Belle and I were apart for the first few days of last week. She was at home and I was in the north woods compound hanging with the family and enjoying the few remaining summer-like days we in the higher latitudes have left before hellish winter descends out of Canada.

Not long after leaving home, I started to feel a twinge in the tube. I knew immediately what it was since I’ve felt it before. The corona of the glans will, from time to time, become irritated and inflamed. I have no idea what causes this, but it usually means I need to come out of the device while things sort themselves out.

This time, though, I was on my own. Belle was 250 miles away. It was just me and my emergency key. I tried extra flushes of warm soapy water thinking it was maybe a hygiene issue and was able to tough it out the first night, but by midday the next, I couldn’t take it anymore. I popped the lock on the emergency key and used it as intended. I admit there was a moment when I worried she had perhaps mixed up the keys between the two locks, but the little brass mechanism turned and slid free of the two steel parts. Shortly afterward, so did I.

And, just as I thought, the corona was not happy. Angry red splotches covered the left edge where the PA fixing made contact with the skin. Slightly less angry-looking marks ran across the top. Very unsexy and very sensitive. All that day I could feel the affected skin move across the fabric of my underwear. Not painful. More like extreme over stimulation.

So yeah, I was out. When Belle called, I told her the situation. She didn’t say much other than she hoped I felt better (or something like that). I had been in for over six weeks with only about 15 minutes of out time and, as usual, everything felt weird. When I went to bed, I put lotion on the complaining area and was annoyed I had to wear underwear since the free and flopping meat coming in contact with the sheets was unacceptably distracting.

Of course, I was very much aware that I was alone and unchaperoned with a very needy cock (damaged though it was). I said to myself I wouldn’t play with it when I took the device off, but there it was like a snake describing all the positive attributes of the fruit I wasn’t allowed to eat. I’m weak, it goes without saying. I admit I failed. I had to reposition my grip to avoid the damaged part, but was able to wank the serpent. I didn’t come, but was surprised at the how quickly and in what volume I was leaking.

My sleep could be described as fitful at best. It seemed like it was hard all night. I woke up several times rubbing it through my underwear or with the underwear pushed down below my balls, fisting the stiff meat. I was awake, but also not. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t. That I was breaking rules. But honestly, I couldn’t stop myself. I have a great deal of respect for the guys who can go indefinitely sans device. That ain’t me.

By about 24 hours later, the redness was a bit better, but the pain was totally gone. In the light of the day, my subbie bunny reasserted itself and, pain or no pain, decided the cock needed to go back in the tube. I left the PA fixing out, though. Honestly, I don’t need the fixing. Playing with the merchandise unlocked is one thing, but I could never defeat the device and cheat with it on my body. That’s a line I won’t cross, even though the Steelheart is easily escaped. In any event, not being sure I had had enough recovery time, I thought it best to remove possible irritation points inside. Worse case, I figured, if the discomfort came back, I’d take it off again.

But the discomforted didn’t come back. Not at all. The 24 hours out was all I needed, apparently. Belle, expecting me out, was happy to see me back in when she showed up. I told her I had been bad and she verbally chastised me for being weak, but gave me points for proactively reasserting her control.

Saturday rolled around and I was heading home, but Belle wasn’t. I’d have another night and most of a day by myself. I removed the tube in order to make a visual inspection and saw that everything was back to normal. The cock was its pale, hairless mole rat self without any marks. I put the PA fixing back in and left the key where Belle would find it.

Everything is back the way it belongs.


We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.


“So I’m not getting out?”


Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”


Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”



“Because I can.”


Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.


Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

Porn For Me: Not Prepared (via beyond the hills)

I simply can’t begin to express how much I like what ranat’s doing over there. It’s like she’s writing it just for me…

Porn For Me: Not Prepared More transcription of scrawls from the old piano notebook. I never finished this as a continuous piece, skipping to writing the scenes that were pulling me harder. I decided not to finish it, and put it here as is, pretty much unedited. I just added one line for clarity after a break. Crossposted at HTPorn. ~~~ He is not prepared. Not prepared to be yanked by his hair and thrown to the floor. Stunned on his hands and knees, he looks up under his … Read More

via beyond the hills

A sub is a sub is a sub

Mykey said, in regard to Sarah Jameson’s new book and my little review of it:

What’s more I find her somewhat lacking in self knowledge. Her claim not to be a domme? She likes being in charge of many aspects of their life including their sex life. She is in most peoples vernacular a domme, albeit not a full blown control everything one. Her husband is submissive. Maybe not in all areas or even most but handing over power to your cock and sex life is an inherently submissive act. Regardless of how macho he is elsewhere in his life in that respect he is in most peoples definition submissive. Her dislike of the image of sub and Dom in her mind blinds her badly and that comes across in her writing.

And I agree with him, to a point. I also think that Sarah and John are in a D/s relationship and her steadfast refusal to acknowledge that is based on her particular definition of “male submissive” which is, in turn, based on her apparently limited exposure to all the various types out there. Mind you, I also have limited experience. I’ve just been into this stuff for about the past two years and have only met, in person, a few people like myself. My entire worldview on the subject is based on the internet and personal communication via email and the like.

That said, I think Sarah and I have a similar point of view with regard to what’s “good” male submission versus what’s “bad” (all the usual disclaimers about not judging others and only wanting consenting adults to find happiness apply – if what your’e doing floats your boat, screw what I think). To me, there is no value in submission if it’s being given by someone who feels they’re inferior to their partner. It’s only because I am not inferior to Belle that subjugating my sexual expression to her is sexy. The same thing could be said, I’m sure, for Sarah and John. She describes him as “strong, assertive, confident” etc., and she has no attraction to the he-slime-not-worthy type. Me either. How different, really, is what I’ve given to Belle when compared to what John’s given Sarah?

In her newsletter from today, Sarah said this in response to what I said yesterday:

I’d also say we might have different definitions or models of what we see submission as actually being. My control of John is strictly confined to the bedroom.

Does that make him submissive, sexually submissive, or sexually surrendering?

I’d say the last of these, especially as when we make love he’s as aggressive and lead-taking as ever, unless I’ve taken it into my head to be. The only difference is he doesn’t orgasm – EVER – unless and until I say he can. He’s not forever asking me if he can do “this” or “that”. He’s just like he always was, but sans orgasm.

That sounds a lot like what Belle and I have. Yes, we’ve played around with taking it to a higher level, but we seem to have settle not much further along than Sarah and John. Belle gets to boss me around a bit more than Sarah does with John and she controls when I’m sexually agressive, but not that I am. Otherwise I’d say we’re 87% the same.

I find it interesting that she makes a distinction between “sexually submissive” and “sexually surrendering”. To me, that sounds like semantics. They’re the same. Later on, she says, “It’s just that I don’t find submissive men attractive sexually. And that’s about all we can say about it, really.” I think she doesn’t find the idea of a sexually submissive man attractive. In fact, she finds John plenty hot. If a thing runs like a horse, sounds like a horse, and in all other ways resembles a horse, it’s probably not a zebra.

She finishes up by saying:

I suppose it all comes down to labels and they’re never very useful when you try to examine a continuum. We can see the extremes easily enough, but at which point does one become the other?

I agree! My only wish would be for her to stop using one big label – “submissive men” – to describe one subset of that group.

Lastly, I want to say this disagreement I have with Sarah doesn’t mean I still don’t wholeheartedly recommend her book (and blog and newsletter). I have lots of friends with whom I share significant disagreements (mostly political) but I’m still able to appreciate the rest of them. We may never see eye-to-eye on what constitutes submission, but the fact remains that she’s produced one of the best resources available on the subject of male chastity.

Ultimate Sarah

Sarah Jameson has just released her magnum opus Be Careful What You Wish For: The Ultimate Guide to Male Chastity (270 pages, according to my PDF reader). Very typically Sarah, that title. The ultimate guide. It’s one of the things you either like or hate about her, I suppose. She’s not very often in doubt. Also available is an MP3 of Sarah reading the book which, if you’ve got a thing for British accents, could prove to be entertaining in its own right.

As a fellow marketing weasel, I knew she was building up to some kind of payoff event like this. Mind you, I don’t begrudge her the chance to make a buck (or a pound or a pence or whatever) at all. Good for her. It’s the American Way (so to speak). You could just see, though, with the way her site’s designed and the manner in which she cross promotes the email and the blog and the upcoming book, replete with yellow highlighter styling on the really important text, that she was either going to try to sell us something at some point or start a series of seminars we could attend at the local Airport Marriott (maybe both, who knows). The tactics are well known. But who cares? Someone’s got to do it and why shouldn’t they be rewarded for their effort?

I like the tone of the thing. Very Sarah, if you know what I mean. I like that she sets up male chastity as something like a marital aid. That’s what it is, really. A way to bring passion back to a relationship. I totally agree. Her writing is characteristically straightforward and confident. If you have any questions on how to proceed with the chastity lifestyle, I have a hard time imagining you won’t appreciate her guidance. It’s also interesting to me to see the parallels between how she and John progressed and how Belle and I have. I have no idea if enforced male chastity really is picking up new adherents en masse, but it seems like it’s at least proving to be a reliable and even fun way to bring a spark back to an old married couple. She does a wonderful job of capturing that quality.

It’s not all sunshine and pixie dust, though. I entirely disagree with her characterization of submissive men. She says on page 13, in the “How I Discovered Male Chastity” section, “I like my men to be confident, masculine and in control…and most definitely not submissive, obedient, fawning and following me around like little puppy-dogs!” followed on page 16 with, “John, like many men with a desire to be kept in male chastity is not a submissive man in any respect…Like all the men I’ve known, I like him to be a man, just the way he is: strong, assertive, confident, protective and…well…100% masculine.” Of course, submissive men can be (and often are) strong, assertive, confident and, if not 100% masculine, at least above 75%. She’s obviously not enamored of the other kind (and neither am I, really). I just wish she wouldn’t lump us all together. She ends up perpetuating a stereotype (replete with French Maid’s outfits and “sissy clitties”) that is the only black mark on an otherwise outstanding guide to the lifestyle.

Bottom line advice: Buy the book. Especially if you’re just starting out or are thinking of approaching your partner for the first time. Her advice is very, very good.

HNThumper XXIV: Road trip

Didja ever jack-off in the car? You know, like on a long road trip? Hours and hours of endless road stretching out before you…bored…thoughts turn downward.

I know at least two other guys who’ve done this. Maybe three. Anyway, if I know that many, I’m sure there are lots more. Yes, it’s true, I’ve jacked-off on long road trips. And yes, I know it’s way worse then texting while driving (at least for a few seconds there at the end). One time, on a drive back from Chicago during the first summer Belle and I were a thing, she jacked me off while I was driving. Those were the days…

Just because I’m no longer able to pleasure myself on long road trips doesn’t mean I don’t still get the urge. My most recent drive was no different. Of course, whipping it out now can be a glare hazard, but whip it out I did just to feel the sun warm it through the steel. Just to run my fingers down the shaft of the numb tube. Just to feel the longing of what I couldn’t have.

And yeah, to take a picture. Because I’m a perv. Apparently.

Continue reading “HNThumper XXIV: Road trip”


I think I’m going to come this weekend. Belle’s been dropping hints. I think, after the month and half (or whatever it’s been), that she wants her cock inside her.

On the one hand, I could describe the usual angst that goes along with coming, etc., but on the other hand I’m really fucking horny. Really. No, I’m serious. Really. I was looking forward to the challenge of staying in and orgasmless until October, but yeah, coming would be nice too.

Thing is, I don’t want to come just a little. I want to come and come and come. I want to spew for days. And, of course, because I’m the charmingly complicated fellow that I am, I also don’t want to come. Not at all. Like, ever. Complicated.

The other day, she offered me a session with the njoy Pure if I accomplished a small list of chores over the course of the day. What I really wanted, though (and what I’ve wanted for weeks) was to feel the cock, nice and hard, getting stroked. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be there when I fucked myself with it and I really wanted to connect with her. I wanted to be with her, no matter what happened. The Pure is a solo activity with Belle. So, after finishing my tasks, I asked if I could exchange the Pure time with a 15 minute edging session. She agreed.

That night, she unlocked me and I placed the various metal bits that came off onto my bedstand. She started to play with the cock. It seemed a little dazed in that it took a while for it to start to plump up. Like it was being duped or something. Like it didn’t trust what was happening. But it eventually came around and she started a nice rhythmic pumping on the rapidly inflating meat that caused me to arch back and close my eyes. It was fantastic. Stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke. It was so fucking nice.

Then she let go. I panted. I wasn’t really ready to come, but I was getting into the groove pretty well. After a few minutes, she started again with the pumping. Same story as last time, except I could feel the disused ejaculation mechanism warming up just before she let go again leaving the meat hot and bobbing. My left hand grasped and ungrasped wanting so badly to wrap around the hard cock that was so close, but she hadn’t said I could and I sensed I wasn’t allowed.

She started in again and I felt myself fall into the sensation of her handjob, the thin, sensitive skin sliding under her hand, over the flare of the cock head, back down the shaft. I closed my eyes again and felt nothing but the strokes: up down up down up down, again and again. Nothing else existed except that hand job. And just as I was slipping away – just as I felt the orgasm that had been waiting six or more weeks to come into being start to build – she let go. I groaned. Sweet Jesus, I wanted that back. More than air.

“Can I do it? Can I stroke it?” I pleaded as calmly as possible.

“Do you think you deserve it?” she asked, “Did you do a good enough job to have earned that?”

I thought about it. Fuck it, I thought. Say yes! Just say yes, yes you did and get to it!

“No,” I said quietly. Meekly.

“I don’t either,” she replied as she placed the baggy fully of icy water onto the still-hard cock.

It was so cold, that water. It hurt. The blood in the engorged flesh fought back, but I could feel it deflating just a bit with each thump of my heart. We had previously agreed that I’d go back in the device when the session was over, so once I felt the cock wither sufficiently to allow me to put it on, I reached for the metal.

“You can stay out for the night.”

ARGH! The cock was now cold and small. Useless. And she was rolling over to go to sleep.

“I might jack off in my sleep, you know.” It’s true. I’ve woken up doing that more than once.

“Try not to,” she said back to me, shortly.

So anyway, yeah, now I think she’s going to really fuck me. This weekend, I bet. Maybe I’ll come, maybe I won’t. Maybe she’s just fucking with my head. I don’t think so, though. At least, I don’t think I don’t think so.

Like I said. Complicated.