Got home from the gym and started to strip off my sweaty stinky clothes before stepping into the shower and saw in the mirror through the material of my shirt as it went over my head how much I liked the direction my arms are heading. Then, because I’m a needy exhibitionist teenager looking for affirmation from strangers, I thought about reenacting the scene for the objective eye of my iPhone’s camera and posting the results here for y’all.
I went out for drinks after work last night with a client and a coworker. I don’t normally drink, but I’ve discovered I like whiskey and ginger ale. It’s caller a Big Whiskey in these parts, though I’ve found not all bartenders have heard of it. Also, I’ve found I like it with Johnny Walker Black. Nice and smooth. Buttery, even. Mmmm.
Yeah, so I don’t normally drink, but I managed to get one down before anyone else showed up and was well on my way to number three before the entire group arrived. The appetizers helped me get my wits back together so I stopped at three. I was in good shape by the time we broke up, but feeling very sleepy. Since, you know, I’m a lightweight.
When I got home, Belle was working on a presentation for work in bed so I zoned watching stupid TV until she was done. Once the lights were out, I pretty much was too, but she decided to have a little conversation. I can’t remember what prompted it, but she mentioned something about maybe leaving me in a device all the time. I pointed out that I’m pretty much in a device all the time now, but she said she was talking about forever. Like, I wouldn’t get out again. She reminded me of my last post and I, sleepily, reminded her that not coming ever again and not ever getting out of chastity ever again are really different things. I admit that I would rather be locked up than not and don’t feel right if some kind of steel isn’t between my legs, but I still like getting out once every week or so. I mean, it’d be such a waste now that I’ve become so good at not coming when she fucks me. Anyway, it didn’t get much further than that. I fell asleep.
Speaking of fucking, I got some of that over the weekend. She let me out Sunday morning but didn’t use the penis for her pleasure opting instead to come from my fingers. After, though, she let me fuck her. I was able to go for quite a while and, at least this time around, never got close to coming. I did want to. I told Belle I felt like I wanted to come.
“No you don’t,” she said.
No, I didn’t. But did at the same time. She mentioned that I should be entered in some kind of chastity Olympic stamina event, I was fucking her so long. Eventually, she told me it was time to end. I wanted to keep going forever, but no. She left me out the rest of the day and all that night. The next day, she put me in the Jail Bird.
I wanted to go in the Looker again and told her that if she would rather, I’d be happy to put that one on instead. There was a time that she didn’t like the JB as much. She reminded me that I didn’t get to decide which device I was in and said she like the JB just fine. So that’s what I’m in.
This morning, as I was getting back from the gym, she was just pulling out of the garage. I gave her a kiss through her car’s window and had one of those bolt from the blue moments I just never had when I was coming whenever I wanted. With her soft lips on mine, I was aware of her whole body and craved every bit of it. In just a few lingering seconds, I felt a jolt of electricity jump from my crotch, through our kiss, down to her snatch, and all the way back. I wanted to jack off badly but had to be content with tending the porn farm. Funnily enough, I found myself selecting a large number of images involving pussies. They were all so fascinating. Afterward, as I was getting into the shower to not jack off, I found my nuts slick with clear leakage from the penis. Even after the shower and after I dried off, it was still coming out.
So, you know, everything’s great here.
Atone left the following in response to my suggestion that if one can go six months without having an orgasm, one can go much longer:
I don’t know if six months is the magic number but somewhere around that point I realized that it is possible that I might be able to go the rest of my life. The logic went something along the lines of – well, it’s been over six months and that went well, I should have no problem going another six months to make it a year. After a year it truly became normal to not have an orgasm, I could probably go another. It has now been almost 16 months and I occasionally think it would be really nice to have an orgasm but then remember how much happier I am now that I don’t do that anymore. I think if I had an orgasm now I would want another, and another. While the idea of a break is sometimes nice to think about I believe it would end up being rather unsatisfying.
This is going to be different for every person, obviously. Some men will recoil in horror at the idea of preferring a mostly orgasmless existence (even those who enjoy chastity or orgasm denial). Others of us, obviously, not so much.
I don’t think six months is a magical number. Niether is a year. They’re just nice and round. The thing I really gravitate toward in Atone’s comments is the part about how, at some point, it becomes normal not to have orgasms. At some point, it stops being a game or a gap or a test of endurance and it just becomes how you are. And you realize that you like yourself better that way.
Now, I know there’s a lot of dissonance out there about whether or not male orgasm denial makes men better partners (on all levels). I acknowledge that an ass is an ass and there’s no magic bullet to fix that. But I also know from first-hand experience that easy and frequent access to orgasms can make a man distant and even indifferent to their partner. I know that the disconnection of one’s sexual “satisfaction” (a word I use in the most tactical and transitory way possible) is detrimental to the health of a monogamous relationship (I can’t speak to non-monogamy, of course, though I have some opinions there, too). I’m not the perfect mate by a long shot, but I know I’m better now than I was when I could sneak off at night and pull one out.
What I’m saying is, at this point in my life and if it were up to me, I’d rather be the kind of guy whose default existence was to not have orgasms. Not that THOU SHALT NEVER HAVE ANOTHER ORGASM AGAIN or whatever, just that based on my experience, I prefer how it feels not to. I prefer how it makes me relate to my partner. Sure, there are complicating things that go along with being orgasmless (the occasional sleeplessness, an ever-present need for sexual attention, etc.), but in balance, they’re outweighed by how it’s changed my fundamental outlook toward my partner. The early years are behind us. The difficultly I had in adapting to this “lifestyle” are mostly over. I’ve come to terms with how it feels to keep the orgasm inside and am able to maintain that feeling in mostly productive space.
And it’s not that I don’t want to come. Of course, the constant desire to do so creates the thermal energy that fuels all the positive outcomes. When I mention to Belle that it’s been four months, it’s not because I’m dying for the next two to be over, it’s because I’m thinking, Jesus, it’s been four fucking months! In a way, it’s kinda like but then again totally not like an addiction. Once a certain kind of person is addicted to something, they always want it. The desire never leaves them. They have to learn to live with it. That’s where I am with orgasms. They still feel good. As Atone says, the idea of having one is appealing. But that would release certain chemicals in my brain that might lead to having more which would leech all the good stuff that’s built up inside me away.
Of course, this is all talk without Belle’s buy-in. Is she willing to make that exchange? Are the trade-offs sufficiently valuable to her to live without me intentionally coming inside her from now on? Also, by becoming one of those guys, will she have a hard time relating to me? Guys who don’t want to orgasm are…weird. Also, not for nothing, I gave her my orgasm several years ago. I can’t make this change without her consent either way. She’s my partner and I’m her sub.
In a way, this is like discovering the proverbial secret garden. You chase this little ball of orgasm denial into a dark and overgrown grotto and discover behind the hanging moss and ivy a Wonka-like environment you’re not entirely sure is known to anyone except a very few. It’s not all that hard to get back, but once there, why leave? I suppose you’re either going to grok that or you’re not.
Last Sunday was a bit more than advertised. Belle did let me out and she did, in fact, fuck me. Also, I once again kept it together and resisted coming. Relatively speaking, I wasn’t even close. This brings my streak to five for the number of times Belle’s been able to get off on the penis without me ruining everything with an orgasm. Again, I thought about politics, but with baseball over and the election about to mercifully come to an end, I’m going to have to find another unsexy thing to keep my mind distracted from the feeling of her pussy sliding back and forth over the aching, neglected shaft.
She also let me have a go at her once she was through glowing and stuff. Her pussy felt incredibly hot and sensuous and I was once again sweating out my desire to come in her. Cold, damp sweat. I ended up leaking copiously, but no orgasm. Belle told me the ride was coming to an end and I withdrew about 80% and just moved the head back and forth feeling her labia playing over the overly sensitive glans. Holy fuck, you know? I’m almost shuddering now just typing these words…
In any event, the Looker 02 came off immediately prior to the fucking and the Steelheart Short went over the still-sticky meat immediately after. I never left the bed unlocked. Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes of freedom, but they were action-packed.
Later that day, after her parents had been over for dinner, she told me in the kitchen that she wanted to go at it again. I pointed out the kids were still up and she rejoined that our bedroom had a door with a lock. With memories of coronal ridges bumping past labial folds dancing in my mind, we retired to the bedroom and locked said door.
I quickly discovered that the coronal ridge was out of luck. The device wasn’t coming off again. We both got naked (except for the steel) and I took up my position next to her, sucking and pinching her nipples and playing with her pussy. Outside the door, the dog was going to town on a squeaky toy.
“He’s excited for us,” Belle said.
“Errhurmph,” I said, mouth full of tit.
“Well, he’s excited for me, anyway.”
“Ermph,” I replied.
I have a remarkably well-tuned sense of how her orgasms develop now and I could tell things weren’t coming along as they should. She brought out Pink, her favorite vibrator, and I used that instead of my fingers. Still, no dice. She took it out of my hand and benched me from below-the-belt action so I redoubled my attention to her nipples. Eventually, she came, but it was a different kind of orgasm. Longer and broader as opposed to a sharp crescendo Belle’s just one of those girls who has a hard time with the multiple orgasm thing. More like a guy that way, actually.
Anyway, since then I’ve been back in the Steelheart after quite a lot of time in the Looker. It’s taken me all week to readjust at night. The nocturnal erections are a lot more intense in the SH-S with its smaller ring and tighter gap. Given a few more days, I’ll probably be sleeping through most of it, but it’s a very different experience from both the Looker and the Jail Bird (both with slightly larger rings).
It’s now been just over four months since my last orgasm. That’s clearly record territory. Belle mentioned last night that I’m just two months away from my next chance to have one and I suppose I should be looking forward to that, but I’m ambivalent. If I can go six months, I can go for the rest of my life, right?