Revised and expanded CB-6000 tips and tricks

I’ve finally finished a page I’ve been working on, off and on, for a while now. Back in December, I put together a couple of CB6K-related tips. Since then, that page has received a lot of traffic from Google, so I decided about a month ago to do it properly. The end result is the new, improved, and expanded CB-6000 Tips & Tricks.

Please feel free to add your perspective via the new page’s comments. I hope to be able to integrate the experiences of others as time goes on.

The big pathetic mess of a post

I cleared my schedule so I could pick Belle up at the airport Thursday afternoon. It’d been three days since I had seen her and wanted some one-on-one time with her before the kids came home, etc. I was hoping for a little action but wasn’t positive I’d get any (nor did I expect to).

We unpacked from the trip and she was off doing something in the back of the house while I started writing the post of going gay. Eventually, I realized all the busy noises had ceased and that she was probably back there answering email, so I went back and nuzzled into leg while she clickity-clacked on the computer.

Even though I had been without orgasm for 19 days, I wasn’t feeling especially submissive. Hot and bothered, yes, but submissive no. It seemed as though the trip had drained all those feelings from me since we had basically zero personal time. Whatever it is that triggers that frame of mind within me, time from last emission isn’t the only factor.

In any event, I asked her if she wanted to mess up the bed a little. All the planets had aligned: I was unlocked and free, she was awake, and the kids were at school. She decided it was a good time and told me to get naked. After a little kissing, groping, etc., she said she wanted me to fuck her to orgasm. It may have been a shadow of insecurity that passed over my face, but I definitely wasn’t exude confidence. I’ve only been able to get her off that way without coming myself once this year. She had previously told me I wasn’t coming again in February (a goal I was completely committed to achieving), but I felt the odds of me being able to successfully restrain myself were low. Then, she dropped the bomb.

In fact, she did want me to come. She didn’t want me all worked up over not coming and she really wanted to get her orgasm from penetrative penile pounding. In retrospect, I should have stopped and talked this through. I was confused and a more than a little let-down that the previously stated goal of one month had been swept away so suddenly. Also, I should have pointed out that it wasn’t my concern that I couldn’t get her off with the cock, but that I couldn’t keep myself from erupting before she got her O. Seeing all this behind my eyes, she told me to suck it up and get going. This is what she wanted and she decides when I get to come, not me.

So I got to work. Again, in retrospect, I should have spent more time warming her up with my fingers before jumping right in (though in my defense, I was a little off balance with this surprise orgasm being sprung on me). With a minimum of foreplay, I climbed up and started to fuck her. It was my intention to resist my orgasm, even though she had given me permission. If by some small miracle, I got her off without coming, I was going to stop and see what she wanted me to do next. However, as expected, I lost control and came in a huge torrent. I fought it every step of the way until it happened. I maybe enjoyed three or four strokes, but kept right on going even as the head of my dick felt like it was going to implode from over stimulation. After a bit, she figured out what I was doing and told me to stop.

In short, I had failed. Again. I came (with permission) but had failed to give her the orgasm she wanted in the way she wanted it. Worse, once I stopped, my erection started to deflate rapidly so my ability to perform was basically nil. I felt terrible. Again, she told me to snap out of it and accept the fact that I did exactly what she wanted me to do, but all I could do was hide how I felt, not change it.

It’s pretty clear to me now that I’ve lost my ability to enjoy having a spontaneous orgasm. It seems I’m only able to enjoy those I know are coming and can prepare for. I’m not sure if she felt like she was doing me a favor by letting me come or if she really thought it would allow her to get what she wanted more easily, but in any event, I was left feeling stressed, unsatisfied, and ultimately a little depressed that I hadn’t achieved the one month goal. After scolding me to snap out of it, she told me to get Pink so I could finish her off. She had a pretty good ride at the end of the little vibe (at least, a really loud one).

Following this event and the last, I no longer think her goal for me of 12 orgasms in 2009 is achievable. She likes it best when I make her come with the cock. I can’t do that reliably. Desensitizing gel might help, but since it would require using a condom, I’ve never been able to find out since she hates them. And, she has thus far refused to let me experiment with a strap-on stand-in. She seems to have zero interest in that.

I feel as though our journey down this road of orgasm control has progressed so far that I really don’t ever want to go back. I can’t imagine coming every time we have sex. The weird and somewhat scary truth is, I’m not sure I even want to come. Or, more accurately, I don’t want to stop not coming. Does that make sense?

I wrote the above yesterday but didn’t get a chance to finish it before I talked to Belle last night. I told her what I told you – that I was unhappy with what happened on Thursday and that by saying so I wasn’t complaining or trying to assign blame or anything. It’s just what it was. She didn’t accept any blame and didn’t apologize for how it all went down (which is good – I wouldn’t have wanted her to). I told her I was worried about the 12 in ’09 goal and wasn’t sure it was achievable (at least not in a way that would allow her to experience pleasure in the way she preferred). She told me we’d figure it out. In the mean time, she’s not going to let me come until April. That’ll be a nice round 40 days from the last time I came to my next earliest opportunity.

While the prospect of not achieving orgasm for more than a month excites me, I’m still going to obsess over the fact that while she’s denying me orgasm, she’s also denying herself the pleasure of being fucked. I will continue to try as often as she’ll let me, though. I’m assuming that, with practice, I’ll get better at putting off my own climax. At least, I hope so.

Now to finish the post I started yesterday. She told me on the way home from the airport that she was going to lock me up that day. The usual mix of being excited and somewhat dissapointed that my freedom was about to end passed through me. If I had a choice, I would not have gone in, but it wasn’t my decision to make. Later that evening, I showered and trimmed and put on the device with the lock in place, but not closed since she likes to be the one to make it click. However, as I got out of the bathroom, I found her dead asleep. The long days had caught up with her. I closed the lock for her. Funny thing is, she didn’t even know I was in the thing for the first 24 hours. It wasn’t until last night that she found out I had put it on. I could have bought myself a whole extra day of freedom.

After our talk last night and her decision to keep me denied through March, I found the warm and fuzzy submissive veil fall over me. This active expression of her control combined with the physical restraint of the CB6K seemed to be enough to send me over the edge, even though I had just had an orgasm. In fact, it now seems as though orgasmic release isn’t a huge factor in how I feel with regard to being horny or submissive. There just aren’t enough of them and they’re not of high enough quality to absorb all the desire I carry around with me.

In rereading this, I realize this post has been all over the place and is probably too long. Why anyone would want to read me kvetch about all this is beyond me, but it’s nice to have a place where I can do it.

Going gay

Over on Fetlife, a guy started a thread called “Effects of Chastity on young males” in which he expresses his concern that being in chastity was turning him gay. Apparently, after being locked up for six weeks he had found himself craving assplay and was becoming aroused by the idea of “servicing” another man (or rather, being “forced” to do so by his domme). This guy was really worried that chastity was causing him to become something he felt was morally wrong. I don’t bring this up in order to make fun of him (though, based on some of his comments, I think he should be made fun of). Instead, his post has made me, a guy who’s enjoyed his fair share of assplay and “servicing”, ponder what it means to be “gay”.

For most of my living memory, I’ve been attracted to both genders. Many of my most vivid memories of childhood are those in which I engaged in sex play with my friends (going back to seven or eight years old, even). Most of the time, those friends were boys, but not always. As I got older and my equipment started to develop into something I could actually do stuff with, it was still the boys I was fooling around with most of the time. I think this was primarily due to the fact that boys were around me in large numbers and, it turns out, were just as horny as I was. I had several “partners” in my formative years who today, no doubt, would identify as the straightest of straight men and would totally repudiate any claim that they could be otherwise. But that doesn’t change the fact that other guys were cheap and easy and, as an added bonus, I liked their cocks as much as I liked my own.

At some point, I realized this wasn’t “normal”. Not only was playing around with sex a bad thing (as defined by my parents and other adults), but doing so with other boys was a Bad Thing™. And, since I often was the one to instigate it, I was doubly bad. The idea that I might be gay bubbled up in my head. Gay, as in faggot. As in all the terrible things young men call each other. As in the type of person others in my family detested and derided. That did not make me happy.

Once I hit high school and discovered the wonders of personal hygiene, the opposite sex discovered me. And I discovered I liked them, too. In fact, I liked them just as much, though differently, as I did the boys. I found girls and boys to be different in all kinds of wonderful ways. Like, when I kissed a girl her spit was mild, fragrant, and not as thick as what I found in a boy’s hot, steamy mouth. Girls were all soft and curvy and had these neat extra parts while the boys were hard and pushy and more familiar. Girls were a mysterious game, where the rules were always shifting and winning was hard, while boys were direct and simple (even the straight boys were easy to beat). I was an equal opportunity player and game for just about anything. For a while there, my girlfriend was best friends with my best friend’s girlfriend. We’d hang out in his room after school making out with the girls and, when they left, we’d make out with each other (and much more). This did not seem weird to me at the time.

If I identified as anything then, it was bisexual. I really hate the term bisexual (then and now), but it was the best I had to work with. I knew I wasn’t straight since I liked cock, but I wasn’t gay since I liked nearly everything about girls. I bristled then (and still would today) at the suggestion some of my gay friends made that I was confused. I was not confused about what I liked. I was confused about what that made me and how I was supposed to fit into a world where people like me didn’t seem to exist.

Eventually, I realized that while I could be sexually satisfied by both genders, there was a hole in my soul only a woman could fill. True, with a woman there were cravings for certain sex acts and body parts that would go unfulfilled. I decided, though, that I would never be emotionally satisfied with a man (though not before treating like shit the only one I ever loved). In fact, I was not gay. After a while, I got married, we had kids, bought a house and dog. But I still resist calling myself straight or bisexual. I am just me, the guy who’ll fuck anyone.

While I don’t consider the gender we crave for emotional satisfaction a choice (and, therefore, homosexuality isn’t a choice), I do consider the acts in which we engage to be a choice. I chose to have sex with men. I do not choose to find them attractive, they just are. I don’t choose to like taking up the ass, I just do. However, engaging in homosexual activities does not make me a homosexual (any more than my voting for Ronald Reagan makes me a Republican – but that’s another story). I think this is where a lot of “choice” arguments come from. Religious/conservative types who, in their youth, played around with guys like me and then, when they got older, assumed anyone who engaged in hot guy on guy action was choosing to do so, rather than doing what they felt most comfortable and natural doing.

So, long way around, the dude on Fetlife who was having urges to suck guys off and let them fuck him wasn’t going to end up any gayer than me, Rick Warren, or the man on the moon. You can only be gay when you’re gay. Straight boys who like cock are nothing more than that.

Rambling

I feel the need to write, but I don’t really have much to say. I’ve spent the better part of the day on a plane with two kids (Belle doesn’t get home until tomorrow), so I’m tired. Nevertheless, writing nearly every day for three and a half months has left me craving the act. I suppose that’s a good thing.

So, with nothing better to say, let’s talk stats and body functions!

We’re getting dangerously close to three weeks now. No emission whatsoever except for some minor leakage back on the seventh (when Belle made me use her cock to make her come). Not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but there are times when I think I can almost feel my swollen prostate sitting down there like a little lead slug. I always thought it was hyperbole when others said it, but I can also report that my balls do feel plumper and more swollen than usual.

What I’d like to do right now is edge myself. My hormones are pushing for release while my brain is holding on to her control. Based on the most recent version of our Covenant, I’m not even allowed to play with myself without permission (basically, I can only derive pleasure from the cock when I’m using it on her). I don’t have permission, so I’m trying to ignore the swelling flesh and lonely urges that always arise when she’s not here. God, I want to jack off. Not orgasm, but bring myself to the precipice again and again. But…it ain’t gonna happen.

Minor confession. I have never in my life had a nocturnal emission. All that talk in sex ed about wet dreams only left me wondering if I was normal as I never, ever had one. I wonder how long it will take to have one if she never lets me release a little pressure. In the recent past, I’ve leaked precum (or something) pretty easily over the course of the day. Maybe that’s how it works for me. No big event in the middle of the night, just a bunch of little ones all day long. In any event, nothing’s happened so far during this cycle.

All right, enough of that. I’ll be back when I have something interesting to say…

Copping a feel

belle_thumper
Belle likes not only Thumper's position in this arrangement but also his size relative to hers.

I don’t think I mentioned where we were going on our little family vacation. I’m still waiting for my anonymous sex blogger handbook to show up in the mail (even though the check’s been cashed for weeks), but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to avoid dropping any facts that could be used to trace back to my real identity. Facts like, Belle and I took our children to a well-known theme park in Southern California infested with overgrown rodents. And other facts like Belle left us midway through our stay at the well-known amusement park to start her separate business-related trip. I won’t be seeing her again for four days.

One might think carting a couple of kids across country on a plane and traipsing around a theme park, etc., would take one’s mind off the fact that one hasn’t ejaculated in two weeks. One would be right. That is, until one was waiting in line with the woman who decides when one gets to come and, upon slipping one’s hand down the back of her pants, finds she’s not wearing any underwear. That’ll snap one’s mind back to one’s orgasmless existence pretty fucking quick, let me tell you.

Speaking of which, she tells me she’s locking me back up as soon as we get home. Since I don’t get to come again in February, I assume that means I’ll be in at least another week. Other than that little tidbit (and the cheap feels I copped while waiting in the numerous lines), I’ve got nothing sex-related to say. Pretty sucky sex blogging, I know, but the place I’m at has a way of sucking the sex out of just about everything.

OK, back to the merry-making. The kids and I are heading back into the Happiest Place on Earth™ and hoping it can stop with the f’ing rain, already. Ciao.

We’re off

We’re about to jet off on our little family vacation. Not sure if I’ll be able to write much while we’re gone, but I’d like to. Once you get in the “write every day” groove, it’s hard to break it.

In other news, Belle told me I wasn’t going to have another orgasm in February. Happy Valentine’s day! xoxo

I will now start counting the days (and maybe even hours) to Sunday, March 1.

She bit my ass

Oh yes, she did. She let me out of the device and then bit the fuck out of my ass. Hard. And it was good. She had me naked and on my stomach – unrestrained as she was all flummoxed from packing, etc., for the trip and just wanted a quickie – and started going to town with her teeth on my exposed, white ass. Oh, sweet mother of god, I love the biting. It is the best. And did I mention I wasn’t allowed to talk or make noise? Guess what. I did make noise. There’s no way not to. It was just so crazy painful wonderful amazing. I’d start to rise off the bed and my newly liberated balls and hard cock would hang under me in a way I had almost forgotten they could and she’d reach in there and squeeze those little melons like she as trying to make them pop. *deep breath*

She wouldn’t take anything in return. Just some kissing. My reptilian sex monster had risen (the one that eats little subbie rabbits for breakfast) and every cell in my body wanted to take her and fuck her into a quivering orgasmic puddle and – oh yes – I wanted to come all over her. I wanted to spew forth in the most manly of manly ways and demonstrate to the whole world exactly how manly those ways were…but she said no. No, I wouldn’t. She drowned Godzilla in a pool of cool feminine control and then shoved him into his cave and rolled the boulder back to seal him in. And now he’s sitting in there – inside the deepest pit of my pits – glowering at her. Plotting.

At one point, before she chewed me up, she said I was like a race horse who could see the track in front of him and wanted to run…but who she wouldn’t let out of the gate. The cock I gave her was so hard, so ready, and so badly in need of attention and she barely touched it. Never stroked it. It’s as if it wasn’t even there. All that existed were her teeth in my ass and her absolute control over my reptilian sex monster.

Quick review: PA Security Cable

One of the reasons I got a Prince Albert piercing was because I wanted to make the CB-6000 more secure. I do not believe the device needs to be a lot more secure (for me, anyway) but the idea that it’s been made to be impossible to escape from is much hotter than knowing I could always slip out if I really and truly wanted to. (The other, and main, reason I got the PA is because I think it’s fucking hot to see stainless through the head of my dick. But that’s just me.)

The first step toward greater security is getting the hole made. Check. The second step is wearing a trapped-ball ring or other closed ring jewelry through the hole. Check. The third step is to acquire something like Kept For Her’s PA Security Cable. Triple check.

The cable, including shipping, costs ten dollars which hits the sweet spot of giving KFH an incredible amount of margin on each sale but not so much that you’d be bothered to go make something yourself. Ordering was a snap and they shipped and delivered it very quickly. The product itself is made from a short length of nylon-coated 1/16″ stainless steel cable with loops on each end affixed with brass ferrules. Very secure-feeling. The nylon coating makes the cable smooth to the touch and should, with wear, keep it from damaging the polycarbonate of the CB6K.

I got mine on Monday and immediately ran it though my ring and secured it in the lock. Here are some NSFW images (shot as demurely as possible so as to protect my delicate sensibilities) of the cable in action: through the lock, through the ring. Of course, the Achilles heel in this scheme is the ring. If you can push the ball out of the ring without tools, you can defeat the cable and, eventually, the entire device. KFH recommends a ball that’s too big to fit through the slot, which would enhance the security greatly. I can just get the ball out of my 8ga ring and it does fit through the slot, so I’d advise others to use 6ga or larger as those are more difficult to manipulate without tools and generally come with larger balls. I am planning on going to 6ga eventually (and maybe even 4ga), so I guess I’ll find out.

A bigger issue for me than my ring, though, was comfort. KFH says on their site, “This cable is totally comfortable to wear, you won’t even know it’s there.” I found that when my penis was extended and its head was up against the slot, their claim is true. However, my dick likes to move around in there and will sometimes retract about half way up the tube. When secured by the cable, this is impossible. It places a steady stress on the piercing which, at first, wasn’t too painful, but after 2.5 hours I found to be unbearable. This may be due to my hole not being fully healed (though I think it is). It may also be due to the jewelry being too thin at 8ga. I’ll try again at 6ga and see if there’s a difference.

Bottom line, based on my experience, I cannot reccomend the PA Security Cable. However, the concept of it is still incredibly hot and I would love to hear the experiences of those who have tried it and found it to be wearable.

Dreamy

I forgot to lubricate the ring last night and I could really feel the difference this morning. At about 4:15 its bite woke me up. I relieved myself, which brought the, um, swelling down a bit – at least enough to be able to go back to sleep.

Then, I had this weird dream. I was in a strange, dimly lit house but all our stuff was in it, even the full length mirror upon which Belle hangs her key on its silver necklace. The whole family was there, except for Belle. Even in my dream, the device was hurting me, so I went looking for the key so I could move up to a bigger size (note, not to take it off, but to leave it on with a bigger ring). As I went into the bedroom where the mirror was, a little rabbit (I am not making this up) stopped me. Looking up at me with his big, Disney-esque eyes he said, “But what about my suffering?”

Apparently, I shrugged off the little rabbit, found the key, and turned my attention to the device. That’s when I found that the tube and KSD-G3 had fallen off in my hands, but the ring was still locked to my body (and I know that doesn’t make any sense). I fiddled with the little silver key and went to put it in the keyhole only to find my little chrome lock had been replaced with a big clear plastic one. Her key was useless. I couldn’t get out of the ever more painful device.

Like I said, weird.

Three days and out

My Belle told me last night that she was letting me out of the device on Wednesday. That’ll be around eleven days in, give or take depending on how you count the night I bled, which is about the longest I’ve been locked-up, but I can’t recall the record at the moment. Isn’t keeping score like that such a guy thing to to, BTW? I want to break records here, people! Hopefully, she’ll keep me in for a month next time. No, wait. Really?

We were very chatty since she’s fighting off a bug and didn’t feel much like doing anything else. I got out of her that she really likes where we are now. She likes that we’re so much closer. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever been more intimate with each other. She can see and likes how the denial and chastity are affecting me. I have to admit, the idea that her control is actually modifying my behavior to such an extent that she’s noticing it and that she likes it and wants it to continue sends a thrill through me. I mean, that’s the whole point of it, right? Mutual exchange of pleasure. I get off on being controlled – in fact, mentally and physically transformed through her control – and she likes the resulting changes. They should feed on each other over time. Last night was the first time I can think of that she spontaneously volunteered a positive opinion about what we were doing. Or, at least, one so obviously positive.

She also commented on how differently I act each time she has me locked up. Last time, she thought my mood was fairly flat versus my increased arousal and submissiveness this time around. I was flat last time, but I was also heading into some treacherous emotional waters brought on by her trip, etc. Also, I went into chastity that time all on my own. This time, she decided that I’d be locked up. There’s a vast psychological difference between the two.

In fact, upon further consideration, I think my new-found interest in serving her (that is, relieving her of stress, making her happy, and otherwise doing whatever I can for her) is a rechanneling of sexual energy that before I didn’t know what to do with. Doing things for her gives me a focus and a way to burn up some frustration in a positive way. That’s my theory of the moment, anyway.

So, while I get out on Wednesday for who knows how long, I will not be coming any time soon. She still doesn’t know when that’ll happen. If it doesn’t occur by this Thursday (and I have no reason to think it will), there’s no way it can possibly happen before next Friday, what with the family all sharing one hotel room on our trip. That will be about three weeks and will break my old record of 19 days. I think I’m excited about that. I mean, breaking records is good, right?