The opposite of resent

I was away from Belle this weekend spending a little quality time in the woods. Since the last time I went there resulted in two unauthorized self-administered orgasms, I went this time secured in the Steelwerks Schandmaske (a device for which I am woefully late in writing a review). Not that this trip would afford me any real opportunity to cheat, but because I did last time, I am always locked now unless Belle wants to use the penis.

In any event, because of this trip and various other reasons, March is turning into month in which the penis has been locked up quite a lot. It’s been out only 1.2 hours so far, or not even three-tenths of one percent of the month. I mentioned this to Belle when I got home just as an aside as she was going to bed and she asked me, unexpectedly, if I resented that degree of lock-up.

I’m not going to say it isn’t frustrating sometimes. That the urge to have an unencumbered erection or to feel the hard penis in my hand doesn’t occasionally swell inside me. But resentful? Far from it. Just the opposite.

I love Belle for being someone who will expend the effort to control me that way. Who cares enough about me to see that I’m put into that position. I crave it and I appreciate it more than I can say. It helps me stay centered and focused on my submission. It makes me feel loved and comforted even when the device is tight or annoying or the urge to use the penis for my own pleasure becomes strong.

I find I’m in a interesting spot now that it’s been so many months in which I’ve been without access to the penis so consistently. The sensation that I don’t have a penis like other men and that I am somehow fundamentally not as other men are permeates me. In the past, there was something about how I was a man denied control over the thing that defined my manhood that radiated the energy that powered my submission but now I feel like I’ve pushed past that. Not having a penis defines me more than not having access to it does. Not ever masturbating and so infrequently orgasming and being able to satisfy my sex partners without the use of a penis has rewritten the base code of my sexuality in a way that, if I resent anything, it’s that the penis can’t be locked away forever. That it still radiates desires and urges powerful enough to require it stay secured. That it even needs to be a factor at all.

I understand why it does. Belle needs to feel it inside her. She craves that and the feeling of it ejacualting into her. That’s what she requires to be satisfied sometimes so that’s what I will give her since her satisfaction is my primary objective. I’m happy to have that penis to be able to bring her pleasure when she wants it, but also happy to not have it all the rest of the time since it would only lead me to indulgent and self-centered activity.

The energy that powers my submission now comes from the lack of the thing that I used to think defined my sexuality. That I feel very much as though I am not quite a man. I’m something in between. I only become man-like when Belle needs me to. Feeling that would have probably terrified me even after we started using chastity in our marriage. Definitely would have horrified me from 15 or 25 years ago. But now it feels absolutely natural. Perhaps more natural than I’ve ever felt before. As if I am now who I was meant to be.

How could I resent that? How could I resent the woman who helped me become this? Of course I don’t. More that I cherish her for allowing me to be who I am. That she appreciates me for being that way and, even though it’s not what she thought she was marrying, loves me all the same.

February, by the numbers

The shortest and most obnoxious of Winter months is behind us here in the Great White (but not this year) North. Here’s a breakdown of the month’s activities using the newly expanded metrics.

img_2790February was all about the Halfshell. I went into it just before February started and stayed in it for all but .07% of the month. Belle was travelling again in February so that less-than-1% outcome is mostly due to her not being around to let me out for her pleasure. Pretty sure .07% is the lowest amount of freedom the penis has experienced in any one month since the new “it shall always be locked” rule was implemented.

Just like in January, Belle’s travels worked against her having a normal number of orgasms. She enjoyed the same number, seven (in a perfect world, I’d like her to have 8-10 in a month). Two were self-administered (presumably with her vibrator), four were via the ministration of my fingers, and one was while riding the penis (and yes, I was able to resist coming myself).

I had my first orgasm of the year on the 18th. It was just OK. Not the head-exploding release that is physcially painful but also not purely enjoyable. Two days later, any lingering effects were totally gone. Through February, the Belle-to-Thumper orgasm ratio is 14:1.

Like last month, I was only allowed inside her four times. Three of the four resulted in ejacualtion without orgasm, the fourth was the one orgasm I had in the month. I think she likes it when I shoot in her and that’s half the reason she lets me do it. I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing where the line is between ejaculation and orgasm. For most men who aren’t focused on staying denied, that line is the width of a human hair. For me, it feels like it’s five feet across. I know exactly where it is, even when it shows up more quickly than I was expecting.

This month, we’re travelling to Europe for Spring Break. This will mean some extra time out for TSA, etc., and there’s no telling how much of the time we’re vacationing she’ll want the penis locked up. It hasn’t seen more than 2% of free time in five months. Might it even get into double-digits in March!?

Peep show

I’m in the Halfshell currently and have been since the last time Belle locked me up (January 29 at 7:57 AM). The only practical downside of this device is that it does not allow use of a urinal. That’s why, earlier today, I was in one of the stalls taking a leak.

As posts go, not the most exciting start, I know. Bear with me.

Anyway, there’s been a lot of construction in the building our office is in. Lots of banging around on the second floor and weird smells and worker guys stomping around. So it wasn’t that strange to walk into the bathroom and see a pair of them looking up at the ceiling and talking about a maybe 4″ hole in it through which you could see the space above. Whatever, they let me pass and I went into the stall to do my business.

One of the guys left and the other I could hear moving something around but I didn’t really pay any attention as my peeing and phone kept me occupied. When I was done, I put the phone on the toilet paper dispenser and pulled some off to dab the excess urine off the end of the device and my balls. To be able to do this, I sit back a bit, open my legs, and pull the whole package up and out by my ball sack so I can get it nice and dry. You know, like usual.

I don’t know what made me look. Maybe I heard something. But I glanced up and realized the second worker guy had set up a ladder and was holding a bucket up to the hole to catch stuff that fell through. And in that position, he was well above the toilet stall wall. And he was looking right at me with my locked up package in hand.

This was an unexpected situation. It’s the kind of thing, I suppose, you don’t really know how you’ll react to until it happens. Interestingly, I was like, “Oh, OK,” let go of my balls,  dropped the toilet paper between my legs, stood, pulled up my (cute) underwear and pants, retrieved my phone, and left the stall. Then, while taking my time washing my hands, I started making small talk with him. Like what just happened hadn’t just happened or happened all the time.

“What’s the hole for?”

I don’t actually remember what he said because it was mostly stammering and talking while looking up towards the hole and focusing on his bucket-holding.

“Well, be careful up there. Have a good one,” as I left the room.

img_2307
I looked up and there he was looking back down.
Walking back to my office, I realized I was feeling zero embarrassment. This is in keeping with previous near-misses and obvious bulge-showing instances in the past, but nothing this extreme has ever happened before. For me now, being in chastity is just too normal and has too many postitive attributes to get too worked up about someone finding out, especially if that someone is a person I’ll likely see, at most, a few times in passing while he’s tearing the building up. This might even be part of the “it’s not what I do, it’s who I am” thing.

Now, hours later, I find I’m a little turned on by the encounter. I’m not a fan of kinky folk being too in your face about their sex with the muggles. People have a right not to be made part of your sex acts, after all. But this was entirely not my fault. Dude knew I was in there. Had to know when he went up on that ladder that he’d be able to see down into the stall. Then he looked. Of his own volition. If anyone is an aggrieved party here, it’s me. But I’m not aggrieved at all.

I don’t know why, but it seems like an awful lot of locked up guys get off on the idea of being discovered. Usually, it’s in the form of their keyholders telling someone, but the idea that their “secret” would be found out somehow (usually against their will) is a common theme in the chastity porn. Plus, I will admit to having a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me. So I supposed it should be no surprise that seeing another man looking at me with the device into which I’m locked on obvious display would end up flipping some switches.

I related this tale on Twitter and was asked if I was interested in him. Funny, but I didn’t think about it at the time. He was youngish and cute enough, I guess, in that construction worker kind of way. I have always had a thing for work boots. That’s kinda of what got me hot thinking about it because then I was able to spin up a quick porno in my head. But in reality, he seemed more embarrassed that anything else. It never occured to me he looked in the stall because he was into guys or cruising or something.

There was also speculation as to what he thought he was seeing. When I related this to Drew, he wondered what search term he’d Google to find out. Someone also suggested that maybe he thought it was a medical device and that’s kind of what I always thought someone would think who wasn’t a pervert like you and me. Something I picked up in the war.

Maybe I’ll see him in the halls or bathroom again. I kind of think I won’t even recognize him if I do. But who knows. And who knows if his internet sleuthing won’t plant some kind of seed in him. Maybe, in a weird way, this will end up being a good thing for the dude.

January Metrics

“Oh, hold on,” I said and turned away from her in bed moments after she allowed me to take off the chastity device.

“What?” she asked.

“Just a sec…” as I reached for my phone.

“Oh. Data collection. I see.”

January, of course, means a new year which means all the numbers go back to zero. Last year, I counted only hours in each device plus how many times I came (more or less, I lost track). This year, I’m tracking the devices plus…

  • How many times she comes
  • How she came (fingers, vibrator, oral, penis, etc.)
  • How many times I am allowed inside her
  • How many times I ejaculate
  • How many times I orgasm
  • How I orgasm (though there’s really only one option there)

img_2167I was locked up, according to the time tracker, roughly 98.5% of January (733.3 hours). Nearly three-quarters of that time was in the Steelheart with the remainder pretty even split between the Halfshell and a newcomer (ahem) from Steelwerks called the Schandmaske. I’ll be writing up more about that device in the future.

January was the fifth month where I was locked up north of 90% of the time and the fourth in a row where I was I was contained nearly 100% of the time. This is, of course, “the new normal” turning into just “the normal.” Most of the time I was out was when I travelled for work. Belle was away for about half the month travelling, as well, so the excess time I was out for the TSA was balanced by her not being around to let me out for sex.

Belle came seven times in January. Had she been home, that number would have been higher, though she did get herself off a few times while she was gone. Four of her orgasms were from my fingers, one was from her vibrator, and two were when she was on her own (probably the vibrator again, but I count solo orgasms sepreate from any she has with me).

I had no orgasms in January.

I was allowed to fuck her four times and each time I ejacualted rather quickly.

I did not masturbate in January.

Belle will be travelling quite a bit again in February. She has a weekend in Mexico with some friends then she’s off to Paris for work and to possibly see England (the man, not the country) and who knows what. I’m not travelling as far as I know so there’s little reason to believe February will provide any reasons for me to be unlocked even as much 1.5-2% of the time.

Close your eyes and don’t think of England

Today, Belle didn’t want to come. She already has the past few days and has a refractory period more like a man in that she hardly ever comes more than once in a day and two or three days in a row wipe her out for a while. So yeah, she didn’t want to come even though it’s the last time we’ll be together for two weeks since I’m flying for work today and she’s leaving for Asia tomorrow morning. When I get home, she’ll be gone.

Even so, she did want to feel the hard penis inside her so that meant taking the Steelheart off. As I unlocked it and took all the bits and pieces off, she told me to stay out until after I went through security at the airport which was, like, a whole six hours off. I haven’t been out of chastity for more than two hours since the beginning of October.

Anyway, it didn’t take the penis long to achieve the proper configurataion and she didn’t waste any time telling me to get at it. Naturally, I didn’t last long, but not for the typical reason.

See, TOG is back again. For newbies, it starts here and is continued if you search for “TOG.” Stands for “the other guy” and, short story, he was this guy who came on strong, ghosted her, came back, went away again, blah blah, then sort of dissipated. But he’s back again. And now I’ve decided to call him “England” because I never liked “TOG.” Guess where he’s from.

So anyway, yeah, he’s back and Belle knows he’s a flight risk and honestly doesn’t have any expectations as to what will happen in the future, but she’s going to Paris in February for work (yeah, tough life she’s got — Asia, Europe, NYC, etc.) and he’s right across the Channel and they’re supposedly going to see one another while she’s there. Have I mentioned he’s a flake? So who knows. He’ll either not show up, show up and chicken out, or show up and fuck her.

This time, though, he’s sent her a dick pic. That didn’t happen before. So at least she knows he’s not lying when he claims to have what she calls a “proper cock” — thick, 7.5″, etc. I don’t know if the picture had anything for scale in it (say, a packet of jammie dodgers  for example) mostly because she hasn’t shown me the picture. Yes, I do want to see it. Very much. And she knows I do. But I won’t ask because that seems a line I don’t want to cross verbally. And she is hesitant to show me, partly because she thinks if she does it’ll jinx things.

So when I was going at it this morning and trying to find a place to put myself so I could keep it up for a little bit, the giant mystery cock fluttered into my mind. Or, perhaps I should say it thudded heavily into my mind. Next thing I know, I’m thinking of being inside her and how England has said he wants to be there, too, with his giant dick to give her the fuck of her life, better than I could, etc. (yes, he said this), and that was that. It’s just too potent an image for me to be able to keep things together.

At first, I slowed and the nice noises she was making took a slight turn to disappointment. But somehow, that only made things worse. He wouldn’t need to slow down. He’d be able to keep going.

So I had to slam on the breaks. Squirt, squirt. Squirt. Squirrrrrt. Sqrt.

All done. No orgasm, but an ample ejaculation followed by the now-normal loss of the erection.

I’m sitting at E11 in MSP and waiting and thinking about how I won’t see her again for 14 days. I decided to wear the Halfshell on the trip mostly because it’s easier to deal with, but when I get back I’ll go into the Steelheart until she returns.

And now my work peeps are here. Time to go be an adult.

 

Hapa’s comment

Hapa left the following comment on my 2016 metrics post:

Love how you’re always pushing boundaries and publishing results. For real. As I read this blog entry I started wondering about the big picture. My guess for arguments sake, is you and Belle are in your late forties. A lot of couples naturally start seeing a slow decay in sexual frequency as they age,.

Do you think about trading the natural ability of your most active sexual years for lifestyle?

Clearly you and Belle have a great thing going and and your blog is both inspirational and entertaining but thought that chastity could potentially fit a time when yours or your partners appetite for physical sex is lower (especially when you’re at 16 orgasms/ year) than trading your more vital years.

Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards and the hotness of the trade off is everthing regardless.

In a comical parallel, I used to buzz my hair for many reasons, mostly that I liked it, then, one day I realized I’d be better off enjoying my natural ability to grow and style my hair leaving the buzzing for a time when styling isn’t possible. Chances are I’ll go back to buzzing sooner than that but it made sense enough to stop buzzing my hair for now.😉

Thank you for continuing to write so authentically about your life and sexuality.

Happy New Year,
Hapa

I started to respond but it got all long-winded so I’ve promoted to a whole post. I do not want this to be read as some kind of personal take-down of what Hapa asked or said. Quite the opposite. I want him to understand my perspective. There was a time when I would have asked and said the very same things he did.

Your guess is right that Belle and I are in our late forties. We were in our early forties when we started all this. And while I do agree in general that denial and chastity is one way to combat a slackening libedo, that’s not exactly what happened for us.

Prior to the denial dynamic overlay to our relationship, we had endured years of essentially sexless marriage. Then I cheated and then we came back together and started having sex again. For a while, we had quite a lot of pretty standard sex. Then I discovered what chastity was and we were off to the races. So, for us, it wasn’t a way to enhance a declining sex drive. It was a way to enhance our relationship. Also, for what it’s worth, Belle’s sex drive has increased pretty dramatically in the past year or so.

For a while (like, more than a year), I bought into that “trading my more vital years” thing because I was not yet getting my head around the fact that the point of being locked up is not for me to have sex or for me to have more sex or for me to have better sex or for me to have hotter fantasies or for me at all. It’s not about me. I was terrifically turned on all the time and the chastity was hot as fuck and I’d lay there all mad at Belle for not wanting to take advantage of me in my turned on state and let me make her come, etc. etc. I was being selfish and not accepting that she held the key and owned what it secured. I wanted the female to lead my relationship but only if she led it where I wanted it to go. I was one of those poor bastards who wants to be locked up and talks his wife into it and then becomes a pain in the ass horned-up idiot. Chasity and denial are acts of submission and submission means sacrifice at some level.

It’s from sacrifice that submissives draw their energy. It’s the very definition of being submissive. Giving up control of some kind. Giving it to them, for them. And then living with the consequences. And knowing that living like that is how we as submissives were meant to be.

In a lot of ways, when I talk about my mantra — This is who I am, not what I do — it’s an attempt to draw strength from the reality of the previous paragraph. Giving things up is what makes me as a submissive happy. Seeing her enjoy what I can do for her, as well.

That’s a heavy way of saying I don’t see the exchange of being able to come when and as often as I want for her control over those things and as a trade-off. It’s the entire point. I don’t know how it would be different if I was 30 or 20 or 70, but I do know I wish we had started this as soon as we met. I don’t care if I’m having 1% or 10% or 90% of the orgasms someone my age would normally be having. I care that she owns any I have from this point forward and that she takes that seriously. I’m a fucking sub. I want to be dominated. It makes me happy to be controlled. Being controlled makes me happier than having orgasms. My responsibility isn’t to think about what might be, it’s to focus on making her happy and all the ways I can repay her attention to the responsibility she’s accepted.

You do get there in your comment (“Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards…”), but your hair analogy is off. Even if I couldn’t come as often as I could when I was 20 (i.e., grow as much hair as you can now and not when you can’t), I’d still want her to control it. It makes no difference if I have the natural urge to come three times a day or three times a month. In fact, if I’m unable or have no urge to do something, what value is there in giving it to someone else? It’s potency is its value. Because I have the urge to come (however often) but do not in deference to her control is why this works. That’s where the energy comes from.

I don’t think your POV is uncommon. I do think it’s wrong. Orgasm denial, in a weird way, isn’t about orgasms. It’s about denial. Denial is the thing. Sacrifice. Handing over control. Submission. Yeah, baby. That’s the stuff.

/end sermon