I’m going to get fucked this weekend.

Back on Valentine’s day, Belle gave me a card that, according to what was written in it, was good for “one night out”. I pressed her subsequently for more details. Was it just what is said? A night out? No, it meant I’d get to come. Just the one time? Yes. When would I have to go back in? The next morning. Could I use it whenever I wanted or did I need to give her some warning? Etc., etc.

But this morning, as I was groggily walking around the house with a steel tube still full of morning wood plumpness, she told me not to try to use my coupon this weekend because she felt the need to “connect” with her Thumper. I wasn’t going to use it, but it was nice of her to tell me.


Yesterday, over on Sarah Jameson’s Male Chastity Lifestyle list (of which, to be a member, you need to buy her guide to male chastity [which I think is worth your investment if you’re interested in the subject {OK, no more nested parathesis, I promise}]), the following question perked my interest:

Sarah has written about the behavioral changes that occur in a men and the consequent changes in a relationship because of denial. The state of denial is facilitated, if not made possible, by a chastity device.

Would anyone care to comment on the possibility that these changes could become permanent, no longer requiring a device. That is, could a man get to a state in which he voluntarily allowed his wife/lover/SO complete control of his orgasms? Would this be desirable?

I supposed, were I a good member of that list, I’d make my response there, but I’m not going to. (Imagine me with my thumbs in my ears, fingers waving about, and tongue sticking out.)

First things first regarding this question. I don’t believe the premise is quite right. That is, changes do not occur in the relationship or the man just because of the denial. The denial is, itself, one of those changes and provides the catalyst for further changes. I don’t question that our relationship has been impacted due to the integration of orgasm control, but the real precipitating event was that we became close enough and open enough with each other that the control of my orgasm was even a possibility. I think a lot of men confuse how the cause and effect works which leads to a lot of frustrated (in the bad way) people who believed orgasm control to be a panacea of relationship bliss.

So anyway, he goes on to say that denial is facilitated and even made possible because of a device. That’s how it was for me, yes. I very much needed the device to make my denial possible. I was so turned on by the prospect and so far removed from the mechanics of my own orgasm that I could barely control myself. Also, I said that the cock belonged to Belle, but when I had access to it, I didn’t act or even think that way. Had it not been for the device, I don’t know that it ever would have worked. That said, there are guys who don’t use a device and don’t seem to need it. Everybody’s different.

Now, though, I very much feel in my heart the things I wanted to feel two+ years ago when we started this. The changes the questioner refers to have been integrated into me to such an extent that the device is not, strictly speaking, necessary to maintain Belle’s control. In the beginning, I wanted her to control me, but didn’t really feel it. Now, I really do. Deeply.

For instance. You will read a lot of guys out there who want their partners to deny them more than their partners might want to. I was one of them (as anyone who’s read this blog long enough will know). When she told me I could come, I was disappointed. It never seemed long enough. Orgasms even left me depressed. Even though I had given her control and said I wanted her to control it, I felt she wasn’t doing it right.

Now, my attitude is totally different. I embrace my desire to come and will happily take whatever she gives me whenever that happens. In fact, I’ve kind of flipped around in that I want to come, and will tell her so, with a genuine hope that she’ll let me. I admit that there’s still a desire inside me to be denied by her for a very long time, but it’s driven by my need to demonstrate to her that I’ll endure whatever it is she asks me to. And even though I want to come badly most of the time, I still get a bigger thrill from her saying no. In essence, I’ve allowed myself to arrive at a place where I win either way.

Which, I guess, gets back to the second part of his question. I have gotten to the point he describes. Belle now has complete control over my orgasm and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I will niggle a bit with the “could a man get to a state in which he voluntarily allowed his wife/lover/SO complete control of his orgasms” part because, of course, all of this is voluntary. Yes, Belle locks an inescapable steel device onto my body, but it’s not there against my will and never was. Chastity and orgasm control/denial are only involuntary in the porn stories (as hot as they are).

To summarize, my answers to his questions are “yes” and “yes”.

Back to normal

On a day that a lot of guys look forward to getting their dicks wet, I got the opposite yesterday when Belle told me it was time to lock me back up.

My freedom wasn’t a function of Belle’s timing. There were a combination of events (including air travel) that required I be free and those events were over on Sunday, so Valentine’s Day or no, she reasserted her control over the situation. The free week and the single orgasm ensured that my hands were down my pants as often as possible. My urge to orgasm can never be sated with a single squirt (at least, not anymore). At first, I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to do with regard to diddling her property, but the rules seem to be I am allowed, while free, to touch myself but, of course, am not allowed to have an orgasm.

While I edged myself countless times over the week, I can say I was never actually close to losing control. The higher brain functions were firmly in place and every part of me, from my hand to my brain to the cock itself, knew that there may be milking but there would be no coming. I honestly don’t want to come without her now. I feel like our dynamic is really humming and, frankly, my relationship with her is worth so much more than a furtive squirt. I see the times when I can touch the cock as a real gift from her – a break from normal – and I wouldn’t want to violate the spirit of the gift by taking advantage of the access.

In any event, I had a hard time cleaning the cock this morning because it kept filling the tube so much that I couldn’t flush any water in there. It wanted to come out and play, but neither of us could make that happen. While updating the Portfolio this morning, I really felt the need to pull on it. Of course, all I have is a hard, unfeeling steel tube. Perhaps for that reason, more so than usual, the pictures of cocks are really speaking to me. The various urges ebb and flow, but right now I really want a cock and there are just too many pictures of beautiful ones on the Tumblr.

In other news, I expect the shorter Steelheart tube will be landing soon. These custom steel devices take so long, especially when they’re forged in the Fatherland. Getting back in the swing of sporting the steel has me once again jonesing for a less obtrusive protective device.

About that key

Kiki, from the fantastically named blog The adventure of a dick in a box, commented on my last post…

Glad to hear the key turned up!

Yes. About that. In actual fact, we never found it. We ended up using my emergency key. When the time comes for her to lock the cock back up (tomorrow night, I’m told), she’ll use the back-up lock and keys we bought last time one of the primary keys went missing. Such are the things you need to be prepared for if you end up in a device with a custom lock.

I meant to mention all this in my previous post, but forgot.


Earlier in the week, Belle let me out for a fuck. Not just that, but she let me come, too. It was one of those maintenance fucks in that she didn’t want anything out of it except to let me pop one inside her. Apparently, she felt I needed it. I didn’t even get to play with her tits. I tried to stretch it out and enjoy the sensation, but it’s impossible for me now. I used to pride myself for being able to hold off until after she came, but I’m lucky to fuck for more than a minute or two now before losing it.

The next day, she asked me how I was doing in a way that we both know means how is Thumper doing. As in, how is her submissive, orgasm controlled husband? In the past, I would have had either mixed emotions or been downright upset from having an orgasm, so she’s careful to check in with me to see how I’m doing. I appreciate that, but I feel I’ve moved past those fits of pique. I was thrilled to come, more than thrilled to be allowed to fuck her. Somewhat disappointed that she didn’t want to come because I so much enjoy making her do it, but I leapt at the chance to get the dick wet.

Just one orgasm is never enough to blow all the steam off after a month or so of denial, so I was still very interested in action, even more so since the cock was free and flopping around. She hasn’t let me come again, but for several nights, she would grasp and stroke the cock, putting me in quite the state, before she closed her eyes to sleep, hand still wrapped around her hard, quivering cock. It’d slowly, slowly deflate as she drifted off. I was wide awake, of course, and once picked up my phone to look at porn. Its flaccid state was replaced with rock hardness again, still in her hand, though she was asleep. I’m allowed to look at porn, but felt nervous still since its effect on me was very evident. Had she woke up just a little, she’d have know what I was doing. The thought of her “catching” me hard and horny left me feeling embarrassed, though I can’t say why.

Before I left home for one night (another reason she let me out since I was flying), she let me get naked and I came on to her as forcefully as I could. She ignored the cock totally as my hands and mouth moved all over her. It ached it was so hard. I wanted inside her again. I wanted to come again. She wanted to come, too, and she let me give her an orgasm, but with my hands. Then she rolled over and slept, never having even acknowledged the hard cock and my obvious desire to use it.

My trip was overnight and in a hotel, but I shared the room, so there was no monkey business. Now I’m back and still horny and I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to get back in bed with her, to feel her body next to mine, to press the cock – hard as it will be – into her drowsy form, even if she basically ignores it again. As I said above and have said before, I am totally comfortable with her controlling the cock and my orgasm and she is doing it perfectly right now. She can lock it up, stroke it, let it come, leave it alone, smack it around, slather it with Icy Hot, or let me fuck her with it. It is hers. What it does and feels is hers. What I do with it is up to her. Everything is hers.


Belle’s lost my key.

I just like saying it. Belle, my keyholder, has lost the key to the inescapable steel trap she locked onto my body. Yes, that key.

No biggie.

If you remember, she locked me up before she went away last week (wisely not trusting me to be alone with the cock). I gave her the key back when I was done. The next time I saw it was a couple of days later when my son (of all people) showed it to me and asked me what it was for.

“Uh,” I said, “Where’d you find that?”

His friend had found it on the floor of my son’s room. Very weird. So I took it back and, redirecting him from his original question like Obi Wan Kenobi, told him I’d give it to his mom. I placed it in my pants pocket. Which pair? No idea. No neither of us know where it is now. Maybe it’ll show up in the laundry.

Not that it’s at all necessary. She appears to be wanting to keep me locked up until at least Valentine’s Day. She hasn’t come out and said that explicitly, but I know how she works. She likes holidays. So that’s still a few weeks away. If not Valentine’s Day, then maybe St. Patrick’s Day. It’ll turn up. I’m not worried. Much.

And if not, there’s always the emergency key.

The year of the rabbit

Yesterday was the first day of the Chinese new year. The Year of the Rabbit. Oh, the irony.

I talked to Belle last night and she’s supportive of whatever I do (then we had sex and she told me I still had to be locked up no matter how bad a day I had and that, in the end, she likes to see me squirm and suffer – sounds cruel, but context is everything). She doesn’t think I should stop writing this blog, but would understand if I did. Well, I’m not going to. Not yet. I’ve decided that writing here might be too important to me to allow it to stop on anyone’s terms except mine.

I want to make something very clear. Yesterday’s post was not in direct response to anything Maymay said. Sure, he was a catalyst because his were the first and most rude of all the comments I received, but I did not have him in mind when I wrote it (regardless of what he might think). But, as long as we’re on the subject, I have decided that I don’t need him or his drama. Thanks to modern technology, it’s fairly simple to amputate him from my life. I won’t remove any existing links from here to anything he’s produced in the past, but I will not be engaging him here or anywhere from this moment forward (this was my final shot, sent in anger, which I now regret, but it is the last). I’m sure May’s a very sincere person and fine fellow to share a drink with, but his view of the world and mine are clearly very different and I simply don’t have the energy or interest to try to reconcile.

With regard to the main point most people are taking issue with – that I am trying to tell everyone from all walks of life how they’re supposed to live their lives – I’m sorry if that’s the impression you have. It’s not my intent. I feel I attempted at various points to say I was talking to people like me in situations like mine, but I’m willing to also concede that I could have done it differently or better. I’m very happy to engage with those who are interested in having civil and measured debate, but I totally reject the notion that the number of visitors my blog receives every day should have any bearing whatsoever on how I express myself. This is still a personal blog about my personal life. It is not a platform for any kind of activism. This is the story of one aspect of my life. Period.

So anyway, back when I said “everyone” should live like I do, I honestly meant it in the same way one might say “everyone” should try that new steak place out on the highway. Yes, the world is full of vegetarians who never eat the dead flesh of other animals, and by saying “everyone” should eat at the new steakhouse one would, of course, not be challenging anyone’s choice to be vegan. That’s ridiculous. At least, I think so. If you are not the kind of person for whom my advice from the other day applies, then ignore it. Don’t tell me how it can’t possible apply to you and by suggesting it should I’m being sexist or genderist or whatever the fuck. If everything I say here has to be scrubbed against the multiverse of human sexuality before it sees the light of day, what will be left? I’m not trying to be insensitive. I’m not trying to exclude. But, as I think I’ve said now about a hundred times, this blog is about me, my sex life, and my love live. If you’re experience is outside mine, then chances are I’ll never be able to speak to it adequately. You might even be occasionally offended. It won’t be intentional.

Now let’s rewind and say Maymay had taken a slightly different tack the other day. Something that started, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but have you any idea how much that bothered me?” Would I be writing these words today? Probably not. But that’s not how we started and that’s not how things progressed, so here we are. Maybe half of you will stop reading me now. So be it. I have to be what I am and I have to think what I think and I can’t possibly write anything different.

Lastly, I’ve debated leaving comments off. The feedback page is still working and several of you availed yourselves of it yesterday. I’ve decided to turn comments back on not because I’m dying to be validated but because I’d like to get this “police state” bullshit behind me as quickly as possible. If I need to, I’ll turn them off again and depend on the feedback form from now on. We’ll see.

I now return you to the Year of the Rabbit, already in progress.


Belle and I started a journey two+ years ago that has led to much discovery, evolution, insight, and – more important than anything else – contentment and intimacy. Now, just when I feel I’ve really started to understand how things can work between us, at the very moment when I feel actual revelation has occurred in our relationship, I find what I write has attracted vociferous criticism. This is because…why?

Is it because I’m exploring concepts and ideas that don’t apply to every sexual being on the planet? Because the anarchic bisexual polygamists are being denied a voice in my extraordinarily personal life? Are you feeling slighted because I, in my selfish exploration of my own sexuality, have forgotten that not all of you are like me?

It doesn’t really matter. This is very personal for me. This is my fucking life. When I am attacked for feeling the way I do, it is an attack on me. Call it criticism, but it doesn’t feel that way. Frankly, my skin’s not thick enough. It is a confrontation I did not seek and do not want. It tears at me and gnaws at the back of my mind. I feel like I’m accused of being a person I’m not and that I think things I do not.

I said in my second post…

The reason I started this blog, though, was not to categorize, compare, and contrast all the various practices (though that might happen along the way). None of the sites I’ve found seem to be written for me or my partner. There are elements of nearly all of them that appeal to me (and my kinky side), but when I think of how I want orgasm denial (OD) to work in our relationship, I can’t find an analogue. So, since we’re at the very beginning of our exploration and I don’t have anyone other than my partner with which I can discuss it, here I go. Maybe this will prove helpful for someone else.

I don’t pretend that Belle and I achieved perfection or that how we relate to one another will stop evolving, but we are far enough along that I really don’t need to blog about it anymore. I feel as though, now that I’m a “pre-eminent blogger about male orgasm control”, that what was mine has been taken from me. That I’m no longer allowed to think and feel the way I do because, you know, they’re not really my thoughts anymore. They belong to all of you. Because there are so many of you now, I can’t explore and describe what happens in my head and my pants.

So it becomes a matter of simple math. Does my blogging give me more than it takes? For the past few days, it’s taken far more than I get. And I’m not willing to let it. Don’t forget, I don’t do this for you. It’s for me first, Belle second, and the rest of you are a very distant third.

I haven’t spoken to Belle about this yet and that gives me pause in pulling the plug. It’s entirely possible that we’ll decide I should continue, in which case, I will. It’s entirely possible that after a certain period of time I’ll want to come back here and continue the story. But right now, today, I don’t want to. And that really bothers me. If we decide to stop, I will mourn. Denying Thumper has been such an important part of my life. It’s hard to imagine not having this thing I do or think about every day.

In order to assure those of you who might look upon this action as some kind of ego-stroking maneuver, I’ve disabled comments on this and all other posts. I’m not looking for praise or encouragement or anything else. I’m not seeking attention. I’m simply trying to decide if this is worth it anymore.

Further heretical musings

Belle’s back, so all’s right in the world and order has been restored. We had a lovely time last night talking, not about anything specific, just stuff. My libido is in neutral since she’s got her period and isn’t much interested in anything, though I can feel it rumble a little way down deep when I kiss her soft, full lips.

I’ve been thinking more about this idea of “giving” one’s right to orgasm to one’s partner. On the surface, this seems like such a strange and radical idea, but how different is it from committing to life-long monogamy? On the face of it, that’s just as strange a notion, especially given how we as a species have evolved. Also, it seems from my narrow and jaundiced perspective that our culture seems to expect women to essentially promise their orgasms to their mates. Male masturbatory excess is practically venerated while the idea that a woman might touch herself for pleasure still seems to be an issue for many (including women).

Of course, in light of recent events here, I’ll intercede at this time and say what I am talking about applies specifically to monogamous relationships between one man and one woman. I cannot and will not attempt to suggest that this applies to the gay, transgendered, polygamous, left-handed, Martians, or Green Party members. Edited to add, “…and anyone else who thinks I’m full of shit. Feel free to consider my ideas worth what they cost you to read them.”

So anyway, this “gift of orgasm” thing. I do not believe, in any way, this should be construed as kinky. Why? It’s a simple extension of monogamy. In practice, I’ve found that tying all my sexual release to my partner has drawn me closer to her than at almost any point in our marriage. So why isn’t this implicitly or explicitly part of the marriage vows? Why should the idea be considered so strange if the benefit (as least as has been demonstrated in my relationship) is so great? We exchange rings, why not our right to independent orgasm as well?

Of course, for me, layering on the control, power exchange, and bondage aspects of enforced male chastity make the whole thing hotter and  more fun. But all that’s just frosting.