Brought to you by the letter Q

I decided recently to change the word I use to identify my sexuality. Up until now, I called myself bisexual. I’ve never been happy with that term and using it has always felt like wearing an ill-fitting cardigan. I guess it’s all the negative connotation that goes along with it. Lots of gays stop in bisexualville on their way to their final destination and lots of wannabes who play around with people of the same gender in college do the same. It sounds flighty, shallow, and insincere. At least to me. If you call yourself bisexual, more power to you.

Gay doesn’t work either since it suggests exclusivity to (or, at least, priority for) the same gender. I don’t have that either. I can honestly say that I average out to a Kinsey 3. Some days, I find myself more drawn sexually to women, some days to men, but never even close to anything like a preference for one over the other. As I’ve mentioned before, I find emotional comfort with women, but I’ll fuck (or be fucked by) anything. Which, of course, is why straight doesn’t work either. I may be in a heterosexual relationship, but that doesn’t make me straight. I feel just as far from being straight as I do the opposite of that.

And so I’ve settled on queer. Of course, I’ve been aware of the word for a long time, but it’s always turned me off because I associate it (right or wrong) with a certain militant sociopolitical stance which I’m not comfortable with. Now, though, I don’t see it that way. This change in perception started by listing to Dan Savage talk about it in a recent podcast. He wasn’t talking to me, of course, but the way he described it resonated in a way bisexual never has. I like that it suggests difference from the norm rather than anything specific. I like that is sounds permanent. I like that it encompasses the kink side of my sexuality, too – this entire other axis I’ve only recently embraced. I am not like the other kids, obviously. Not straight, not gay, not vanilla (whatever that is). I am queer.

Of course, none of this is either here or there. I’m not going to have to change my census answers nor will this be reflected on my tax forms. I’m still exactly the same, except now the cardigan fits better.

HNThumper XVI

According to the reader survey, HNThumper is the least popular content on DT. It is true that 48% said they either love or like my HNT, but a full third answered “I can take ’em” – the only category in which that answer was the most popular – and 10 percent (double digits!) said “Feh. They’re OK”. Twelve perecent (way more than any other category) had no opinion. At least nobody said yuk.

Two words: oh well.

After the jump, you’ll find yet another artsy fartsy image of me in the Steelheart. For those uninterested, move along. For everyone else, clicky click!

Continue reading “HNThumper XVI”


I was out of the cage yesterday. I woke up feeling a stingy itchiness inside the tube that was intolerable (and very unsexy). I’ve felt something kinda like this before after being let out after an extended lock-up, but I’ve never felt anything like it while locked up (and never half as bad as this). As soon as Belle let me out, we saw that the corona of the glans was red and irritated, and afterward, I noticed a red line running up and down the sides of the shaft that traced where the PA fixing would press against it. Belle decided I needed some time out of the steel to recuperate, so there I was: Unlocked due to health and safety and feeling very strange (but ultimately OK since it was obviously necessary).

So why the red itchy unsexy stinging? My theory is that it was due to the cabin’s hot tub. We were up there over the weekend and sat in it a couple times and I, assuming the hot water soak was keeping me clean, didn’t follow my regular hygiene routine. However, the water in the tub was highly chlorinated (more so than usual) and I think by not cleaning the tube out, the chemicals eventually started to bug me. The thing about a stainless steel chastity tube with only a little round hole at its end is that, most of the time, it’s warm and moist in there. I bet it never fully dries out. So, that being the case, I basically left my little friend to stew in a chlorinated chemical bath for 48 hours. Not smart.

Last night, after only about 12 hours or so of being free, we checked it again and all the redness and irritation had gone away. I asked Belle how long she planned on leaving me out and she replied that since it was apparently all back to normal, I could go back in right then. As I said, it had only been about 12 hours (probably ten of which everything felt weird and not right). I had thought about what a nice change it was going to be feeling a real erection in the morning after spending three weeks in the tube – three weeks of stifled, stunted wannabe erections. But no dice. She was putting me back in immediately. I never once got a hard-on outside of the tube before it was back on me.

As I was reassembling it, and even though I was doing so under Belle’s observation, the cock was very small and meek looking. Almost withdrawn. The tube was enormous in comparison and seemed cavernous as I placed the flaccid little specimen back inside. It was pretty obvious neither of us was all too excited about reentering the steel so quickly.

Which, of course, leads to another little slice of Chastity Paradox. Five minutes after the little sailor was locked in the brig, I felt it pressing against the sides of the tube, plumped with blood. I really did want to stay out and feel God’s honest erection, but I also wanted what I got. Maybe this time, I should keep everything clean.


So a funny thing’s happened. Well, two things really and I’m not sure they’re all that funny (as in, haha kind of funny) but happened they have.

Faithful readers will know I’ve continued to have a serious thing for porn even though I’m now nearly continuously locked in a device and, even when I’m not, having an orgasm is not an option. Basically, I look at it (and read it and watch it and would roll around naked in it if I could) simply to feel the sensation of ever-escalating levels of arousal. However, as I said in my last post, even though Belle was out of town and that would normally leave me plenty of time to indulge my habit, it never really sparked for me. I did try by visiting the usual haunts, but even when I was sorting images for the Portfolio, I never really found myself getting overly hot and bothered. Whenever I started to move in that direction, I’d find myself not thinking, “Gee, I wish I could stroke myself right now,” and instead thought, “Gee, I wish I could be stroking Belle right now.” My urge to orgasm and masturbate and in any way experience pleasure while consuming the porn was all about her orgasm and masturbation and pleasure. Since I effectively no longer have a cock (at least as a pathway for sexual pleasure), those autonomic impulses have been rewired to focus on her sex organs and orgasm.

I did find myself pausing, slack-jawed, over images of big fat cocks with ejaculate running down their sides or other images of semen puddling on a woman’s stomach or of a woman’s hand wrapped around a cock as its payload was shooting out or of some guy’s face dripping with spunk, but I looked at them the same way I watch a show on the lifestyles of the rich and famous or when some dude in a really sweet classic Corvette drives by. I longed to be in their places, but in a detached “that could never happen to me” kind of way. I will never have that fabulous all-glass house overlooking the ocean and I will never drive the 1976 ‘Vette, but isn’t it fun to think about. Similarly, I will not be shooting my own copious load any time soon, but wow, look at what that guy did!

I told Belle about this shift in attitude the night she got home and, even though I wasn’t really trying for anything that very moment, she let me get her off. In short order, I found myself sucking on her clit, hard meat in the device painfully pressing into the bed, and an almost physical connection to her climax. I felt completely plugged-in to her pleasure. As she arched her back, I tensed and moaned right along with her. She came and I felt the release inside me. We enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm but without the distraction of my own getting in the way. I was still so, so fucking horny afterward and couldn’t take my hands off her or press myself close enough to her, but I was satisfied. In the only way I can be now. And it was fucking great.

The second thing that’s happened is I’ve almost totally lost my whole “service sub” vibe. Ever since we were in London and I was profoundly knocked out of my headspace, I have felt barely a quiver of interest in really serving Belle. I’ve been a bit lazier and more self-centered. The other night, I got home and she was pissed at me for not keeping the house in order while she was gone. It was, I thought, in pretty good shape, but it wasn’t up to her standards. Then last night, I totally spaced on making her coffee. Turns out, she’s not very pleased with me (told me I “wasn’t on her list of favorite people”). I don’t like her to be unhappy, but I’m very glad to see there is an element of our dynamic she really doesn’t want to live without. She’s grown to expect the service from me. You could read this as a failure on my part (and it surely is), but it’s also reassuring in that we have developed a symbiotic feedback loop and integrated it into our lives. This is really kinda cool.

Now if I could only get my vibe back, we’d both be happy. And she might even let me share another orgasm.


Belle’s out of town again.

“But Thumper,” you say, “It sure does seem like she’s out of town a lot. Leaving you alone. All alone.”

Why yes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it? That’s very perceptive of you to notice. In reality, she’s been traveling a lot less over the past year or so, but it’s true that she does get away more often than others might. Well, more often than me. This time, she’s off visiting her best friend in San Francisco again. It’s her birthday present.

Back in the old days, every night of her absence would be a semen-drenched orgy of frenzied masturbation for me. I’d do all manner of unspeakable things to myself and wipe away copious amounts of sticky white goo. More recently, her trips have been defined by mass consumption of pornography resulting in little more than a painfully tight chastity tube, a swollen prostate (with occasional dribbling leaks), and sleeplessness. This trip, though, has been different. For the last two nights, I’ve just watched TV and then gone to sleep. I am horny and I do have all kinds of hormone-induced thoughts tripping through my head, but it’s manifesting differently this time. I’m not saying tonight won’t be the night I binge on porn, but the few times I’ve started I’ve lost interest fairly quickly. I’m still posting to the Portfolio and enjoying many of the images I’m sorting through, but that’s a different kind of activity with a different objective. Can’t say what’s behind the new behavior. Just observing.

The time out of the device on our trip and how that made me feel (resentful, annoyed), combined with being back in now (happy, contendly frustrated), has allowed to me appreciate exactly how much I feel it’s been integrated into my life and our relationship. It’s not just a sex toy anymore. Emotionally and physically, I feel as though this hunk of steel between my legs completes me. It’s a potent symbol of my connection to Belle and of her acceptance of (and even enthusiasm for) my sexuality. It represents our intimacy and the new dynamic that has permeated our life. It may not be trendy to invest it with such power, but it’s how I feel.

I feel so strongly about this that lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to wear it forever (except, of course, for those infrequent moments of inspection and hygiene and for those times Belle wanted to use its contents). I don’t really think of it as a separate thing anymore. I don’t consider the inconveniences it causes. This is just how I am. Feeling resentful of the device and its impact on my everyday life would be like feeling resentful for having to eat. Or breath. I honestly want it on me 99.95% of the time (which would leave me 4 and a third hours a year for maintenance and attention to Belle’s desire – plenty of time). I actually think that’s possible, assuming the Steelworxx is occasionally substituted for the CB6K when required by Federal law.

I’m also thinking about what an essentially orgasmless existence would be like. I’m over two months from my last orgasm and am doing fine, so in practice I’m already there. I’m conditioned now to be able to go a really long time. What if I only came two or three times a year? I could manage that. I almost have to if I want to feel truly denied. A couple weeks just doesn’t cut it anymore.

So now, I’m very horny (sometimes, suddenly and distractingly so). But I like that. I want both that and for it to continue indefinitely. It’s the chastity paradox. On the one hand, craving the device. The control. The craving itself. On the other, astonishingly clear fantasies of shooting hot, thick ropes of ejaculate up and onto my chest and stomach (and, if I’m very lucky, even my face). Feeling the draw of her pussy, like a glowing orb, as I’m laying next to her in the reflected afterglow of her orgasm. Feeling the phantom sensation of its warm wet folds grasping a free erection, beating and throbbing with my heart. But that’s not for me. While I want it badly, I don’t get it. Don’t really want it. The way I think of it, I want to come and to fuck and to jack-off but I need to be denied. To always feel her will over mine. To know I’m always in check.

I don’t pretend that the device itself is the source of these feelings. It’s a tool like any other. I have ascribed upon it a lot of emotional energy, but it’s nothing more than Belle’s implement. I can’t promise the same kinds of feelings will come over someone else. This entire situation is the result of how the device has interacted with Belle and I. It has worked its alchemy upon us, but in a way that’s unique to us because we’re unique.

I know I’m being insufferably romantic about this. There are clearer heads out there who see though all the wawa mysticism. But the wawa stuff is mine and I’m not letting go.

It’s all you

The 2010 reader survey is history! Here are the results.

Gender: Not unlike last time, most of you are guys. Last year it was 70%, this year it’s 72%. That’s a whole lot of testosterone. Maybe I should start a Ladies Night or something.

Age: The biggest segment reported they were 36-45 (34%), 24-35 came in second (24%) and 46-55 was right behind that (23%). Last year, the 24-35 group was number one, 36-45 number two. I am apparently appealing more to an older demo nowadays. That’s not going to help the ad rates…

Kink: A full 56% identified as submissive and another 29% said they were switch. Only 10% said they were dominant. 2% said “other” (not sure what that means) and 3% said they weren’t kinky at all (o rly?).

Kinkiness: Last year the average kinkiness score (on a scale of 1 to 10) was 6.7. This year, it’s just about the same at 6.4. The most popular response was 7, followed very closely by last year’s most popular response of 8. Three people said they were tens (rwar!) and two said they were ones (queue sad trombone).

Gayness: Just as depressing as last year. With an average Kinsey score of 1.39, almost 71% of you score yourselves either zero or one. Only nine percent said they were five or six. I am a flaming homosexual compared to most of you. Elton-fucking-John, that’s me.

Chastity: This year, I asked readers if they or their partner have used or are using a chastity device. Just 52% said yes. I guess I thought this would be a higher number since it seems to be the primary reason for the blog. I also asked what kind of device they used. The vast, overwhelming majority said some flavor of the CB-x000 line (and most of those were CB-6000). Chastity Heaven was mentioned more than a few times as was the Fort and the Birdlock (though not as often as I thought it would be). There were just a handful who said they’ve used full Florentine-style belts. A couple more said Steelworxx or Lori’s tubes. A few people said they used no device at all (show offs).

About half the people who took the survey left a comment, most of which were of the “you’re great, keep it up” variety. I truly appreciate all the support and feel unworthy of the praise, but I thank you for it anyway. There were also a few with questions and more thought-provoking comments which I’ll save for future posts.

Catching up

My balls are aching this morning. But I’ll get to that…

It’s been a weird couple of weeks. In London, I was only able to get Belle off once, though it was a very hot little experience. Then, it was lots of walking and lots of tiredness and very little sexy feelings all around. Plus, even though Belle had said she was going to keep me locked when we were over there, she actually didn’t (and didn’t communicate why very well). Two days before we came home, the hard drive on my laptop crashed and I’m still trying to recover that that. Then, after fighting off jet lag for a few days, I got sick. Like, sicker than I’ve been in years. So sick, I didn’t have an erection (not even a nocturnal one) in three days. That’s sick.

So, back to the beginning. Even though Belle said she was going to keep me locked in London, she didn’t. And as the days ticked by and I was still very unlocked, she either made noncommittal sounds about it or even just ignored it all together. Finally, by the fifth day or so, I asked what was up. She said she had decided to leave me out to make being there easier.

Technically, being locked up is easier than not because, with the PA piercing and the ring I wear for chastity security, peeing is a lot less complicated with the tube than without. But in any event, I don’t want things to be easy. I want to do hard things for her. I want to be inconvenienced and constantly reminded of my position. But whatever. The biggest issue I had with this is she didn’t say anything to me at all until I forced the issue. That kind of silence feeds into the fear I have that she’s only pretending to care about all this chastity and denial stuff as much as she does to humor me. It makes me feel insecure and ultimately angry since it’s not that hard to just say, “I changed my mind.”

In any event, on the second night there I decided to try to get a little action and take advantage of the free meat. Since we had a bedroom separate from the rest of the flat (and the kids), I suggested she let me get her off with the cock, but she said I couldn’t handle it. She would let me give her an orgasm, though. I got busy with my hands and mouth and, about half way through, she started talking. Maybe she would let me fuck her. Maybe she did want to feel her hard cock buried deep inside her. I kept working, moaning and throbbing hard, just waiting for the final go ahead so I could slide into the friendly confines of her hot, wet snatch.

And then she came. “Psych!” she whispered in my ear after a few seconds of recovery time. She fell asleep while I was left dry, hard and horny.

Then, as I said, there was essentially ten days of sexlessness brought on by exhaustion and illness, though Belle did lock me back up as soon as we got home.

Yesterday morning, as I started to write this post, I felt a cold trickle on my upper thigh. Reaching into my sweats, I felt slick, gooey semen oozing from the end of the steel tube. According to my little tracker, it’s been two months since my last pleasurable orgasm (and at least six weeks since any kind of emission). Belle won’t let me orgasm again until June 7th – still nearly two months away. I can’t even remember the last time I came.

Last night, the first night I was feeling more human than not, I really wanted to feel Belle come. She told me to get naked and I started to rub my face and hands all over her body. I kissed her face and neck and put my mouth on her nipples, taking my time and enjoying the moment. Her hands found the straining steel tube between my legs and the tight nutsack it was anchored to. While I sucked and licked her nipples, she started slapping my nuts. At one point, my reflexive response to a particularly well-placed smack caused a thick slug of precum to travel from my prostate all the way down the length of the trapped cock until it trickled out end of the tube.

“You can either stay where you are or put your fingers in my cunt, but either way, I’m going to come.”

My hand immediately moved into position over her hot wetness. As I massaged her pussy with two well-lubricated fingers, her legs opened like a flower. The steel ring around the root of the cock bit into my flesh a little harder with each beat of my heart and I moved my mouth down to her crotch and started sucking on her clit. She repositioned me so I could eat her out while still playing with her nipples and I buried my face in her snatch.

All too quickly, she started to come. I could feel her pleasure pulsing at the tip of my tongue and, even though the intensity of it was causing her pull away from me, I kept a consistent contact with her clit while wave after wave of the orgasm crashed over her.

She was instantly spent. It didn’t take long before she started to drift off to sleep while I was hotter and hornier than I’ve been in a long time. Slowly, my desire ebbed enough to allow me a fitful sleep, though each of the several times I woke up during the night, the tube was solid and dense.

So, like I said, this morning my balls are aching.