No deposit, no return

I ran about four miles on Sunday and then another four on Monday. Tuesday, I started to feel a little twinge in the end of the tube. Like a pinch, but not. Wednesday, it was pretty much constant and had me readjusting the device frequently in an attempt to get whatever little piece of skin was trapped between whatever metal surfaces, but it wasn’t really working. I assumed the tender bits had rubbed against the tube too much, because of the running, and were sore. Or something. Yesterday morning, I finally asked Belle to let me out and check it.

What I found wasn’t a pinch at all. The 10 gauge PA ring I wear had a build-up of mineral deposits not unlike what you’d find if you had hard water. We do have hard water, but there’s also a fair amount of urine passing by that metal regularly, so it could also have been a result of the other kind of hard water. In either event, the white scaly build-up was accumulated near the ball in the ring and went around it about a quarter of the way (remember, I hadn’t seen it for a month). It was on the part of the ring that goes inside the end of the penis, between the natural opening and the piercing. It wasn’t pinching I was feeling, but irritation from the rubbing of this deposit against the inside of the penis’ head. Owie.

I left the device off all day yesterday as I went about my business. It was really fucking weird. The wobbly bits were moving all over and squishing and squashing and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and in general being very distracting. The couple of times I pulled it out to pee, I was like, “Oh! Yeah. That. Right.” Due to an irregularity in our morning schedule, I didn’t have much of a chance to take advantage of the penis freedom. It did allow me to wear a pair of pants I generally don’t wear while in, though. That was a nice treat as I think they make my ass look good.

I got home later than usual and the family was there. Again, no opportunity to abuse the penis. I put on my regular cut-off sweats (worn commando) and t-shirt only to find the penis being even more of a distraction. It’s freedom allowed it to rub against the inside of the sweats and that, combine with its wibbling and wobbling in general, caused it to chub out in an inappropriately noticeable way. So I locked myself back up.

I’m telling you, it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to pee (what with the PA and all) and it’s less of a distraction and it maintains a somewhat large yet totally static and manageable bulge. So that’s me now. The guy who had freedom due to injury yet gave it up because wearing a steel tube is who I am. I could totally see Belle leaving me out because she tends to completely defer to me when I say I feel discomfort (perhaps to a fault) and that would lead to a very difficult night which would have led to a very difficult workout this morning. All things being what they were, I opted for lock-down.

Not totally, though. I left the PA and fixing out in order to give it some time to recoup. That’s left the tube feeling a little more cavernous since the fixing isn’t there to take up any space or hold the penis into place. It’s been bouncing around off the sides as I walk. Also, it’s harder to clean since the water from the shower nozzle pushes the meat up the tube, blocking its escape. Were it hard enough, the water pressure would probably push the penis out entirely. The final weird thing is how a tiny circular piece of the penis pokes out the end of the tube (the PA fixing normally keeps the end of the penis secured just inside, even when under steam). I usually feel nothing on the penis when it’s trying to get hard except pressure but now there’s this little spot that’s intensely sensitive. It causes sharp jolts of electric sensation up and down my body when it brushes against something. For those interested, I’ve included a picture after the jump. Nothing too dramatic. Just one little eye winking though a porthole.

So anyway, I soaked the PA ring and fixing in vinegar for a while this morning and the deposit (whatever it was) dissolved away. Tomorrow I’ll tell Belle I’m good to go with the full meal deal if she wants it in there. Meanwhile, I’ll just keep jiggling (and peeking).

Continue reading “No deposit, no return”

In response

Reader BT left the following monster comment on my last post. So monster, in fact, I decided the reply should get a post of its own.

I have followed your blog since it was fairly new and I have enjoyed it a great deal. Mostly because it isn’t focused on wank-fantasy stuff, but rather is much more about the day-to-day reality of embracing this alternative form of relationship for your marriage. This has made your blog a shining star for bringing this alternative life style out of the musty dark shadows of pornography and into the light of day, and hopefully a little closer to acceptance by non-participants.

I am a shining star, aren’t I? And adorably fluffy.

I was surprised at how quickly you and Belle took to the proposed arragement in the beginning, but until recently it seemed to me that there was still something incomplete about it. Something not quite fully formed. And that thing was that Thumper was still pretty much looking at the whole arragement (or at least writng about it) from the point of view of “What is this doing to Thumper?”

I’ve heard this criticism before. My response is that this blog is, among other things, a journal of what I feel and experience. I honestly don’t know what I’d write about half the time if “What is this doing to Thumper?” was off the table. If I knew what this was doing to Belle, I’d write about that, but I can only guess what’s happening in her head and heart. Also, remember that this blog is one of the ways I communicate with Belle. She expects me to say what I’m feeling.

With regard to how quickly we embraced our current lifestyle, it didn’t feel all that quick to me. We were at a place in our relationship when we were very open to new things and chastity was something I was very interested in (suddenly and unexpectedly), but how that morphed into the D/s dynamic we have today seemed to take a while. Even now, I’m not sure it’s done evolving.

But your most recent posts demonstrate that you have passed a kind of milestone at some point. I was very pleased and happy for you and Belle when you wrote the following:

“I’ll make sure her favorite vibrator makes its way into her suitcase. If she’s going to be so relaxed anyway, it’s better for me to know she’s able to take advantage of the opportunity. Even if I don’t get to participate.”

Although you rarely refer to yourself as such I hope you wouldn’t consider it an insult if I catagorized you as a “submissive male” while acknowledging that the ways and means of practicing male submission are as varied as there are couples. However there is one essential element common to all of them in my opinion: The focus of the submissive on bringing his Top pleasure and support even if this means not getting to do exactly what the submissive would like to do

I have no problem being called a submissive male. And I agree, what that means is quite varied. I know that now. I didn’t understand it three years ago. Back then, I thought all this BDSM stuff was quite orderly and logical. It’s not. It’s infinitely more organic than I expected.

So sure, I’m submissive. But I’m not a robot. Call me submissive-ish if you want, but I can’t always and forever only think of Belle’s pleasure over mine. Well, “pleasure” is the wrong word. “Satisfaction” might be better. I get satisfaction though her pleasure. I get satisfaction by being actively denied sexual release by her. I get satisfaction knowing that she’s enjoying (in whatever way she wants) my submission to her and how that affects me. Where our dynamic breaks down is when I get no feedback from her. When my submission turns into background clutter of daily life. It’s hard living how I do, though it’s enjoyably hard when she’s an active participant in the dynamic. When she’s not, it’s just hard. And then it’s depressing. And that’s not good.

This quote above shows that your focus has movied beyond yourself and you are begining to prioritize Belle’s comfort and pleasure above your own. And this no doubt because you derive your pleasure from knowing that she is pleased, which is the essence of a submissive’s focus in a relationship.

I do prioritize her pleasure and comfort, but I can only do that when I feel she’s prioritized me and our relationship in her life. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but I reject the concept that a sub should totally subjugate their feelings. This is a relationship. There must be emotional exchange underneath the D/s layer.

And once that bar has been crossed the following statement doesn’t come to me as much of a surprise at all:

Penises, it turns out, can be trained.”

Which is absolutely true. Somewhere in the makeup of a sub male’s brain some little bit that used to cause the penis to get erect at the mere whisper of a ghost of a chance of getting some action finally learns that THIS male isn’t in control of THAT outcome. And if the current situation is one in which there isn’t likely to be any need of an erection, it doesn’t bother with creating one. This is a remarkable phenomnina when you consider it: Essentially the sub male’s brain acknowledges his submissive condition at a very visceral and subconsious level. When that occurs it seems fair to say that the man in question isn’t posing as a submissive, or play acting as a submissive, or taking the submissive role in a scene… he simply IS a submissive (at least in the particular situation.) It has become part of his makup. Part of what and who he is.

I agree. And when it happens, it’s amazing hot and satisfying. When she makes me give her an orgasm and then teases me about how I will receive nothing in return I actually thank her for it. Feeling that way fills me with warmth and comfort and love. It’s fantastic.

Soon after that point the following to also becomes very true:

“I don’t need to be strung up and whipped or tied to the bed all night or facesat until I turn blue to know she cares. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words and a gentle touch.”

I think that the insatiable desire for the kinky stuff is the manifestation of the need to demonstrate to oneself or one’s partner the dominant and submissive nature of the relationship. At some point that is no longer as necessary as it once seemed. In its place is a special sort of intimacy between the sub and his top and a peaceful and contented acceptance of the dynamic by both parties.

Hmm. Perhaps. But for me, I really enjoy being tied up and hurt. I enjoy it a lot. Sometimes the pain she inflicts on me is a demonstration of my submission. When she decides to clamp my nipples out of the blue or smack my nuts around or apply Icy Hot to them. In those cases, whether I want it to happen or not, I accept it because it trips my submissive triggers. However, I really really like pain. I like being flogged and otherwise whipped and beaten and that’s really not about submission. That’s about feeling the wonderful buzz of masochism. The bondage is the same. I like feeling the powerlessness of being bound and abused. I like struggling against it. It turns me on.

I can’t say how these things would feel if I wasn’t a sub because I am, but I know there are dominant types out there who also like pain and bondage. It can’t always be about submission. In any event, while I don’t need her to engage in that kind of activity to make me know she cares, I still crave them. Deeply. That need is a part of me, not us.

I suppose that you may have already figured a lot of this out. But then again maybe you haven’t considered that the three quotations above are interrelated toward a common point. That point being the DS nature of your marriage transforming from a sort of overlay of your relationship with Belle to being an essential part of it.

Our relationship has to work on several levels. It’s not just D/s. But I do agree that we’ve both invested so much psychic energy into our dynamic that its removal would be traumatic for both of us. I’d say it’s integral at this point, though perhaps not essential.

I’d love to hear what your take is on all this. That is how do you see yourself and your marriage as a DS relationship, if you see yourself that way at all? As I mentioned you rarely refer to yourself as a submissive, nor do you refer to your marriage as a DS relationship. And you certainly have never referred to Belle as a Domme or anything like that. And why would you? Who really needs labels? Especially these labels that always seem to conjure up so many negative stereotypes. But at this stage I don’t have any better language to describe it.

The label thing is perhaps the biggest reason I don’t use them that much anymore. Belle doesn’t like being called a Domme and while I don’t have a problem identifying as submissive, I’ve learned there’s a lot of baggage that comes with the term (mostly in the form of what “real” submission is, etc.). I’m not embarrassed by how I am but I am aware that what it means for Belle and I isn’t what it necessarily means for others.

I guess the way I’d summarize this post is by saying I want and need to feel Belle’s satisfaction and pleasure, even if it comes at the expense of my own because, ironically and paradoxically, that gives me satisfaction. But I can’t be expected to live in a way in which neither of us is satisfied. I don’t want to live without sexual stimulation, I just want to live without ever having sexual release. It’s the old “chastity is not celibacy” thing. In the end, no relationship works without an exchange of what the other partner needs, even D/s relationships.

Thanks for your thoughtful comment.

I neglected to add…

Belle got home late last night and wished me a happy anniversary. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I read the blog,” she said. Ahh, I see. Four weeks. As in, my observation on Saturday that I’ve been locked for four straight weeks today. That anniversary.

And it was, truly, late – a school night, no less – so I didn’t think anything sexual was going to happen. And it didn’t. But even just hearing her acknowledge that my condition was known to her made a difference. That she hadn’t forgotten and, presumably, didn’t take it for granted. I laid next to her in bed, half rolled over on my side, and she left her hand in a spot where she could idly finger the hair just above the penis in its prison while we fell asleep. That minor, intimate contact along with the simple words charged me up. It was enough so that when I woke up this morning with the massively tight tube I didn’t feel grumpy or annoyed. I felt contained and comforted. I don’t need to be strung up and whipped or tied to the bed all night or facesat until I turn blue to know she cares. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words and a gentle touch.

Regarding the the thing I neglected to add as referred to in the title of this post, I forgot to mention in my previous missive that working out has become a sure-fire way of avoiding the dreaded chastity insomnia. I am trying like hell now to work out every day, not just because I crave it and want to feel good, but I’ve noticed that no amount of hormonal blood level can stop me from sleeping on the days I either see the trainer or run for three miles.

Friday afternoon, for example, I wanted to run badly, but the kids and I went out to see a movie and have dinner. We didn’t get home until after sunset and while I wanted to, I didn’t put the shoes on and take off. Subsequently, I was restlessly tossing around until after 2:30 AM. Not sure when I finally slept, but I knew as I laid there staring at the ceiling and doing everything except looking at porn (which is what I really wanted to do) that had I exerted myself, I would have been in dreamland.

Speaking of dreams, I’ve had several recently in which the chastity device was featured. I can’t recall the details, of course, but in one, the device just fell off of me. I’ve had that happen in dreams before and each time I remember feeling like I’m going to be in trouble. Try as I might, the device simply won’t go back together and I’m left with it in pieces in my hands. Other times I suddenly find myself in a situation where the device is visible in front of other people. I’m either all of a sudden naked or it’s out of my pants or something weirdly dreamy like that. At least one dream involved a urinal and other people. Not sure how, exactly, but the device was discovered.

Speaking of devices, I’ve ordered a new Jail Bird. There’s not a thing wrong with the Steelheart (obviously since I’ve been in it for a month) but sometimes a boy just wants some variety. For those keeping score at home, the previous Jail Bird went permanently out of commission when I accidentally snapped the post off the A-ring in an attempt to make it less constricting. I was going to just send the cage back and get a new ring, but I can’t find the damned thing. It’s got to be somewhere, but it’s not in any of the little hiding places I’ve used before. I suspect I got clever in where I put it but too clever to remember where that was. So, in any event, a new one has been ordered. I went with a slightly larger A-ring this time and opted for the oval option. We’ll see how that works. Expect a full report when it arrives.

A pair of milestones

Two milestones to report on today. One of minor consequence, one not so much.

I’m coming up on four weeks in the Steelheart. Not a record or anything, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the little feller for a month (on Monday). Long term lock up and denial, like everything else in the universe, operates on a cycle.

  • I first go in, usually after just coming, and the best I can hope for is that the device doesn’t piss me off for the first week.
  • By the second week and into the third, I’m pretty horned up. Everything is sparkly and fun and the hormones leave me nicely buzzing.
  • Past the third week, absent any external boost, things start to drag. Occasionally, it’ll feel OK being in, but left on my own, everything starts to sag. I can get depressed, demotivated, and all around bummed out by the experience.

The third stage can be averted though some kind of sexual contact with Belle. I think it’s possible to stay in the second stage or very early in the third indefinitely as long as I’m getting the kind of stimulation that keeps the hormones fired up. Belle’s got a new job and is working a lot and has shown little to no interest in me, so I’m well into the third stage now. Plus, she’s out of town again this weekend so there’s no hope of any relief on the horizon. I’m not abjectly depressed or anything, but the bloom is off the chastity flower. Long term chastity is a team sport, as I’ve said. You can’t play it by yourself. I’m not to the point of wanting out or crying uncle, but something has to give soon.

The other milestone is with my personal training and exercise. Getting fit seems to be a bit of a trend in the kinky blogosphere of late. Must be something in the lube. Anyway, I though I was six months in, but doing the math in my head yesterday, I realize I’m not quite there yet. I started in mid-January, so mid-July will be six months. Right?

So. Progress. I have lost weight, but it’s not happened in way I’m familiar with. According to the scale, I’m down to 223 pounds from my peak of 237. On paper, that doesn’t sound too impressive over five months, but I think a lot of the fat loss has been compensated by muscle gain. I feel different. I’m harder all over, but especially in my legs and arms. I have muscles where I’ve never seen them before. Drying off in the bathroom the other day, I was shocked at what my shoulders and arms looked like. Plus, my clothes are fitting differently. It’s definitely working. My scale is one of those fancy ones that measures fat as well as weight and the fat line on its accompanying iPhone app is dropping faster than the weight line, so again, yippee!

I’ve found that cutting back on food has been very difficult, especially as I’ve started to run more. I just need more fuel than I used to. Eating like a bird now would impact my ability to function. I don’t really pay attention to the weight I’m using at the gym, but I know that I can now bicep curl 120 lbs (both arms at the same time) and bench press in the neighborhood of 150 lbs. Those aren’t Olympic numbers or anything, but they’re way better than I could have pulled off before. I’m also able to run for more than 4 miles on a treadmill (which is easier for me than running outside – the best I’ve pulled off on the road is like 3.3 miles) and plank for almost two minutes. I remember the first day working out I was only able to plank for about 30 seconds. God, what a lump I was.

The thing about all this working out is that once you start, it becomes kind of a perpetual motion machine. I wake up every day after the gym with some kind of muscle aching and the running can often cause my legs and feet to hurt the next day, but the only thing worse than doing the exercise is not doing it. I crave it. Running is not all that much fun, either when it’s happening or immediately afterward, but I really want to do it. It bugs me to go more than one day with no exercise of any kind now. That’s good…right?

On weird

Ze Frank on weird versus normal.



He’s a national treasure.

Random penis news

Penises, it turns out, can be trained. Well, at least the brain circuitry that controls it can, but I like to refer to the penis as if it’s an independent being, so just work with me.

For example. The night before she left on her girlfriend’s weekend, Belle let me get her off. I liked it. A lot. It was fantastic feeling her pleasure knowing I was giving it to her. I pressed the steel into her leg while she came and felt the cool cruel cutting of denial as the wave of sensation crested inside her and knowing my experience was ending, too. But, the penis didn’t get hard. Maybe a little plump, but not a boner. Had it not been locked up, it certainly would have been as stiff as possible.

Another example. I tend the porn farm every day. Sometimes several times a day. If I’m out of the device, the penis will react and I’ll play with it and coax its fluids out without orgasm. Those sessions go on a bit longer than the locked variety for obvious reasons. However, when locked (as I am now) looking at images I find to be just as hot and invoking in me the same longing feelings as when unlocked, the penis barely twitches. Occasionally it’ll try to rise to the occasion, but the vast majority of the time, zilch. Same penis, same stimuli, different reactions.

A penis that is locked up all the time is not like one that isn’t. This doesn’t happen overnight. It didn’t used to be this way. But it is now. Also, this isn’t any kind of erectile disfunction because, as I said, when it’s unlocked it works just fine. Also, every fucking morning the erectile plumbing is going full blast. But a good, satisfying erection (let alone the ability to play with it) is one more thing a chronically locked guy is denied.

This morning, as I was waking up, I was laying there with the remnants of penile nocturnal tumescence filling the tube. Not full-on morning wood which is often uncomfortable in its ferocity, but a nicely constricted erection. I was on my stomach and grinding it into the mattress just reveling in the feeling of having a hard-on. Not a normal one, of course, but what I get now. Even if it’s not available, I like having erections now as much as I ever did.

In other penis news, I recently found a website called The Visualizer. The rest of this post contains NSFW images, so I’m placing it behind a jump.

Continue reading “Random penis news”

Pillow talk

Belle and I had one of those checking-in moments the other night. She knows how desperate I am right now and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going off the rails. Usually, this starts by her asking me how I’m doing and me answering in a non-verbal grunt and shrug kind of thing. This from the guy who always says communication is so important in our kind of relationship.

She teased more out of me (so to speak). I told her I was fine. Not GREAT. Just fine. I told her how horny I was and she once again reminded me that I had only been locked up for a week. A mere flicker of a butterfly’s eyelid for me. Do butterflies have eyelids? It matters not. You get the gist.

I may have asked how long she meant to keep me in. Usually, it’s fairly easy for me to see the milestones upon which I get out. I can’t see one of those before mid-July at this point. She told me she was thinking of letting me out for Father’s Day. Honestly, I had forgotten all about Father’s Day. If I hadn’t, I might have dismissed it since it was relatively so soon after Memorial Day (about three weeks). It’s not always easy to know what “getting out” means. Do I also get to come? Or is it just freedom?

In my somewhat needy and totally horned-out condition, I admitted I didn’t want out. I didn’t want the device off and I didn’t want to come. OK, accuse me of bottom topping. Go ahead. I’ll wait…


But it’s true. Yeah, my body is saying it wants out and wants to come, but my soul wants to stay in and be denied the pleasure. Even on Father’s Day. Especially on Father’s Day. The denial is so much more potent when it happens even when a reasonable person would expect otherwise. It’s best when it’s capricious and unfair and in no way respectful of what’s “right”.

What I want more than anything else is her. Not the porn, not the stories, not anything but her. To feel her writhe at my touch and hear her breathe fast and ragged before she finally tenses up in orgasm. That’s what I want. Not freedom. Not access. Certainly not orgasm. I have that feeling in my loins of a swollen prostate and I clutch and claw at the steel tube desperately wanting to get at its contents and I end up grinding into the mattress and being too distracted to sleep, but I also don’t want it to stop. Not ever.

I can’t tell if after all this time she’s thinking about letting me out because it’s what she wants or if it’s what she thinks I want. We seem to be past the point of her showing any kind of interest in the penis as a sexual object , though I supposed she might still want to feel it inside her. Maybe even wants to see it flopping around in the air. I don’t know. We kinda fell asleep after all that (which is to say, she fell asleep and I laid there soaking in my swirling hormonal caffeine).

Yesterday, I was grumpy at the end of the day. More annoying life stuff that I had misinterpreted or forgotten about or whatever. We were snappish at each other. Not sure how much of that was the hormones talking. It does manifest that way sometimes. I desperately wanted to defuse the situation so, when she came to bed, I offered to rub her feet with the lotion. I had hoped it would end in sex, but it didn’t. Just her feeling really nice (which is good, too). I again failed to fall asleep before 2:00. Still too wound up.

Belle leaves in a few days for a trip with some girlfriends. Yes, the kind of trip where in the porn stories the wife tells her friends about her husband’s locked penis. Just the girls and some wine in a quaint setting. I hope to be able to get her off before she leaves. If not, I’ll makes sure her favorite vibrator makes its way into her suitcase. If she’s going to be so relaxed anyway, it’s better for me to know she’s able to take advantage of the opportunity. Even if I don’t get to participate.

Finding myself

So I’m tending the porn farm and come across this (obviously, that’s a NSFW link there). And I’m thinking, Daaaaamn. That’s fucking hot. Then I think, Wait a minute. Is that…?

Turns out, I had seen that picture before. Right here. It’s me in the Jail Bird. As a guy who puts dirty pictures of himself on the internet, I do, from time to time, find those pictures regurgitated by others on the endless pornographic rotisserie that is Tumblr (usually this one, though). It’s to be expected. I’m not in any way disturbed by it (though a simple shout out of where it came from would be nice).

The thing I find funny about this is that I didn’t even recognize myself at first. And to be honest, the thing that tipped me off that it was me wasn’t the penis or the device, it was my hand in the background. Then I noticed the way the hair was clipped and how the nuts hung and it all clicked. I didn’t remember the photo since it wasn’t HNT or anything, just a quick pic demonstrating how the JB makes the penis shift into its off-center cage.

Speaking of the Jail Bird, I do admit to liking how that cage looks. There’s something about being able to see the penis behind bars (and then pushing out between the spaces in them) that really flips my switch. Alas, the JB’s A-ring post is broken (and the ring was always a bit too small anyway) so it’s not available to me. I asked Belle if I could send it back to be fixed but she prefers the Steelheart. The fact that it’s almost the exact opposite in the way it totally hides the penis. Out of sight. Gone. She doesn’t seem to like seeing it anymore. I guess that’s how it should be. How I want it. But still, I’d like to wear a real cage every now and again.


I have just discovered, a humorous online sex comic (I was going to say “erotic”, but it’s too funny to use a word that serious on it). It is fantastic. How could you have kept it from me for so long!?

Here’s a taste for the uninitiated…

Cumsprites! How do you not love that?! Go ahead. Keep reading.