Pure, unadulterated post-workout locked cock shot (for those interested).
Belle took me out of the Looker 02 last night. She didn’t have any immediate need for its contents, but would in the morning and she didn’t want to mess around with the key then. She wanted to be able to just roll over and fuck me, which she did. The penis, though, is stupid and didn’t understand the order in which things were going to happen. All it knew was the steel was off and out and all that normally compressed erectile tissue was free to go to town. I had a hard and persistent erection until I fell asleep.
Belle was funny when she let me out. She was obviously pretty excited to see the device emerge from under the covers.
“I like it when I lock you up and I like it when I let you out,” she said, “For different reasons, obviously.”
Her genuine excitement and the way she’s so well embraced her position over me makes me a very happy bunny.
As I was saying, I fell asleep wanting inside her and woke up in pretty much the exact same spot. As soon as we were both awake, we went right at is like a couple of teenagers. Her snatch was wet and her nipples were hard and she came riding the stiff penis in no time. Jesus god, she felt good.
Then she let me go at it. It was one of those times where I could fuck her and fuck her. I only got close to coming once and, as soon as that passed, I felt like there was no way I was getting close again. I fucked her long and hard and drenched her in my sweat. Faster, slower, deeper, shallower, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I get really emotional in these moments. When I’m fucking her and loving the feeling of her sliding up and against the hard shaft after having felt northing really pleasurable there for nearly two weeks. With every stroke I feel a deeper gratitude to her for allowing me to be as I am. To having so well taken the responsibility of a denied husband to heart. I came out and said it while balls-deep and kissing her full, delicious lips.
“I’m so grateful to you,” I said, breathy and low.
“You should be,” she replied, calm and clearly.
And I am, of course.
I’d still be fucking her right now it if she hadn’t told me the ride had to end. And I’ll be damned if, as soon as she said it, the penis didn’t start to go soft. Fucker’s pretty well trained. I rolled off of her wet, sweaty and smelling of pussy. Ah, bliss.
The only real downside to all this is, about an hour later, my nuts really started to ache. Especially the right side. My balls felt tender, swollen, and heavy. Surprisingly, I don’t get blue balls all that much anymore, but they were full of their unnecessary product and complaining loudly. I told Belle it was nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix, but I won’t be having that before I go back in. No hot n’ soapy access to penis meat for me.
A guy named Dalton has put together a terrific overview of the state of the art of enforced male chastity today called Bondage is Chastity on Serious Male Bondage Journal (you can tell it’s serious based on the header graphic). He makes many points, but two in particular worth repeating:
- “Locking something solid to our bodies to imprison a part that has no bone structure is an engineering mystery.” Hell yes. Stupid things are like octopi in their ability to squish and squeeze into and out of the darnedest predicaments. If only we had penile bones. He recommends a PA for the ultimate chastity experience.
- “I don’t recommend buying an expensive device early on,” warns Dalton, “Wear a few of the more affordable devices to find what works and what doesn’t work. You will end up with a more satisfying experience, or should I say less satisfying.” Amen, brother! Testify!
He also has a Madame Dura Lancelot which, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I find distractingly intriguing. Lucky him. In any event, he includes images with links of nearly all the major players in the cock locking biz, notably excepting my German friend.
Via Metalbond (who called me a “muscular bisexual guy” and made me feel all funny inside).
For those keeping score at home, after this year’s orgasms were over, Belle put me in the Steelheart. I was in there about a week maybe before getting some kind of sore on the head of the penis that was really pretty painful and caused me to have to come out for a few days. It was either some kind of nasty pinch between the meat and the PA fixing or some kind of irritation caused by urine or both. A rare occurrence. I had just about gotten used to the Steelheart’s relatively small A-ring, too.
In any event, she let me out for a few days which gave us the chance to have the sex I talk about about back on the 14th. Since then, I’ve been back in the Looker 02. For the active boys in the audience, I can report than I’ve run about 17 miles since then with little to no discomfort or issues. I’ve found that if I wear my normal compression underwear while running and apply a dab of silicone lube to the L02’s plug prior to starting, everything’s cool. Nice and supported, but not too much.
The other morning, I was still in the L02 when Belle reached over and started to touch me in a way that indicated we’d be having some action.
After she got the meat nice and compressed, I said, “I bet you wish I wasn’t locked up.”
“You mean you wish you weren’t locked up. I’m just fine with you in there.”
Yeah, she was right. I was trying reverse psychology on her. Didn’t work.
Still, she gave me and the constrained meant lots of attention. I was on all fours, half over her on her back, kissing her mouth and her neck while she gently caressed my tight balls and perineum, letting her fingers trail down my inner thighs. The penis was quite tight in its confinement, both within the cage and clamping down on the invading plug. She had me get the sack o’ nipple clamps from my nightstand and attached a moderately grippy pair of rubber coated aligator clips. Pulling on the chain, she’d force me into position so that slapping my nuts was easier for her. Nipples searing, cock raging, balls stinging and aching, on all fours like the moaning horny pain slut I am.
Then I reached down to finger her pussy and…
There’s that moment when you realize your historically vanilla wife is obviously getting off pretty hard on locking your meat into a steel vice, clamping and twisting your nipples, and knocking your nuts around like a little punching bag. That she’s obviously doing all that for your benefit, but also for hers. And that, since it’s not all for you, that means you have less control over how and for how long it happens. She’s actually getting off on your discomfort. There is more than just a little bit of a sadistic streak in there somewhere.
All of a sudden, it went from a series of perfunctory actions to an exchange. She was hurting me because I liked to be hurt, but also because she was enjoying hurting me. And that, in turn, made me want to show her how much hurt I could take. It made me want to give her my discomfort and suffering. As much as she wanted.
Eventually, the clamps came off (with the sudden rush of blood and searing pain that always goes along with that) and slapping stopped and she let me sorta bask for a little while. The cage, however, did not come off.
By the time I started in on her, her snatch was hot and dripping wet. My fingers slid and slipped freely over her clit as my mouth hungrily devoured her nipples. My fingers, though, were not enough. She had me get Pink and the little vibe thrummed to life (with its new batteries) as I rubbed it over and into her wetness. She came weirdly and intensely. It wasn’t like normal, but still apparently good. I still wanted out of the Looker. I still wanted to feel that hot pussy from the inside. But that wasn’t up to me and it was not to be.
As I sat up to leave the bed, the sticky and sweet clear nectar of my desire shot from the hollow titanium shaft in the penis.
This past weekend was the one year anniversary of my most recent foray into physical fitness. I feel like saying something to mark this occasion because it really does mean a lot to me and has had a huge impact on my entire sense of wellbeing, but I don’t want to be one of those annoying screechy preachy types who, after finding their One True Way, keep telling you how you’re living your life all wrong. There are some who’d say I do enough of that with the whole chastity denial thing as it is.
I admit, I’m fortunate because I’m able to hire a professional to kick my ass several times a week. Even on those days when I don’t want to drag myself out of bed, I do because there’s a dude I already gave money to waiting for me at the gym. I’m not, therefore, a typical example. But. What I can say is, trainer aside, I know I’ll be active for the rest of the time my body will let me. Every day, I crave the activity. I crave the treadmill or the weights or just sweating. I want to run more than my legs will take me. I want to lift more than my joints will allow. If only I had started doing this ten years ago. Or twenty.
And that, I guess, is the thing. I’m 45 and might be in the best shape of my life right now. Maybe. I’ve been in OK shape before, but it’s likely that, big picture, I’ve never been fitter. I have actual muscles in places that have never shown them in the past and my resting heart rate is in the mid to high fifties (not bad – could be better). I’m losing weight, though not as quickly as I’d like. Still, it’s heading in the right direction. Problem with the weight thing is, all the charts say my maximum healthy weight is 188 pounds or so. I’ve been that low in my adult life, but I was a skinny punk. I can’t see how muscly me will ever be that low.
But whatever. What I’m saying is, if you’re unhappy with your appearance or are tired of feeling tired and old, now is the time. Not tomorrow. Not next month. Now. It doesn’t matter what shape you’re in or your age or anything. Start small. There are pretty cheap of gyms out there (like Snap or Anytime) and you can go in and do lower-impact stuff like the elliptical or bike for half an hour three times a week. Eventually, you could work with a trainer (they usually have them on staff) even if it’s just once a week (my trainer has several once-a-week clients). If you do that and stick to it, I guarantee your body will start to ask for more. Your cloths will start fitting different and you’ll see a new person in the mirror and people who see you every day will say something. It works. You’ll go from being tired for no reason to being tired from making yourself move. That’s the best tired there is. And even so, you’ll crave more.
And, since this blog is purportedly about sex, I’ll tell you it improves that, too, no matter how you take it. Belle seems especially affected by my arms now. So much so that I am now certain when a chick sees a muscly guy and tells you, “Well, I don’t like men with too many muscles,” they are probably lying. Also, when you and your partner are feeling more energetic and overall better about your self images, chances are you’re likely to want to be naked together and do naked stuff.
The final thing I’ll say on this topic (for now) is to recommend the Nike FuelBand. In a nutshell, this is a little gizmo that measures your activity during the day (like the FitBit or Jawbone Up or a few others) but it also does some kind of proprietary mumbo jumbo that turns that into something called NikeFuel. Basically, a point system. It’s not the conversion of activity into points all by itself that’s genius. The genius part is the accompanying iPhone app and/or website. You can set a daily goal for yourself and make tracking your activity level into a game. I have, in the past, made a point to go to the gym because my Fuel was too low and I wanted to keep my string of achieved daily goals in tact. In fact, even though my calves were aching last night and I really should be taking the day off today to recoup, I’m thinking of doing it again today because I’m only at 816 at 1:00 and I need 3,500 before the end of the day and have managed to make my goal six days in a row. Anyway, there are a bunch of devices on the market now like this and I’ve tried several of them. The FuelBand is the only one I really like (even though it doesn’t track sleeping like the FitBit or Up). It syncs wirelessly with my phone and looks good on my wrist. I like it so much, I got one for Belle and my son, too.
One of the greatest, most perfect slogans in the history of marketing and advertising is Nike’s “Just Do It.” You can’t even understand how good it is until you take its advice and get up off your butt and do something. Listen to it and you’ll be thankful you did.
Preachy bit over.
Quite a lot of comments on the last post in a short period of time.
Did you cry? I would have.
No, of course I didn’t. Haven’t you been reading this blog? I only would have been disappointed if the number had been less than 24.
I suspect belle will miss a good hard fuck before then.
I’m surprised she doesn’t miss that more given it used to be one of her favourite things. What’s changed in her mind?
Belle had a pretty good fuck on Sunday and I didn’t come. Pretty good fucks don’t have to have a guy coming at the end. With regard to Belle changing her mind, I don’t think she has. My demonstrating that she can fuck me and get her orgasm while not leading to my own is, I think, the one thing that makes this long-term stuff possible. Even now, she’s said it’ll be July 27, 2014, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be way more shattered about screwing up before then than she will. I think she thinks not coming is my problem, not hers. As long as she gets what she wants, it works for us.
He also said,
If you continue with an orgasm once a year and a half, I will have more (delicious) orgasms in the next month than you will ever. Just thought that idea might tickle you!
And yeah, in a fucked up way, knowing others are having all kinds of orgasms while I get none does make me itch a little inside. Irony. Or just a demonstration of the “divide by zero” nature of orgasm denial. At some level, logic fails.
Atone and I had an exchange about whether it’s better to know the length of time involved or not. Is staring down the throat of 566 days worse than just knowing it’s not today or tomorrow or next week?
I think this is going to be different for everyone. Personally, I don’t think of the period of denial as something I have to get through before I get to come again. It’s something I get to go through before I have to come again. And it’s so far away I can just live my life as though orgasms are not something I’m ever allowed to do ever. The one on Saturday was a good example of whatever conscious or subconscious combination of discipline in my head allows me to get fucked by her and not come “rounding up” and letting it happen since The Day was so close. If The Day is fixed in time off over the horizon somewhere and not a nebulous “not right now, maybe soon, maybe not,” for whatever reason, I find it’s usually easier to keep the natural response to the fucking at bay. That’s what works for me and us.
In a way, I think we’ve finally come to the logical extension of where we’ve been heading for the past four years. I like myself better when I’m not having orgasms. Both my attitude and affection and behavior are more Belle-focused and I feel more alive and invigorated with my arousal on a hair trigger. I think Belle likes me better this way, too. I have wanted and hoped Belle would take my orgasms away completely for a long time. And now, essentially, she has. Combining the period we’re in now with the one we just finished (and assuming there’s no accidents along the way), I will have had only two orgasms in over two years. If that turns into one every 18 months or so or none ever, I’m really OK with that. I can’t explain it and I’m not going to say it’s the logical extension of how everyone should play this game, but I couldn’t be happier with where we are right now.
As you probably know, Belle previous said I would’t come until a “random date” in 2014. Tonight, we used a random number generator I found on teh Google and told it to pick a number between one and 52. Since Belle always does these things on a weekend (and nearly always on a Sunday), what we asked the site to do was pick which weekend of the year it would take place. Belle wanted to put a bunch of pieces of paper in a hat and make me pick, but you know, that’s a lot of work. Cutting, writing 52 numbers, etc. This was just one click. Presto.
The number was 30. That ends up being Sunday, July 27, 2014. Five-hundred fifty-nine days from today. Unless I screw up somewhere along the way.
“Can I come?” I asked, feeling the desire to do so build with each thrust of my hips.
“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh.
That was yesterday, just a week into the period of indeterminate length (at least a year but possibly two) in which I won’t have any orgasms. It’s as close as one can get, I guess, to living without them at all and that’s fine by me. I did want to come and would have if she had said I could, but she’s not going to let me. Not one more time this year. Not on purpose.
The last time I came prior to the weekend of January 5th was way back around July 4th. The date she had picked out for me to come again was January 6, but it actually happened accidentally the day before. She let me out that Friday from the Looker 02 I had been in nearly continuously for about six weeks. She may have been more turned on by the idea of fucking me than the other way around and on that Saturday, she climbed up on me, all naked, hot, and wet. It had been so long and we were so close to D-day that six of the seven seals I try and keep up in those situations were hanging loosely on their hinges. It was, for both of us, a very fine fuck. I was in OK shape until I felt her start to come and I found myself completely unable to hold back. Belle just felt so fucking good bouncing up and down on the penis. Turns out, I was a dead man from the moment she got up there.
The orgasm I had was unlike any I can recall having before. The typical male orgasm, if you graph it, has a period of build-up followed by a relatively short “oh my Jesus, here I come” segment followed by the back-of-the-head-eye-rolling spurting bit and finishing with the crash and sleepy-time moment of zen. This one, though, had all the grace and elegance of a tactical nuclear device. One second, I wasn’t coming, the next I was. And it was so intense and overwhelming that it pegged every sensor in my body. I tesned up solid and couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t as much distinct spurts of ejaculate as what felt like a jet of goo painting the walls of her snatch. Then, as soon as that was over, I could feel – distinctly – each and every one of the nerve endings on the penis head firing little individual needles into my cerebral cortex over and over again. I had to ask Belle to stop moving as it was all too much for me to bear.
So yeah, I came. Explosively. If I only get a handful more in my entire life like that, I’ll count myself a lucky man. But, it wasn’t the day, so she made me do it all over again the next morning. This time would be different. I’d be on top and, according to a previously negotiated agreement, if she hadn’t come before me, I would have to make her come by eating her out. Honestly, she wasn’t even trying to come before me. I was up there doing my best and all she was doing was letting me. As I got closer, a little voice in my head reminded me that no matter how hot I thought it was at that moment, I really wasn’t going to like the clean-up and that was sufficient to hold me back a bit, but the inevitable inevitably happened and I shot a healthy load deep inside her.
She gave me a few moments to bask in which I started to feel the revulsion of what was about to happen. I rolled to her side and started to finger her, hoping to get her into that and avoid my end of the bargain, but no dice. Actually, that made things a bit worse since I could feel how slimy and loose I had made her. Accepting my fate, I got to work, though I couldn’t allow myself to open my eyes and concentrated all my attention on her clit. Sensing this, she brought her hips up making me slip down and allowing my tongue to slurp in a gob of my revolting seed. God, the smell of it. Finally, she came and I was out of there in a flash. My own ejaculate was all over my nose, cheeks, and lips and ran down my chin.
And that was that. Last one of the year. I’m still not sure how she’s going to pick the date in 2014 on which I’ll be made to come again, but obviously, there’s no rush. We have all of 2013 to get through yet.
One man’s humor is another’s rabid sexual fantasy…
A few of you might be interested to know the details of the orgasm Belle was going to make me have this morning. Yes, I did have it. But it’s kinda like a Fight Club thing. We all know the first rule of Fight Club. The first rule of this blog is there’s nothing that makes me want to talk about my sex life less than coming. So, yeah, I’ll get there. Just not today.
What I will talk about today is the relative popularity of male chastity as measured through the internet-using public’s interest in my CB-6000 Tips and Tricks page. I published this nearly four years ago now and, as you can see from the chart below of that page’s daily views, it’s never been more popular.
Over the years, it’s been linked to by a number of sites, but most of its traffic is through search engines (and almost all of that is Google). It’s become almost always the second-most visited page on my site (after the homepage) on any given day. The only pages that get close to beating it on a day-to-day basis are the HNThumper posts which require jump links to protect the vaguely SFW status of this site.
Anyway, the first little spike you see there from October 2009 was due to a link to the page from a UK BDSM forum topic on chastity. It was just blips like that, though, until July of 201o when Sarah Jameson had a link to this blog on every page of her site. That drove traffic in general up, but to that page specifically. I don’t know why traffic drops off in April of 2011. It could be because Sarah eventually removed the link to this site from hers or it could have been because I took the link out of this site’s main navigation. In any event, it spiked again in October 2011 when the Locked Men website added the page to their Link menu. After that…I don’t know for sure.
This could just be the power of the Google algorithm (trusted sites on certain topics linking to others) finally kicking in or, more interestingly, it could be a higher general interest in the practice of enforced male chastity. Personally, I think that’s the cause. There are a crap-ton of people doing Google searches on the CB-6000. One sure way of knowing would be to graph the sales of A.L. Enterprises (the maker of the CB-6000) against the page’s traffic, but since they’re a private company, we’re unlikely to know anything about that.
At the end of the day, if the still-growing popularity of the Tips and Tricks page is due to an increase in general usage of male chastity devices (and since nearly everyone seems to start with the CB6K nowadays), I would count that as a Good Thing. I’ll be curious to know if anyone else with similar types of content (like Aarkey’s FAQ, or Tom’s site) are seeing the same thing.
Edited to add this screen shot from Google. Don’t know why I didn’t bother to look at this before, but the Tips & Tricks page is in the fortunate third “organic” position (as opposed to paid) behind the CB-6000 website and Amazon. So, that explains a lot.