Center of my universe

I’m laying here in this fluffy, overly soft spa resort bed, wide awake and waiting for Belle to wake up, horny as fuck and tapping this out on my phone so as not to bother her. It’s been a lovely weekend she surprised me with on Friday. Massages and facials and hot tubs and steam rooms. And also the kind of fruity rum drinks I’m partial to.

This was a birthday present to me. In the beginning of our chastity dynamic, birthdays, anniversaries, and Father’s Day were all excuses for her to let me out and fuck. But I was only out this time for the massage. I was even locked up for the facial, even though it, like the massage, was performed with me naked on a massage table under covers.

Enhancing my elevated state of sexual frustration is how much time I’ve been naked here. Mostly in our room, but not exclusively. Belle has encouraged me to take our meals on the deck even though there’s a path beneath it. It’s wooded but not nearly so that our deck is hidden. Other side of the path is a golf course and the golfers in their foursomes address their lays and drive by in their carts from just after dawn to dusk.

So that was me, naked on the deck protected only by a towel hanging on the railing, but even that Belle eventually said was unnecessary. Anyone walking or carting by would only need to look up a bit to see me, naked as a jaybird (are jays more naked than other birds?). In fact, at least four golfers in carts did see me based on their catcalls. Belle’s investment in pushing the boundaries of my exhibitionism has been deeply stimulating, to put it mildly.

In a place like this there are two types of people. Women in groups of other women enjoying one another’s companionship and couples. I figured there’d be way more groups of women but I’m surprised by how many couples there are. I’m guessing a lot of relaxed, sloppy sex happens here.

Speaking of which, I was allowed to give Belle a fantastic blow job the other morning. I took my time warming her up and was leisurely with my tongue and mouth on her snatch so that by the time she was coming, her ass was scooting away from the intensity of sensation I was causing and I had to crawl after her to keep my tongue pressed against her clit. For just the barest split second moment afterward the contents of the Steelheart yearned to feel itself sink into her soft wetness. But the urge was fleeting. That’s not the purpose of our sex.

And of course it shouldn’t be. Yesterday she let me lay between her legs and rest my face on the mound of her pussy. The lace of her nightie was rough but the heat from what it covered radiated through. It radiated its power over me. Its authority. Her pussy is the center of my universe. Surely, it’s the center of my sexuality. I want it and to be closer to it all the time. And being allowed to just rest next to it. To bask in its essence. What a gift. I am so grateful.

This is what chastity has done to me. It has supplanted the contents of the Steelheart as the center of my sexual focus with something more deserving. It has allowed me to shed the selfishness that stems from having access to my own easy pleasure so that I have to work at achieving hers. I should not say “this is what chastity has done to me.” Rather, this is the gift of chastity. The lock has unlocked and allowed to flower the sub I have always been and wanted to be.

Libéré en étant enfermé, as it were.

I had too much ego attached to the contents. Chasity has destroyed that ego. Shredded it. And good riddance. I probably always had an overly ambitious opinion of my own endowment. But by having it so throughly removed from how I am allowed to express myself sexually, I have come to understand it’s always been nothing but optional. My true skills and value as a lover are and always have been everything but the contents. Attentiveness. Empathy. Patience. Penises have a way of forcing themselves to the center of the stage. And I guess some deserve that. But not mine.

So chastity has shredded my internal, emotional attachment to the contents, but it’s also destroyed its external, practical functionality. I used to be quite proud of my stamina and ability to fuck Belle for as long as she wanted me to. That’s entirely gone now. My staying power is measured in seconds. Our culture says that’s a pathology needing treatment but for me it’s a point of a different kind of pride. It’s a byproduct of my devotion to her and her pussy. A sign that the contents have been so deprioritized in our relationship that their function has atrophied into irrelevance.

For all this, I am incredibly grateful to Belle. That she has made the space for me to be who I really am. To have adjusted her own expectations. I couldn’t be more happy to be in her life.

Cluck cluck, cuck

There are a few basic facts that have led me to a place in my life where I want Belle to cuck me.

  1. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has kicked into hyperdrive my natural submissive nature of seeking sexual pleasure and satisfaction for Belle without regard to my own. Effectively, my pleasure and satisfaction has been replaced with hers.
  2. Belle likes to be fucked. And her preference regarding the cock that fucks her is one that’s thicker/bigger than the one I can offer when I’m not locked up.
  3. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has destroyed my sexual stamina. When I’m allowed to fuck her, I ejaculate in approximately 90 seconds.

Basically, she deserves to have the kind of sex she enjoys and I want her to have it. It’s as simple as that.

Or is it?

Thing is, there are other factors. Factors I’m sure any other guy with a cuck fantasy can relate to. I just cannot imagine anything hotter than the image of her getting fucked by another guy better than I can fuck her. Her enjoying the cock of another guy more than she enjoys mine. The other guy knowing she’s with him because I don’t measure up to her needs or exceptions like he does. The feelings imagining such an event are intensely, intoxicatingly, surreally potent to me. My ultimate sexual fantasy is, in essence, that my wife have the best fuck of her life and for it not to be from me.

And the reality of that comes into conflict with the first point above. Her pleasure and satisfaction is more important than mine. But in this case, my fantasy is so powerful that it clouds my judgment. Tricks me into thinking or behaving in ways that are actually about me and what I want instead of her and what she wants.

I mention this because the other day, when I was away on a work trip, Belle travelled to meet a guy she’s been communicating with for some time. There was the possibility that she’d fuck him and I had somehow found a way to kind of block the potentiality of that from my mind for the several months I’ve known about it. But then the fateful weekend came and it started to consume me. Pretty much every moment my thoughts weren’t engaged elsewhere, they went to what Belle was doing or about to do or had done. Images in my head of the things I want. And the constant tempering of those fantasies with the reality that she had told me nothing was for certain and that they may only hang out a bit and have a meal, etc.

The night of their meeting, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t contain my cuck anxiety. I kept looking at her location on my phone and trying to discern things from it. Was she moving? Was she someplace different than before? Was that where she said she was staying or was it somewhere else? I’d go from imagining all kinds of explicit things that made me tight as fuck to the exact opposite where they met and it went horribly for some reason. I found myself in a spot I have never been before. A position I can’t even think of a word for. I was worried about her encounter and wanted it to be as enjoyable as made sense for her with no negativity or downside but I was 100% unable to do a damned thing. Had no control or influence over it. She really was outside our dynamic as a couple and I couldn’t help at all, though I wanted to, badly.

When I first encountered the concept of being cuckolded online it was one of those things that scared me because of how powerfully my body reacted to the notion. And how taboo the idea was based on literally everything our culture beats into us from the moment of our birth regarding how loving relationships are supposed to work. And in those early days, when I fantasized about being a cuck, I was always somehow part of the action. Being made/allowed to watch or something. In reality, I find that my natural instinct is to stay away. To keep out of it. To give her space and room to explore and discover. It was a process to admit to myself that the reality is being cucked really has nothing to do with me at all. Like every other part of our sexual relationship (honestly, every aspect of my sexual activity), she’s in charge and I’m not. But beyond that, I can’t offer her much more than moral support.

Obviously, there are lots of way to cuck a guy. Some woman are just fine with their cucks being more active participants. Some, like Belle, aren’t. I didn’t even tweet about it until just the other day and almost didn’t because, in a way, it seemed like it may have been out of bounds for me to do so. Like, that guy is part of her life, not mine, and it felt like something of an invasion of her privacy to give it my usual infinite navel-gazing treatment here and on Twitter. But ultimately, I found myself needing some friendly back-up and had no one else to go to. I had to vent somewhere else I’d explode.

But for me, the instinct was to move away from Belle and her friend, not towards them. I assumed I’d want to be in the thick of it, but the reality turned out to be quite different. It wasn’t porn, it was real life and it was tentative and fragile like any other potential relationship and the last thing Belle needed was a horned up weirdo husband blundering about in the midst of it.

In the end, Belle had a lovely time with him without anything more than spending some pleasant time together. I had worked myself up into such a state that hearing she had a good time was a massive relief. It didn’t even occur to me to be disappointed that she didn’t fuck him. And I guess that’s progress. The idea of her doing that is as potent as ever, but skirting as closely as we did to it moving from concept to reality (however close it ended up being) changed how I feel about it. It want it for her just as badly as I ever have, but now I want it for her more than I want it for me.

I’m currently reading 150 Years Of Gynarchy by Viola Voltairine and I’m finding it to be nothing short of inspirational. As I was flying home to see Belle, I came across this passage that, in a lot of ways, speaks to me regarding this episode.

In a consensual long-term D/s dynamic you have both agreed that Her needs, Her wants and Her pleasure take absolute priority. That is the framework. This is for real. It’s not a game. Your thoughts should always be on how to best please Her, not how to get your fetishes serviced.

150 Years Of Gynarchy, by Viola Voltairine

“Not how to get your fetishes serviced.” 💯 Whatever Belle decides to do with her exclusive prerogative to find other guys to fuck is not, and never will be, about me. It’s about her. Her needs, wants, and pleasure. And however she chooses to share her experiences with me is also entirely up to her. It’s not material for my fetishes and fantasies. To behave otherwise is, IMO, insulting and violates my commitment to our dynamic. I can’t control how that causes my body to react, but I have quite a lot of experience now dealing with unrealized sexual energy so have no excuses to act otherwise.

She will decide what she wants to do and I’ll be grateful she continues to be my Domme and keyholder, no matter what.

Subsidence

My entire life, I can remember nothing but being attracted to all genders. Never, ever can I recall not finding just about anyone attractive. Even before I knew what sex was, I knew that sometimes there was another kid that made me feel funny inside. And they were always, always, always both boys and girls.

That said, it’s also always been the case that my relative attraction to one pole of the gender spectrum or the other ebbs and flows. If you imagine the Kinsey Scale and its zero to ten range where five is equally attracted to both ends, then I vacillate between three and seven. Thus has it always been. Which is to say, I’m never not attracted to either end of the gender spectrum (or, really, anything in between), but sometimes I lean more heavily one way or the other.

This was especially problematic when I was a teenager and I barely knew that “bisexual” was an option for me. All I saw around me was straight people and gay people and David Bowie. And whenever I thought, “Well, what am I going to be for the rest of my life?” (because that was the frame through which I understood sexuality), the fact that the foundation of my sexual preferences kept slipping and sliding around like Bambi on a frozen pond made me constantly struggle to know “what I was.”

You could say that that aspect of my sexuality is defined by constant, permanent flux. The variability of it is the only thing I have come to count on my entire life. So it’s really interesting to me how little variation there is in the other axis of my sexuality. I have no interest in being a sexual dominant. Zero. I am so close to being 100% submissive that if there was a Dom/sub version of the Kinsey Scale I’d identify as a zero (where, of course, the subs are the little numbers and the Doms are the bigger ones).

But, that sub energy is latent absent denial and chastity. That’s not to say I’m not a sub when I’m not denied. I have always had sex like a sub. I tend to want to bottom and I have always been focused on getting my partner off before me. I have always tended to serve, if not explicitly. But being denied the ability to have regular orgasms is like spraying lighter fluid into a campfire (not that I have ever done that nor would I encourage you to, either, if you like having things like eyebrows). If I’m not denied, I don’t become less submissive, I become more selfish. My D/s Kinsey number doesn’t go up, but my interest in expressing it wanes.

And it’s kinda weird to me how that works. My bisexuality doesn’t really change at all due to being denied. I’m way more horny all the time and find some things to be more of a turn-on when I’m denied, but my baseline preference for either end of the gender spectrum doesn’t really get impacted. My needle still bounces around on the gender gauge while it only pegs harder and harder to the left of the D/s gauge.

Heh. Pegs.

I recall when I first found chastity and the online community of people who practiced it that “you shouldn’t have to be locked up to be a good sub” was a thing that was often said. Hearing that made me feel like not a good sub since I knew I was way more into being that way the longer it had been since I last came. But, just like my variable kind of bisexuality, that’s just how I am. Since it was a topic of conversation then, in the mediaeval period of enforced male chastity, I can’t be that unusual.

This is something I’m thinking about because Belle let me fuck her for real about a week ago. And I “suffered” a massive sub drop because it’s pretty much impossible for me to put it in her anymore without blowing a load. And…I don’t know how to describe it. The pressure of denial inflates my sub persona and when one is gone the other goes and then I’m left feeling…different. It’s as if losing my sub energy is like losing access to a latent cone in my eye and suddenly a certain wavelength of color goes away for me. Until I build back a level of horniness that resurfaces my submission. It’s a part of me that’s become so familiar and dependable that its absence is keenly felt.

Luckily, all it takes to get it back is time. And a lock.

Back in my place

I’ve been back in the Steelheart for the past 21 days after briefly trying out a new device (the Cherry Keeper which was a bit of a disaster but I have another one coming so there’s no review yet). All through our summer vacation and up to this moment. I had it off briefly when we got home so I could give it a vinegar cleaning and shave my bits.

On the year, I’ve primarily been wearing the BA-31P and getting back into the venerable Steelheart has been interesting. It’s noticeably bigger and heavier than the BA-31P and, since I’ve spent the equivalent of 1,261 days in the Steelheart since I’ve been tracking time locked up, a very palpable sense of familiarity with it. Of all the devices, and even as much as I like the BA-31P, the Steelheart is and always will be home.

There was a moment during our trip before Belle let me get her off when I was feeling somewhat on edge and a bit despondent at the length of time that had passed since I was able to get to her pussy. The weight and bulk of the Steelheart made me super aware and even self-conscious about wearing it in front of her. Which is quite odd for me. It’s much more usually the case that I feel self-conscious when the contents are exposed but, in that moment of unhappiness I was struggling with, why was I locked up? What is the purpose of being locked in that steel when nothing at all is happening?

It’s been said by me and other chastity bloggers that enforced male chastity is not a “set it and forget it” kind of thing. Being separated from the contents absent any external stimulation is psychologically challenging. The lack of stimulative sexual energy that comes from being denied during sex allows the device to transform back from an integrated part of my body into a hunk of metal. And there was a specific moment when I was naked and climbing over Belle to get out of bed when my legs were spread wide and the Steelheart was dangling and swaying and pulling on me where I was suddenly very conscious of its foreign metalness. It made me wonder to myself What is the fucking point of this thing?

I write that from my current frame of mind which is horny as fuck and it’s hard to really appreciate where I was then. Now, I see the Steelheart as a fundamental aspect of my body. I wear some kind of device more than almost anything else that comes into contact with my body. Only my wedding ring and earrings are on more and maybe not even my wedding ring which I take off a couple times a week for things like the application of skin lotion. Right now I cannot consider myself complete with unlocked and exposed contents. But back then, it felt very foreign.

So, to answer the question from past me, the point of the thing is actually pretty simple. And it’s one I need to work on never forgetting. Fact is, I do not deserve to be any other way. I. Do. Not. Deserve to have a penis that is free and can grow during erection or be played with. Not now. Not before I figured that out, and not after. Not ever. That reality is fundamental to who I am. Since getting back into my normal headspace, reminding myself of that truth is something I’ve been doing daily, usually as I’m going to bed and trying to fall asleep.

I do not deserved to be unlocked.

I don’t pretend to know how this works. Why some men should never be locked and others can take it or leave it while those like me should never be any other way. But that’s how it is. And that’s how I am.

But beyond that, the device (whichever device I’m in) is a perpetual demonstration of my commitment to Belle. I’ve agreed to The Rules and by being locked up regardless of whether or not I’m horny or she’s horny or we’re having sex or not, the physical barrier between me and the contents are a simple fact of my status like the ring on my left hand. This one doesn’t project that status to the world (unfortunately, outside the readers of this blog and my Twitter followers), but it’s important for her to see.

And in a lot of ways, the device I’m in is part of my identity. Alpha studs have their cocks they swing around and chastity subs have whatever is locked on them. If I’m not locked up I feel like there’s a loss of something internal to me. It makes me feel imbalanced and inauthentic.

Finally (at least for this post) there’s the fact that the device’s contents just aren’t that worthy of freedom in the first place. Belle has left it locked up for longer and longer lengths of time and, when I ask about that, she says she just prefers me that way. Prefers me to get her off with my fingers or mouth. Probably can’t come that easily from my penetration anymore, especially since when she does let it out, it doesn’t provide her with much pleasure and barely barely lasts but a few minutes at best. I’m sure I get more pleasure than she does from it and, as such, if she can’t be bothered to let me out, then what right do I have to be any other way? Sex is not for my pleasure. My pleasure is reflected from hers and whatever she allows me to have directly is a gift that needs to be cherished.

I should probably bookmark this post and remember it for the next time I’m in a funk about being locked up. I need to remember that I don’t decide when we have sex, she does. And it’s not about me. And that she cares about me and what I’m feeling even when what I want isn’t possible.

Essentially, I need to bookmark this post when I need to be put back in my place.

Dog blocked

Belle and I are on our mid-Summer RV road trip. I say “mid-Summer” because it’s technically true (the days are getting shorter now) but we’ve found in the Rockies (both Canadian and where we are now in West Glacier, MT) the local version of mid-Summer is still 2-4 weeks away.

In any event, part of my issue with this trip has been one of our dogs. She’s adorable and I love her but she’s a rescue and emotionally needy to such an extent that, if we had her right after we got married, I’m pretty sure we never would have had kids. Her M.O. is to maintain a position directly between us every morning no matter what we do. When we’re at home and can distract her with breakfast and close doors, that’s fine. But in our trailer there is no door between the bed and the rest of the space and she’s…persistent. Her pointy little nose works its way into the most tight embrace.

That led to me not being able to get Belle off for longer than I would have to go otherwise. Sure, I’ve gone longer, but usually because we’re apart. In this case, she’s right there but our canine cock-blocker (if you can even say someone in my position is being blocked that way) can’t be sequestered anywhere long enough to allow me to attend to business.

Except for yesterday morning. Our dog was in bed with us, but off to the side(!!) and didn’t make her usual move to get between us. So we took advantage of the opportunity.

At that point where Belle was juuust about to hit the point of no return, I found myself sympathetically moaning in an almost whining kind of way. I was tensed up like I was about to come instead of her. I needed it that badly. For days I had been short tempered and generally grumpy and this was why. Not that I needed to come. Of course not. Because I’m me, I needed to feel her come. I needed to feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my finger while the tube of the Steelheart pounded between my legs. I needed to feel the animal desire to stick myself into her wet warmth. To feel that craving gnaw at me. And it did.

It was several minutes of anguish and pain. Even more than usual. Much more than usual. She could see on my face something was up and asked if I was OK. Then I was presented with the kept and denied man’s dilemma. I could say, “GODDAMN IT I WANT TO FUCK AND COME,” but my rules say I can’t ask for that and I really, really, really only want to get to do it when she wants, not when I want, and by even saying I’m that desperate I could sway her into giving it to me out of pity but I know — I know — I am not deserving of that pity. So I’m sitting there roiling inside, unable to say what I want because it’s not supposed to matter (and I do not believe it does) and, besides, do I really want it anyway?

So after a few seconds, I simply said, “I’m fine.”

Minutes later, the worst of it was past. My balls felt enormous and tender and the tube was still full and I could tell it was sticky inside, but the weight of not getting her off, which is all that matters, was lifted. I felt better the whole rest of the day. And yeah, I want to do it again, but I’m able to better process that I don’t decide when it happens. I’m better able to deal with the wait.

Later that day, we were on an open-top bus tour of Glacier National Park and she was sitting next to me and had her hand alternatingly on my thigh or forearm and absentmindedly was moving her fingers over my skin. It was like fire. Perhaps unknowingly, she was silently tormenting me with that simple touch because I was so on edge and so needy and so desperate. The tube kept pressurizing and my mind kept racing and I was all frantic sexual energy on the inside. But managed to maintain my cool on the outside.

That one orgasm — her orgasm, not mine — allowed me to center myself. To feel more like me. And it happened even with the damned dog laying there next to us.

Weed whacking

Recently, for some reason that wasn’t at all intentional, I stopped paying attention to my pubic hair. I used to think about it a lot when I first locked up, oh so many years ago. The CB6K seemed to be filled with little hair-pulling traps and crannies.

For a long time, I kept things very short down there. Like, non-existent. But that required a lot of upkeep since chastity causes some skin to fold back over on itself and the stubble being in contact with other stubble causes irritation and pain. I think it may have been on a camping trip when I shaved just before I left and then got hot and sweaty while hiking locked-up and dealing with extreme discomfort that I started to let the hair be a bit longer.

But then, like I said, at some point and without really intending anything, I kinda stopped tending to the pubes at all. I can’t recall the last time I trimmed them. I do keep my scrotum as clean of hair as possible and have been shaving it since way before I even knew male chastity was a thing, but the rest of the hair just went kind of ferrel. Then, recently, I noticed how long it was and was more than a little shocked. Honestly, no clue what happened there. Just kind of developed a blind spot around it.

According to Men’s Health, approximately 73% of men trim their pubes and a full 60% are at least willing to shave them off entirely if their partner wanted them to. That’s so much more than I would have guessed. So, since I suddenly found myself with a bushier bush than I’ve had in years and years, I was sort of morbidly curious to see how the other 27% lived and let them go.

This is me, letting them go.
Good god, look at it.

And I guess it was kinda hot? I dunno. It’s probably someone’s cup of tea. But one day after getting out of the shower and toweling off, I experienced a moment of body horror and snapped. All those pubes were not me. They had to go. So away they went.

Poof!

And it got me thinking about hair down there as a concept. I think part of it for me is cosmetic, for sure. But there’s another part that’s not. Call it societal or something, I dunno, but I, personally, don’t think subs should have an unruly bush. Or, really, any bush. I went to twitter and asked people who followed me what they thought and most who expressed an opinion thought the way I do. A few gave what’s probably the correct answer: subs should have as much or as little hair as their Dom/mes want them to have. Belle is, generally speaking, a fan of my body hair, but if she has an opinion about this particular hair, I can’t recall it. If I ever shaved my chest, she’d probably hit me with a stick. (Don’t tell her I do, occasionally, trim my chest hair to a reasonable, can’t-touch-my-face length.)

What I can say is, since shaving it all off, I feel more natural. More normal. For me. A gnarly bush of pubes is what cocks could have around them. Locked chastity devices simply should not. IMO. And it’s still kind of shocking for me to see it this way (it’s also been a long time since I was so hair-free down there), I do really, really like it. Even though it requires almost daily maintenance.

I spent a lot of time trying to fade it so it blends with the hair around it. I have always been a hairier than average fucker which, honestly, has also always bugged me. But it is what it is. At least the immediate yard around the device and its contents has been whacked back. Lord knows nothing else down there is being whacked.

Device déjà vu

A couple Twitter followers took me to task for reviewing the Badass Workroom BA-31P:

IMO, I define a “knock-off” as an exact copy of a product designed to appear to be that product. The male chastity device market is awash in these. Once upon a time, they were fake CB6Ks and then they were fake Holy Trainers (replete with the name “Holy Trainer” stamped on them), and now you see fake Cobras and devices that look like Evotion’s. In fact, you still see all of those. And that’s just plastic.

In my original review of the Rigid Halfshell, I said…

All in all, their products appear to be knock-offs of Mature Metal and Steelworxx designs at perhaps slightly better prices (though it’s hard to tell with currency fluctuations and option costs) which, all by itself, would make them barely worth a mention. But. They have a PA security design I’ve never seen before and it’s really interesting.

And that, to me in today’s market, is where “knock-offs” diverge from “inspired by.” A lot of the stuff on Rigid’s site looked like things other makers were offering. And a lot of stuff on the BAWR site look like things other makers are offering. But in both their cases, they have taken bits of those other devices and put them together in new ways. Hence, the BA-31P. It is, in my experience, unique. As I said, a cross between the Steelheart and the Halfshell. Not either. Both. And by making that leap of design — a leap nobody else has made, AFAIK — they’ve made something unique.

It’s not a 100% straightforward issue, to be sure. Patent and trademark lawyers make good money arguing about prior art all day long. All I can do is apply how I see it. In the case of the BA-31P, we find a new and unique combination of past designs. Good enough for me to think of that as a new, legitimate thing.

A case that I don’t think is difficult to call is that of the metal “Holy Trainer” I reviewed back in 2017. This was a product that was marketed as a device from the Holy Trainer maker, but in metal. It was the same design, after all, so…plausible? However, Holy Trainer only works in resin. They don’t make metal devices. And this specific device was awful. It literally injured me. Clearly, this is the worst kind of knock-off, even though one could argue making the design in metal was a new innovation. Perhaps. But they tried to pass it off as being something it was not (made by the Holy Trainer people) and, on top of that, it was total shit. It could hurt whoever would buy it and that would, by extension, hurt Holy Trainer’s brand.

But then I think of the brass barrel lock used by Steelworxx in many of their devices. When I bought my first Steelheart in 2009, I was unaware of any other maker using them. Steelworxx could have been the first (or maybe they weren’t, I dunno). Certainly, it was a very uncommon feature at the time. Now, you find it everywhere. Rigid uses them, the Holy Trainer has it, the Cobra and Evotion devices use them. It’s, like, the default way to lock a male chastity device. As is should be. It’s better than a small padlock in lots of ways. Are every one the devices I mentioned (and the perhaps hundreds of others I didn’t) all “knock-offs” of the Steelworxx design? Of course not.

In one alternate timeline, Steelworxx could have patented the approach. Perhaps, I’m not a lawyer. And that could have kept everyone else from copying their innovation. But that didn’t happen and, I’d say, the community of male chastity device wearers are better off for it.

Another example is the proprietary screw mentioned in the first tweet above. Lori’s devices had them ages ago. So did Mature Metal. And so does Steelwerks. And so does BAWR. And so does the men’s room stall I use at the office. Custom screw heads to make entry harder is not an own-able idea. The specific design of them could be. If BAWR was making S-screws like Steelwerks, that would be a clear knock-off. But they aren’t making those. They’re implementing a feature used by many other makers.

The last thing I’ll say about all this is the aspect of BAWR’s offering I mentioned in the first paragraph of my review. I was able to order a fully custom metal device and receive it within one calendar month. I have heard from dozens of guys who have ordered from Steelworxx and Rigid, specifically, who have waited 10 times as long (or longer) to receive their devices. This has been going on for years. I assume this is because both of them are overwhelmed by demand. In either case, they’re reported to be very poor at communication, so it’s hard to know. So, in a world where the two makers who have been apparently damaged by BAWR’s “copying” can’t even make devices in anything like a marginally reasonable timeframe for the customers they have, it’s literally the free market’s job to allow someone else to take advantage of the unmet demand. And BAWR has done that. They make a quality, custom product that many people want and cannot get. Capitalism doing its thing.

I don’t pretend this is all black and white. There’s a lot of fuzziness each person can interpret their own way. I have long been an advocate of not buying the cheapest devices available and supporting innovative makers. I long advocated for Steelworxx and Rigid and even Mature Metal. I also am a big fan of the Holy Trainer and Evotion devices and the Cobra. These are all makers who have innovated in their own ways. I do not think people should buy $20 versions of their devices. But people will and do and they have their reasons. I am saying I would not.

I also acknowledge that BAWR does have devices that could be called copies of others’ designs. But, like Rigid, they also have their own innovations they’ve added to the mix. And they can deliver which I know for a fact their all-metal custom peers struggle with.

Steelworxx, Rigid, Mature Metal, Badass Workroom…a lot of makers have devices that look like one another’s designs. They all get inspiration from one another. It’s all familiar. It’s up to you what you do with that. It’s up to you who you support with your money. I have no issue supporting BAWR because they offer the one combination of features I have wanted for years. Nobody else does, to this day. I don’t care what language they speak or what continent they’re making them on. They put exactly what I wanted out there at a fair price and in good quality.

What else could anyone ask for?

Badass Workroom BA-31P review

Badass Workroom (BAWR) is, as far as I can tell, a relatively new entrant in the male chastity device market. I first found out about them in the fall of 2021 and I ordered the device I’m reviewing today, the BA-31P, on December 1, 2021. Notably, it was a totally custom steel device that was ordered, manufactured, shipped and received all inside of a month. I am unaware of any maker in the space that can deliver that quickly.

I’m sticking the rest of this after a jump due to NSFW images…

Continue reading “Badass Workroom BA-31P review”

Be ready

Belle let me come last weekend. She gave me the key Saturday night meaning I was to go though my routine the next morning while she slept so that I’d be ready when she woke up. I call it “my routine” but that post I just linked to might be the last time I did it so I’m not sure one can use the word “routine” for something that happens so infrequently.

I don’t think the date of that post is the last time she let me out to fuck/orgasm, but I don’t know for a fact that it wasn’t. I know I don’t have a distinct recollection of it happening after that event and know it hasn’t happened at all this year. So, perhaps, it was five months ago. Minimally more than three months ago.

I also don’t know if Belle has any specific idea about how long she makes me wait. I presume it’s dependent on when she wants to feel me inside her, but I also think she knows that can’t be too often while also keeping me in the headspace she likes me in. Since I don’t keep track (anymore) of when I get to come, I also can’t know if there’s a pattern, but my guess is she’s on pace for 3-6 times a year based on my faulty memory and limited evidence. I think about how I used to come that much in a week just before we started using chastity…

Anyway, thanks to the Viagra and Promescent (and my phone), I was laying there with a mostly numb, incredibly hard erection when she was ready to commence activities. It took a lot of effort on my part not to rush things while trying to get her to orgasm first, but she was also apparently impatient and told me to go inside her before I got her all the way off.

When I’m in the situation of the chemicals making me as hard and sensitive as a rock, all I can really feel well is the tightness and heat of her pussy. It leaves me feeling overconfident and, even while trying to distract myself with even breathing and thoughts of baseball, it isn’t long before I realize the end is nigh. I do last longer with the spray, but it probably still wasn’t more than a couple minutes.

It felt like orgasm wouldn’t end. Even after I had shot my load, I felt involuntary contractions trying to milk as much juice as possible. My whole body arched around the erection. My abs actually kinda cramped from the effort.

When will it happen again? Will it be five months? Five weeks? Five days? Tomorrow!? No idea. I don’t even bring it up. I’m not allowed to either 1) ask for an orgasm, or 2) advocate against one so I tend to just not talk about it at all with her for fear of it being misconstrued as one or the other. Of course, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to do it and I certainly don’t need to know if and when she wants it to happen again.

In a way, that total lack of control creates its own kind of peace. All I have to do is be ready for whatever she wants.