. Nipples are funny old things in that they’re so incredibly sensitive yet can stand up to a withering amount of abuse. In general, my nipples are a little larger and bit chubbier than average so there’s plenty of surface upon which to affix nasty biting things. The pain was intense and today they’re puffier than usual and hurt even when I walk (but still pink and cheerful looking). Even so, I’m constantly reaching unto my hoody when people aren’t looking and pinching them through my t-shirt. I’m quite positive I’ll be ruining them again tonight.

As for the plug, I don’t recall ever mentioning the Pure Plug 2.0 here before. It’s a wonderfully dense slug of steel with a circumference of almost 14 cm (which sounds a lot worse than it is). I adore this thing. I used it last night because I wanted to feel stuffed with the 1 1/3 pounds of metal and didn’t have the energy for anything more strenuous. Getting the thing in is harder than even Stryker’s Beast since its 2″ diameter, while shaped for insertion, is totally unforgiving. A dildo has some give. Steel does not. There’s always a half-second of feeling like I’m about to rip open as it goes in, but once it settles into place I quite often drip from the pressure on my prostate.

So there I was, dick locked, ass plugged and nipples fiercely pinched while I read all sorts of perverted things on the internet. I was out of my mind on the hormones but eventually found myself unable to keep my eyes open and I had to stop. I wistfully unclamped the throbbing pink circles of tender flesh and put their tormentors back in a black velveteen bag but decided to leave the Pure Plug where it was.

As even a casual reader of this blog knows, I really like it up the ass. I love the sensation of being penetrated and stuffed and especially like how the heavy steel of the Pure Plug shifts around inside me as I move. If I could, I’d want to be plugged all the time (sometimes) so I indulged my fantasy a bit last night. I did fall asleep even with the distraction. I woke up a few times and was reminded of the invader immediately. Reaching around and feeling where the hot steel disappeared into me brought me out of my sleep quickly, but I managed to leave it in place all night. The only downside of the Pure Plug is it’s base which has an oval ring (presumably to make handling easier) with somewhat sharp edges. After a few hours, those edges start to bite into the cheeks pressing against them.

Belle doesn’t get home for another week yet. I really want her. I want to press my face into her snatch and feel her come against my mouth. I want to smell her and suck on her tits and feel her bite my neck and squeeze my nuts. While I wait for that, though, I’ll get by with the self-abuse.

Apr 18

5 Comments

Rising tide

Where were we? Oh, right. On a break.

It’s been one month since I wrote that. One month of not wearing a chastity device and one month of essentially coming when I want. Yes, the deal was that I wasn’t supposed to come without Belle, and it started well, but I failed there. Easy access to the penis and our hiatus in other action along with her distraction by work gave my reptile brain the momentum it needed to make me think for a second or two longer during masturbation. That’s all it takes.

“Wait!”

“What?”

SPURT

I have no idea how many times I came in that month. Not as often as I would have under “normal” circumstances, but perhaps more than I have in the previous six months combined. That is, until about ten days ago. I hadn’t come in a bit and was feeling pretty horny. Instead of acting on that desire, I let it sit and grow. Then Belle told me that as soon as she gets back from the long business trip she’s currently on, I was going back in. Break over. That made me want to try to start the break in the proper state of mind. So I haven’t come now for about a week and a half. Hardly any time at all, really, but I’m feeling it.

A few days ago, after Belle had left, I was alone in the house with time on my hands. A bad combination for those who haven’t come and are trying not to. I ended up on all fours abusing myself with Mr. Stryker and his lesser cousins, locking double cocking ring in place, chain between the nipple clamps swinging. Of course, cock ring or no, I had access to the penis and worked it hard. I put some of the numbing cream on before hand but not so much that I couldn’t feel a thing. In any event, I was well and truly fucked (literally) and super horny (as you can imagine). I didn’t come, but I jerked it raw and wanted more. A lot more. There was a tickle in the back of my brain saying the break was still on. There would be few chances to come. I should take advantage of it.

The thing is, though, while it’s really hard to keep my hands off of it when I’m this turned on, I knew how I’d feel after the orgasm. Belle’s warning me of the end of the break brought me back into line and while a very rudimentary part of my brain wanted the orgasm, everything higher up didn’t. That’s what orgasm denial does to men. It sets up an internal war over the penis and orgasm. Higher brain functions at battle with lower ones and constantly the need to feel one’s hard member in hand. The higher forces had regained the advantage, though. I put the device back on.

I know where the key is, of course. Belle doesn’t have it, I do. I’m purposefully denying myself what I could have because I honestly can’t trust myself. If I take it off, I may give myself an orgasm. An orgasm I don’t want but desperately need. The key is in my bathroom drawer. I saw it last night and I caught myself fingering it before I even thought to touch it. Maybe just a short jerk, I thought. I’d even leave the ring on. It’s not like I’d really be taking it off…right?

So that’s where I am. Aching balls and a tight early morning throbbing between my legs. Pretty much right where I want to be.

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!

Mar 13

Damnedable meat

I took the device off this morning. After all, I was going to fly and I couldn’t very well take it through security with me. My plan had been to take it off just before I was about to leave. After my shower and after I was dressed and packed and essentially ready to walk out the door. You know, because I didn’t need the temptation of being left alone with the naked weenie.

Good plan, but somehow the steel was off about three minutes after my last image proving the penis was secured the entire time I was gone had been posted. My concern over temptation was well founded. I ended up jacking it in the shower, after I dried off, while getting dressed, and even in the airplane bathroom at 35,000 feet. I never came, but my underwear was well crusted by the time I got home. Copious leakage.

As soon as I got in the door at home, I retrieved the Steelheart Short from my checked bag, disassembled it, pulled down my semen-stained underwear, and locked the damnedable meat back into its prison. It’s not that I wanted to be bad (relatively, of course – it wasn’t as bad as that other time I was in a hotel by myself), it’s more like I had no choice. I don’t recall making the conscious decision to do any of it. It just happened. The device was off and my hand was wrapped around the stiffy and pulling like crazy. I was able to back off before orgasm because actually coming now it a hard line for me and enough to make me stop, but each time I’d tell myself to stop and focus on the task at hand only to find that task was in my hand and getting worked over. In any event, it’s secure once again. And while I can feel the flickering remnants of the desire to hold its hardness deep inside me, the stainless steel is helping to push that urge further and further away.

As I was snapping the new numbered lock into the keysafe (1871222, in case you’re keeping score at home), I realized I had a whole baggie full of the things and Belle never pays attention to the number currently in use. Theoretically, I could pop the lock and use the key for nefarious purposes and lock everything back up again without anyone being the wiser. Really, I should only ever have the one plastic lock at a time. The rest shouldn’t be in my possession. I’m giving her the baggie as soon as she comes home.

The other thing that dawned on my today is that I have no idea how long it’s been since I came. None at all. I could go back and figure it out with the blog, but I’m not going to. It hasn’t been a really long time, but it’s been long enough that I’m super fucking horny (Did I mention I took a few nipple clamps with me on my trip? My nips still ache.). Belle’s always said she doesn’t like to count the days like I do so I’m doing my best not to think too hard on it and count them. I shall be blissfully unaware and focus on things that matter. My orgasms are pretty far down that list.

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