Cobra chastity review

Gather ‘round, children, and let me tell you about The Bad Old Days of male chastity when devices were made of hard injection molded plastic and had sharp edges and seams that would split and trap sensitive penis skin when under pressure. Note, this is after the Ancient Old Days when chastity devices were made of spare chain link fence parts or mastodon tusks and nails or whatever (looking at you, Tom). What I’m talking about is the glimmering dawn of male chastity as relatively mass-produced consumer devices. Model T chastity devices, as it were.

I mean, it’s hard for me to fathom why any of us so inclined put up with things like the CB-6000. But I’ve ragged on that thing enough on these pages and will decline to do so again. It’s enough to say we kinky people will put up with a lot of shit to scratch our twisted itches.

So I think it says more than I ever could about the mainstreaming of male chastity that we have options like the KINK3D’s Cobra. In a lot of ways, it’s the perfect realization of what a standard issue male chastity device should be.

Honestly, I’m amazed by the Cobra. It’s simple and well made and is an awesome choice for someone thinking about playing around with being on either side of a key. It is not the best device for me, but I’m grizzled and pierced and can still remember that CB6K base ring and its right angle edges. *shudder*

I got the Cobra because I was seeing it everywhere. A lot of guys in the Twitter porn were sporting it all of a sudden, and maybe it’s just me and my personal Twitter bubble, but it seemed to be really popular with the gays. So, of course, I needed to know what it was about. Mine came from Mr. S and the only difference I can see between those and how KINK3D sells them is what each size is called. I got a “tight” one which is the second smallest Mr. S option. It looks like the “N+” size on the KINK3D site where, interestingly, it’s the third smallest option.

The design of the thing is dead simple. Two pieces not counting the lock. A pair of tabs on the cage slip into a pair of slots on the ring and, of course, the two halves of where the lock goes on each. They fit together firmly and there’s a minimum chance of accidental pitching as long as you’re paying attention.

Cobra N+ next to the Holy Trainer v4 Nano

The device it begs to be compared to is the similarly stellar Holy Trainer v4. How are they the same but different?

  • The Cobra is an open cage while the Holy Trainer is a (mostly) closed tube.
  • They’re both just two parts, but the Holy Trainer fits together in one place while the Cobra has three contact points.
  • The Holy Trainer is slightly more bulky and has more plastic but, in wearing them, it doesn’t seem that way.
  • The Cobra N+ weights 27.8 grams while the Holy Trainer Nano (the closest in size to the N+) comes in at 52.5 grams. That’s a big difference but in practice it’s imperceptible.
  • The Holy Trainer is available in dozens of colors while the Cobra is available in any color you want as long as it’s dead sexy black.
  • The Holy Trainer comes in five tube sizes and has five base ring sizes (25 combinations) while the Cobra comes in eight cage sizes and seven base ring sizes (56 combinations) but also has three base ring styles (168 combinations!).
  • The Cobra is 3D printed while the Holy Trainer is injection molded “bioresin.” Neither have sharp edges.
  • The Cobra ranges in price from $155 to $185, depending on size, while the Holy Trainer goes for $165 for all sizes or $185 if you order a color other than clear, black, or pink.

At the end of the day, I don’t really see any huge advantages for either of them. The vastly larger number of size combinations for the Cobra have to give it something of a practical edge, especially for guys with non-standard penis shape/size, but the Holy Trainer has a size for most penises, too. Every other one of those attributes is either a push or personal preference thing. I find both to be very comfortable. The Cobra, also like the Holy Trainer, tends to lay flatter than options like the Evotion 8 so ends up being stealthier (if that’s important to you).

The only real downside of the Cobra I found is that it ended up being stinkier than the Holy Trainer (or any other device I wear). My theory for why that happens on me is some combination of how the cage nestles into my testicles and therefore traps urine leaking from my PA piercing. I’m not an especially squeamish one when it comes to hygiene (and, truth be told, can kind of like the funk of the Steelheart), but this was too much even for me. Easily fixed, of course, with a bit of a wash, but still noticeable.

Related, I found vertical urination to be less reliable than with the Holy Trainer due to my PA and the open cage design. If you’re not pierced, you only need to make sure the crossbar at the end of the cage isn’t in the way and you’ll be good to go.

If you do have a PA, neither the Cobra or Holy Trainer have security options to accommodate you listed on their sites. I did try a PA ring with the Cobra to enhance security but, as usual when doing this kind of thing with cage-style devices, found the instances of pinching to be intolerable.

One super clever accessory KINK3D offers is something they call the Airlock. It makes a totally metal-free, key-free, numbered locking option and is pretty genius IMO.

So, there you have it. If you have an un-pierced penis, regardless of size or shape, the Cobra is basically perfect. But so’s the Holy Trainer. So what’s more important to you? Colors? Closed versus open? Do you just like the look of one more than the other? I mean, you can’t lose with either.

Together, the Cobra and Holy Trainer are the dead-simple, no-brainer male chastity devices for both those just starting down their locked path or who have been skipping along it for years. Two options that are light years more advanced than what we had to choose from a decade ago and, I think, an indication of how mature and — dare I say — popular male chastity has become.

Embracing the vestigial state

Even though it was in the middle of Hashtag Locktober, Belle decided she wanted the contents. As is the custom now, she gave me the key the night before the morning she wanted to get fucked.

I need the key in advance so I can prepare the contents. Prep takes about an hour. I take three 20mg tablets of sildenafil citrate (aka, Viagra) and apply four or five sqirts of Promescent® Delay Spray for Men. This is all due to my being totally unable to 1) avoid orgasm 36 seconds after penetration, and 2) remain hard for longer than 36 seconds after that. I had hoped the Viagra would take care of that all by itself so I could at least feel myself fucking her, but even with the chemical erection support, it goes flat as soon as it squirts, orgasm or not. So the meds help me remain as hard as possible for her and the Delay Spray (basically lidocaine) keeps me from coming as quickly.

As an aside, the Delay Spray works well. Somehow, they’ve formulated it such that after a bit of time it has absorbed entirely into the penis and won’t transfer to Belle so only I am denied the sensation of penetration. The package says not to exceed three pumps of the spray but I find that four or so is better at deadening it and the Viagra keeps it hard even though it’s about 90% numb.

So I did my things and then waited for her to wake up. It’s my job to make sure everything is ready for her when she’s ready so that she neither has to wait around for things to take affect nor for there to have been too much time passed so that the precautions aren’t useful.

This particular morning, things lined up well and the contents were both good and hard but also almost totally without feeling so that after I got her off with my fingers, I was able to climb on top of her and provide a reasonable facsimile of having a normal male lover.

Unexpectedly, she told me she wanted me to come inside her. My routine isn’t designed for that. I specifically deaden the meat so that I won’t come but right after sliding it in, she told me she wanted me to. Of course, the precautions were working very well and I realized rather quickly that getting to a point where I was having a real, full orgasm wasn’t in the cards. On the plus side, I was able to fuck her for maybe the longest period of time in years.

Eventually, I could feel the rumblings of orgasm from somewhere behind my balls. I wasn’t going to come due to anything I felt on the shaft, but I was still going to do it. Some combination of feeling my hips grinding and her under me and the flex of the muscles necessary to do the act tricked my brain sufficiently that it was able to get there. But I didn’t get much of anything from the penis and the orgasm was typical of the ones I have now. Weird, somehow incomplete, and while productive from a volume of ejaculate POV, still less than entirely satisfying. I mean, she can make me come, but she can’t make what’s left of my ability to do it feel good.

But it was an orgasm and it was enough of one to make me very reluctant to get back in to any device after. The Rules are very clear:

I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.

Belle’s Rules for Thumper

But I eventually did go back in. Even though the device felt foreign and weird and uncomfortable. I hated it.

The next day we went to dinner for our anniversary (which, coincidentally, is very near the anniversary for this blog — happy lucky 13th anniversary to me!) and she took the opportunity to ask how I was doing. Not, like, how’s your day going? More like, is this still what you want?

It was a bad time to ask. Had she brought it up 48 hours before, I would have wholeheartedly said YES. Things are GREAT. But 36 hours after coming, I replied somewhere between a shrug and a “fine…things are…fine.” But I realized how my lack of enthusiasm was being perceived and explained that I was in a period of profound sub drop. So of course, I was very happy with our dynamic. But it was, as I said, a bad time to ask and expect enthusiasm.

A few days later, we flew on a plane together. I was still feeling the impact of the orgasm and took the opportunity to let myself out before we went to the airport. Even though we were flying alone with no kids or friends or family around and if I got pulled out of line it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I wanted out. So I basically made an excuse for myself.

Usually, I’ll go back in right after the TSA invades my privacy, but I didn’t this time. I just…didn’t. Could have. Didn’t. And I didn’t when we got to our destination. Or at any other point that day, even though I was very clearly aware I was unlocked from all the incidental friction inside my pants (which drives me CRAZY). As we got into bed, I told her I was out. I don’t think she knew. She didn’t seem too impressed. But that’s how I went to bed.

I mean, I knew I was being bad. And I knew it would feel bad later. But I wasn’t willing to abide by the rules. I wasn’t willing to accept my position.

The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard on. I was at least able to maintain some control over myself. I didn’t stroke it, but I did lay on my stomach and grind it into the firm mattress and revel in the pressure and friction. The head popped out from the side under my left hip and I rubbed the bit on the underneath and knew if I did just that for more than 30 seconds I’d come. So I stopped at about 20 seconds.

Belle turned over I spooned into her. I’m sure she could feel it. And it was a vacation morning when I should have expected some sex. But she wasn’t offering. But I wanted it. In fact, I did expect it. And that’s when I started to come back down to earth.

I should have ZERO expectations of sex. Sex is for her. For her to get pleasure and satisfaction. My satisfaction comes though giving her hers. Period. But here I was trying to fuck her. Because I wanted to fuck her. That’s not me. That’s not right.

I was locked back up within the hour.

The next morning, I was spooning into her again, but my entire demeanor changed. God, I absolutely fucking hate the version of me that was unlocked without permission and was trying to coax her into getting me off. She was much more receptive to the locked version of me and allowed me to eat her out. I could once again feel pressure and compression of the contents, but no friction. Nothing like that. Just the Evotion 8 doing its job while my tongue did its.

And when her hips bucked in my face and I could feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my mouth and the contents strain in defeated futility, I felt so much more normal. So much more me.

And yeah, it was not lost on me she was far more willing to engage sexually with the locked me than she was the unlocked me.

Five days earlier when I was mounting her with my numb, chemically enhanced erection, I remember the thought flitting though my mind I really don’t need this. This is for her, not me. And, honestly, thinking back to her asking how I was doing, the only issue I have is that there are still reasons for me to be unlocked from time to time. I mean, that’s just how it is. It’s what she needs and, in the past, she needed it a lot more than now, so she’s already made a significant change to her expectations based on my limitations. I’m not asking that she stop letting me out for a fuck, even as infrequent as that is. It is entirely her prerogative and I accept that.

But we both know I’m better when the contents of the device are treated like some vestigial remnant of what I was prior to evolving into what I am now.

Speaking of which, my mom sent me a picture the other day of me in 2002. It was taken maybe two months before my daughter was born and I look like I’m 17. This was before Belle made me come, so the second thought that went through my head after being stunned a how young I looked was what a waste it was that it would be another six years before that guy’s dick was taken away from him. We’d already had our kids. The two we said we’d have. We didn’t need it anymore.

And that’s why I ended up locking on to the concept of vestigial. My phone defines it “forming a very small remnant of something that was once much larger or more notable. Or, pertaining to an organ or part of the body, degenerate, rudimentary, or atrophied, having become functionless in the course of evolution.”

I have evolved. Away from the needy, selfish, willful asshole who thought mostly of himself and his pleasure and into the full flower of the sub I always was deep inside. The sub that was trapped under the weight of the will of the penis. But here we are on the other side of all that. The penis is vestigial to who and what I am now. “Degenerate, atrophied, and functionless.” It’s not even a penis anymore. It’s just contents. Nothing more than a remnant of my former self. I always, always, always need to think of it that way. Because that is what it is.

And thank god we got here. I honestly can’t imagine what we’d be like right now if I still had a cock. I don’t want to imagine it. I am incredibly lucky Belle keeps me locked up. That she expects me to be. And prefers me that way. I can never, ever let my hormones make me forget that. Not for a day. Not even an hour. Not for a moment.

Polishing the knob

It’s been more than a decade now since I first put on the Steelheart I usually wear. That kind of blows my mind (which is the only thing getting blown around here, badum CHING). And, honestly, there’s not much that has to be done to it from a maintenance standpoint. Every couple of weeks I need to take it off and soak it in vinegar to get the crusties off. But, you know, it’s made of stainless steel. It’s the OG low maintenance material.

One thing I have always wanted to improve on the device is its gloss. Those of us with a fetish for shiny metal really like gloss and another device I have, the Rigid Chastity Halfshell, has always been way, way shinier than the Steelheart. Some of that may be based on the kind of stainless used by Rigid, but I wanted to know if I could improve on the Steelheart’s decade worth of patina.

One day, I was dicking around in the basement and found my old Dremel. And that somehow clicked with my desire to give the Steelheart more polish. In the past, I’ve used polishing clothes impregnated with some kind of oily compound that did a serviceable job, but all they did was bring the Steelheart back to a reasonable facsimile of its out-of-the-box finish. I wanted something beyond that and realized the Dremel was a possible solution.

A little searching on Amazon resulted in the ordering of some buffing attachments and some polishing compound ✨filled with diamond dust✨! To keep the tube of the Steelheart steady during the procedure, I put it on the end of a mallet handle and then put the business end of the mallet in a vice. Since I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, I decided to try polishing the underside of the tube first. After applying the compound and spinning up the Dremel and then cleaning the excess compound off, I was pleasantly surprised at the difference so decided to sally forth with the rest of the tube.

The thing I didn’t like about the buffers was how the Dremel, even at its lowest speed, would essentially spin them apart and leave a cloud of little woolen fibers floating around the workbench. I found I needed to keep the buffer in contact with the tube to minimize that issue. I was also hoping the polishing compound would work out some tiny scratches the tube has picked up over the years, but no such luck. Perhaps a compound with a larger grit would work, but then I figure I’d need to use the fine grit compound to get the high gloss going.

In the end, it’s still not as shiny as the Halfshell. But it’s noticeably more mirror-like than it was. I may experiment with various compounds and perhaps a longer duration of Dremel usage. In any event, it is improved and there remains nothing at all as sexy as high gloss stainless steel.

Hunk of burning love

Just got back from spending another week in the woods. Like last time, it was my intention to stay locked the whole time I was there.

In fact, I even told Belle I didn’t want to take any key at all. In the old days, I had an “emergency” key with me all the time but for years now I rarely have one with me. And I know I can do the woods for a week (or more) without a key and not need it or miss it and having access to it opens a tiny crack of opportunity to be bad and I don’t want to think about that.

So I told her as she hunted for the locked and numbered spare key that maybe I wouldn’t even take one. But calmer heads prevailed and I took her main key and wrapped it in paper and tape and had her sign it so any tampering would be painfully evident.

And yeah, good thing, because on the third day I found myself super dehydrated. It was hot and humid where I was and while I thought I was keeping up with my fluid intake, I was not and realized such when the urine dropping out of the Steelheart’s tube was deep orange. Bad, bad, bad.

Worse, urine in that situation becomes super concentrated and acidic. Perhaps if I was wearing the Evotion 8, it wouldn’t have been such an issue, but the Steelheart never drains completely and even after several trips into my tent to flush the tube with soapy water, I ended up with nasty burns on the underside tip of the contents.

So…yeah, glad that key was with me. I opened it with my multitool and took the Steelheart off and applied antibiotic ointment to the sore spots. Holy fuck, they hurt. Probably because I waited too long. I’m such a zealot.

Good news was, with those sores feeling as they did and where they were, there was no way at all I even considered playing with it. The best parts were on fire. The worst of the pain only lasted about 24-36 hours before it became just tender. Always amazes me how quickly the skin on the contents heals itself.

So by the fifth day things were feeling well enough that I was once again totally distracted by the novel sensation of a penis with feeling moving around and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and pants. I found myself on a hike getting a rather obvious erection from the sensation. Like I was 13 or something. Don’t think anyone noticed.

I stayed good the whole time. I did maybe give the morning wood a squeeze a few times but no stroking. And as soon as I got back in the house and hopped in the shower to hose a week’s worth of forest funk off me, I locked myself back in the Steelheart and told Belle everything.

So while part of me would love to see the key epoxied into the lock and broken off, no, that’s not at all practical. And going into the woods for a week without a key is a dumb idea.

Short and sweet touch-base

Belle and I just got back from taking our youngest off to school on the west coast. This means we are officially empty nesters. One big house for the two of us to rattle around in. It’s kinda weird, tbh.

But, there are advantages. Yesterday, I went for a run in the afternoon (I’m usually a morning guy) and came back quite warm and sweaty and stripped off my running gear and immediately jumped in the pool naked. Swam around a bit to cool off, then laid in the sun and got to feel its rays hit (nearly) every part of me and the wind move through every hair on my body. It was glorious. I mean, I miss my kids. I really do. But man do I like to hang out in my yard naked.

Another benefit of the trip was it allowed Belle and I to have a little chat about my chastity. Even though I’m locked up essentially all the time and she rarely sees me without a device on, it’s not something we talk about anymore. It just is. Like, why would you talk to your spouse about their toes? You wouldn’t. Aside from the occasional observation of which device I’m wearing, it’s a topic of conversation that’s disappeared into the background like Homer Simpson backing into a hedge.

On the one hand, that’s great. It represents a kind of goal state I think a lot of people with locked up penises want to get to. The fait accompli of being permanently kept. I am not complaining, mind you. The contents are supposed to be an afterthought.

On the other hand, I’m so thoroughly thankful that she’s taken on the responsibility of holding my key and chooses to keep me in chastity as often as I am and has even evolved how she prefers to receive her pleasure and reaches orgasm based on my desire to be locked up that sometimes I just want to pop with gratitude and enthusiasm. Even when the contents are trying to explode from their confinement and I can’t help but climb on top of her and grind the device into her pussy in frustration. That even then she doesn’t let me out. Doesn’t “feel sorry” for me. Just lets me stew and squirm and suffer in the ways I crave.

So we did chat. Once or twice. About the thing that just is between us. I thanked her her again (always, forever) for keeping me as I am. She said she can’t even think of me any other way now. How it’s obviously good for me. How she likes me better this way. I said how I like myself better this way. About how I think it makes me a better lover and partner to her.

And that was it. A little touch-base. A short status. Both of us happy with where we are. Both satisfied with the status quo. Neither looking to change anything in our dynamic.

It’s often said that the reason kinky people have more successful and satisfying relationships (on average) is because being in a kinky relationship requires communication on a much more significant scale than a muggle relationship. And that’s 100% true. But even a relationship like ours can become so well-inhabited as to lose the necessity for communication. So I am grateful for the short and sweet reaffirmation.

Chem-rections

Belle and I were driving along in rural Wisconsin where there are an unusual number of erectile dysfunction billboards.

“You should get that,” she said. I laughed. She wasn’t joking.

Flash forward to the other day. I had just given Belle her orgasm and we were cuddling afterward. I noted that the last time she wanted the contents out was in April and here we were in July and I was just curious (not implying, suggesting, or in any way inferring I wanted or needed or should be let out because that’s against the rules) what was up with that.

She again mentioned erectile dysfunction medication. Clearly, a seed had been planted.

To be clear, I don’t have an issue getting an erection. At least, not that often. I can get hard no problem. My issue, her issue, is I can’t stay hard. When she lets me fuck her, I will ejaculate without orgasm (which is like a ruined orgasm inside her) and then immediately go soft and stay that way.

It didn’t used to be like that. I used to be able to get past the ejaculation without orgasm bit and then stay rock hard and fuck her until she cried uncle. One big difference between now and then is the amount of time it took me to get to the ejaculation part. Used to be many minutes of fucking and now it’s literally 90 seconds, tops. Pathetic.

Ninety seconds of fucking is hardly worth the effort for Belle. I’m really good at the other ways of getting her off so why bother with the lock and key and the mess? Leaving me locked up gets her rocks off just as much and is simply more efficient.

But she does like to get fucked. And the strap-on has fallen out of favor since, again, she doesn’t want to be bothered. Thus her position that if the contents could get hard and stay that way, she’d let it out and enjoy it. If it can’t, she won’t.

This morning I filled out the erectile dysfunction questionnaire on the Roman website. I picked them because they advertise during Dodger games and the guy who started it is kinda cute. Anyway, I answered all the questions and may now be contacted by a doctor or they may just start sending them, we’ll see. Apparently it depends on what Minnesota requires.

So where we’ve come in this journey into orgasm denial and chastity is that my erections are forced into confinement and disallowed when they want to happen but may be forced into happening when they’d rather not. And this is…incredibly hot tbh.

Please don’t kill someone

On Saturday, I wrote on Twitter:

Because, essentially all the people (north of 99%) being hospitalized and dying of Covid in the United States are unvaccinated people. Another datapoint:

Regardless, I was sent this news item from someone on Twitter. The lede:

Johnson & Johnson’s Covid-19 vaccine may trigger a rare neurological condition in a small number of people who receive the vaccine, the Food and Drug Administration said Monday.

Reports to a database operated jointly by the agency and the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control suggest there may be a link between the inoculations and Guillain-Barré syndrome, a form of progressive paralysis that is generally reversible, the FDA said in a statement.

EGAD! But wait.

The agency said there have been about 100 preliminary reports of GBS, as the condition is often called, in people who have received the J&J vaccine. To date, about 12.8 million doses of the J&J vaccine have been used in the United States, suggesting a rate of about one case of GBS per 128,000 people vaccinated.

So, to be clear, an otherwise levelheaded and reasonable person is using as a justification for not getting or delaying vaccination against coronavirus as soon as humanly possible this ridiculously rare side effect in the middle of a pandemic which has already killed at least 600,000 Americans and probably a whole lot more.

Note that many vaccinations can trigger Guillain-Barré and that it’s always very rare and nearly always reversible. Also note that the previous issues with the J&J shot and blood clots was actually far less prevalent than blood clotting issues in women who take birth control.

Please learn to adequately evaluate relative risks.

It’s hard to estimate what the chances are any given American will get Covid because the variables of where they live (and therefore how much they benefit from the vaccinations of their neighbors) and how they live (can they work from home? do they go into environments where a lot of people congregate in close proximity? have they literally not opened the door for another human since March of 2020?), but I can say with some certainty that the odds of an unvaccinated person in the United States getting sick, becoming hospitalized, and even dying of Covid are a damn sight higher than 1/128,000. Like, a magnitude higher.

I am assuming anyone making the “it hasn’t been proven safe” argument isn’t also some kind of deluded, brainwashed, partisan conspiracy theorist because if your assessment of the risk/reward balance of being vaccinated includes any mention of Bill Gates or 5G or the letter Q, you need to stop reading this and seek professional help immediately. Honestly, you’re are a goddamned delusional and are a threat to society and those around you.

Not getting vaccinated because you think or fear there’s a snowball’s chance some kind of ultra rare side effect will strike you down is simply the most selfish and antisocial decision you could possibly make. Because it is a certainty that if you do not get vaccinated and then catch and spread Covid, you are killing someone. Some immunocompromised person or some other dimwit with comorbidities who likewise made the wrong choice will die from the disease you spread. The only hope you have is that it’s not someone you know like a parent, partner, or child.

So I don’t take back my original tweet. Not at all. I might allow a slight revision to say if you don’t get vaccinated in the US and are eligible (i.e., old enough, no pre-existing conditions, etc.) you are acting like a moron. A selfish, unable to properly evaluate risk, moron. If that makes you feel better.

But Jesus fucking Christ people, get your goddamned vaccination already.

Climate vs. weather

Belle and I are on an eleven day trip in our Airstream across eleven states. We’re on day ten now, so wrapping up soon, which is both a good thing (I miss my house and kid and nice big TV with redonkulous internet connection) and a bittersweet thing since these trips are the only time I feel like I’m not sharing Belle (in the non-sexy way) with her employer. That and I have a jonesing to be one of those full-time RVers who live from campground to campsite chasing 70 degree weather around the continent all year long.

Anyways, we woke up this morning next to a little pond on a farm in northern Ohio I found on Hipcamp. The night was on the warm side and the site we were camped at didn’t have hookups (again, the non-sexy kind — but the woman who lived there did sell us some of her chicken’s eggs for cheap) so we slept with the windows open to the sounds of toads and frogs calling to one another all night. It was swell.

I was sleeping, as I most often do, in nothing but the Steelheart and nothing at all sexy happened. (This is, apparently, the parenthetically non-sexy sex blog post.) And I only mention this because we were laying about this morning listening to the rooster and putting off getting back on the road and there I was all naked and stuff with shiny metal flopping around between us and nothing at all happened.

Why am I writing this? On the sex blog. If nothing sexy happened. WTF, rabbit? Well, more than knowing how to get a well-fitted device or which lube to put on to make wearing it easier or any of that picayune logistical shit, the one skill you have to master if you’re hoping to live with permanent chastity in your life is the 99% of the time that isn’t sexy. Even though you’re 100% (or near enough) of the time wearing a sex toy.

I struggled with this a lot in the beginning. For years, really. But at some point, the one with the kept contents needs to let go of the constant gnawing craving always just under the surface and make sure it stays under the surface until and unless the one holding your key wants it to come up. And the rest of the time, you’re locked up and that’s just how it fucking is. There’s no reward or attention or Scooby snack waiting for you for dealing with it all the time. Dealing with it all the time is the point.

Chastity needs to go from being special to being mundane. To being just how you are. And I’m not saying that’s easy. It’s not. Because “just how you are” is a way that leaves you way more attentive to what’s not happening and what you can’t do and that makes you (most of the time) want to do it all the more. Gaining the ability to keep all that pressure and emotional turbulence under control is maybe the most important thing a penis-haver kept in permanent chastity can learn. For their sanity and the sanity of whoever is holding their key.

I can go back to the beginning of this blog and find posts by a rabbit who didn’t get that. Who felt as though he was owed something for doing the hard thing and staying locked up. But of course being locked up is what I want. So, if anything, I owe Belle for keeping me that way. What I know now (and what’s a central part of our dynamic) is she owes me nothing. And being all needy and sad about the sex or orgasms or simple penis pleasure being missed out on is the single best way to fuck up having someone keep you away from the contents of the device.

I think being kept in chastity does lead to more intimacy and trust and sex and an overall increase in hotness, but it’s like the difference between weather and climate. Chasity improves the climate of the relationship, in our experience. The trend is positive. But one hot or cold or wet or dry day does not make a trend all by itself. So the trick is to focus on the long haul climate changes and not wake up every day with an expectation of what the weather will be like by lunch time. That’s not how it works at all.

Permanente

In response to my last post and the note I put in it saying I don’t count time spent switching devices or cleaning/hygiene as “unlocked,” Tom commented…

The word “permanent” is the worst word to use, except for all the others. I’m unlocked for medical, travel (neither of us want that kind of attention), and when I head out on longer distance cycling jaunts (no point in having me get all chafed).

And I totally agree. I actually tweeted about this a while back. What does it mean to be in “permanent” chastity?

I consider myself to be “permanently” kept in chastity. Even though, besides times like I mentioned above, I have been unlocked for things like doctor visits or trips though the TSA with the kids, etc. “Permanent” because I have permanently handed control over my locked status to Belle. And Belle has said many times (and, in fact, my rules unequivocally state) that I am always to be locked unless I absolutely cannot be or she wants what’s inside. And, as anyone who’s been to my blog before knows, I always want to be locked up. In my heart and mind, I am forever and always locked in chastity.

Buuuuut, according to a strict reading of “permanent,” what I describe isn’t that. There are guys (and other penis-having people) on the net who have riveted shut their devices. There are guys (and other PHP) who will tell you they haven’t been out of their devices for yeeears. And…OK.

Look, I’m here to tell you right now the idea of literally never ever seeing the contents again because they’re locked away into a device forever and always is, absolutely, hot as fuck. But I can also tell you, with a high degree of expertise on the matter, that it’s impossible. At least with current technology.

Setting aside how simply impractical it is (the kind of stuff Tom said) and how complicated it would make certain aspects of one’s life, the cruel fact of the matter is chastity devices get peed on a lot. And urine is like really hard water. It leaves mineral deposits. And that shit needs to be dealt with. Even when I wear the Evotion 8, a mostly plastic, mostly open device that sails through metal detectors, the issue of mineral accretion happens. And when that’s not dealt with, the bits that are against skin or literally through the head of the penis become really uncomfortable.

I would estimate that the reason I ask for the Steelheart to come off nine out of ten times is because the PA ring gets a crusty build-up that ends up being super uncomfortable and irritating. I can go maybe three weeks before getting there, but I always do. The Evotion and Halfshell, being the other two PA-fixed devices I wear, are the same.

So far this year, I have been unlocked 3 hours and 53 minutes. That’s three times Belle wanted the contents inside her and one trip to the doctor. Three hours and 53 minutes out of 4,175, AKA locked up 99.9% of the time. So no, not permanent because that was in five different devices and the contents did get wet three times, but man. How much closer to permanent can you get? I mean, in a relationship where my keyholder still does, if however infrequently, want to take the contents out for spin.

Short story long, I think when it comes to the concept of locking a penis in a device, we need to have a slightly more liberal definition of the word permanent. I would not argue with someone who wants to say they’re in indefinite chastity. Or some other wiggly turn of phrase. But I hope we can all agree that at some point, two or three nines to the right of a decimal point is more than sufficient to rank as permanent.

I mean, if you’re keeping score. If not, disregard this whole post.