Month: August 2013

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Mailbag

A reader asked:

Hi – thank you for all of the great info on your blog.  I started being locked in a CB6000s about 6 months ago, and your Tips & Tricks article help greatly during the acclimation period!!!

I am starting to look for a metal device, and I am also considering a PA.  I have been trying to find reliable info on getting a PA specifically with Chastity in mind, but I can not seem to find anything.  I did receive some information from a very respectful source stating that I should start with a 10ga needle with a 8 ga ring pulled through then let this heal for about 6 month to a year then go to a 6 ga to use with a device.  Does this seem reasonable to you?  Can you share with me your experience of how you moved forward with your PA and how you stretched it to where you are today?  It would be greatly appreciated!!

Wait, you’re not going to do this yourself, are you? Egad.

I went to a local establishment and originally received an 8 ga ring. I don’t know what size needle she used since she did it and was the professional and all. She said some places start you at 10 ga, but she felt that was too narrow for that kind of piercing. Eventually, I got it up to 4 ga. I didn’t go back for that. I bought the tools I needed to open and close larger gauge trapped ball rings and just kept pushing bigger ones in there after there seemed to be enough play in the hole. You can kinda tell that you’ve stretched out enough because when it’s tight your pee won’t come out the piercing.

I don’t think there’s anything chastity specific you need to think about with regard to the piercing process itself, but I’ve found anything much larger than a 6 ga ring to be too big to comfortably wear inside a device. You could get a device with a larger space inside to fit a higher gauged ring, but then you’re violating the “smaller is better” rule. Even though I wear 4 ga jewelry when unlocked, I go back to a 6 ga ring for security (at least, I’m pretty sure it’s 6 ga — as I sit here and think about it, I’m not sure exactly…it’s not bigger than 6 ga…might be 8 ga actually). It’s not usually difficult to get back into the 4 ga stuff after I get out, but if I’ve been locked up for an exceptionally long time, there’s sometimes a moment of difficulty

Six months seems way too long to wait, let alone a year. A year!? The tissue in your penis heals really quickly. It’s one of the great things about genitel piercings. Of course, every penis and person is a unique snowflake and all, so your mileage may vary, but I don’t think you’d need to wait longer than 12 weeks or so to try and move up. The piercer can give you some guidance there. You will want to move more quickly, but the worst thing you can do it put pulling pressure on the piercing too early. If you’re going to use something like the Steelheart and fixing Belle has on me, you should be OK. There’s little to no pulling. If you’re going to use something like a PA security cable outside your CB6K, watch out. That’s some painful shit, in my experience. Of course, if this is only ever going to be for chastity security and the jewelry will be worn inside the the tube, there’s no reason you need to go any bigger than 8 ga.

Good luck!

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The Line

I may have mentioned before, but the kids were away from home last week. That led to one off-the-hook day spent mostly in bed and me mostly in her and us fucking like crazy teenagers, over and over. I never came, but she let me ruin one with my hand when it was all over just to let the massive pent-up quantity of ejaculate out and relieve my poor achy balls. Three or four huge squirts leapt unaided onto my stomach. Still horny, though. Always that.

The balance of the week was spent doing romantic datey things since Belle was pretty well fucked out. Several meals out, culminating on Saturday with hours of free time spent at a rooftop restaurant drinking cocktails, munching, and waiting for our Blue Jasmine start time to roll around while we talked and talked. We came around to the topic of fantasies.

At first, it wasn’t about our fantasies. We were talking about a friend and their fantasy and how their partner was interpreting that and how it fit into the partner’s fantasies (or didn’t). It’s not my tale to tell, so I won’t, but the concept of The Line came up. That is, some fantasies can only work in your head, either because they’re impossible (fucking a centaur is Dan Savage’s favorite example) or because, while they’re superhot, you just can’t actually do them without seriously damaging yourself or your partner emotionally (or some innocent victim). Others you can do. For us, chastity and denial are some of those. I found it (it’s always the guy who does, right?) and she was willing to indulge me and, hey presto, now it’s an integral thing for us.

I declared that I know precisely where my Line is. What’s on the “nope, never going to happen” side and the “sweet baby jeebus, that would be sofuckinghot” side. Such as my fantasy of her fucking other guys. How could I possibly want that, she wanted to know. Surely, that’s on the never going to happen side? No, not at all. I have this really unreasonably potent humiliation/inferiority/unfairness kink. For example, she gets to come whenever and however she wants and I never do. Even when I’m locked and loaded and have been fucking her for twenty minutes and all it’ll take is an extra thrust and a half to fill her up, I don’t get to because…well, just because. Sorry. It’s not a huge jump from that, in my mind, to her getting off however she wants, or with whomever she wants. Preferably, another person who fucks better than me. Preferably, a person who fucks so much better than me that she chooses (either with or without his consultation) not to fuck me.

And, yeah, I get that, on the one hand, the mind reels at the concept. Who in the fuck would want that?! I mean, really want it? Well, me, I guess. And I feel pretty sure that it would push my buttons. The thing is, I’m really confident that Belle and I are inseparable. We will be together for the rest of our lives. No studly fucker will change that. So, while I’d burn with jealousy that he got to do what I wanted to but wasn’t allowed, while there may be times when it’s hard and I would struggle, I know that I’ll always have her. It’s the ultimate form of denial but with no chance of abandonment.

The other “problems” with this is the fact that, if I may say so myself, I’m really good in bed. Premature ejacualtion issues aside (understandable for a guy who only comes, on average, twice a year), I know what I’m doing and Belle really digs me. Also, Belle connects sex with a deeper emotional attachment. She’s not just going to fuck any guy. Getting to a point where she would would be a long process. Not one she seems interested in expending any energy towards. I get that. This is a case where our lines seemingly bisect and, I presume, nothing will ever happen.

The other fantasy of mine we discussed was the one recently brought up here on the blog of me being fucked and used by one (or two) guys. I only brought it up because we were talking fantasies and Belle, surprisingly, said she didn’t think that would bother her. Not nearly as much as me being with another woman (which I have essentially zero interest in). She said she thinks of me getting fucked by a guy as not much different than me masturbating or playing with a sex toy. And I agree. Emotionally and with regard to how much of threat it would be to our relationship, it’s about the same. Guys for me have always been about sex. I have a very close friendship with one of the guys I was with when younger, but there was never enough emotional heat there to combust into romantic love. I’ve never been able to do that with guys.

Anyway, I was surprised to hear her make that “guy on guy sex is like masturbation” comparison because she’s said in the past (quite recently, actually) that she’d have a hard time sharing me. In any event, I’ve found that the worst sexual experiences of my life were with people I didn’t know or care that much about (or even like, on one occasion) so I, too, would need to have some kind of connection with them that was something more than sexual and, like Belle, I’m not entirely sure I’d be willing to expend the energy to find and cultivate that kind of thing. Or, in the end, that she’d let me.

Belle has fantasies, too, but it’s kind of amorphous and about being with another woman. Nothing too specific. If she has more than that, she keeps them to herself (alas). I don’t know where another woman for her would fit on her Line, but it reminds me of this:

Sometimes, you don’t know where The Line is until it’s staring you in the face.

God, I love Garfunkel and Oats.

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Nonfiction

Even though he had lowered the shades in the room they shared before going to bed, enough light leaked in to cause his eyes to flutter open. Daylight. Morning. Saturday.

He stirred and stretched a bit and his hand found its way (as all men’s hands do, seemingly by themselves) to his crotch. Scratch. Squeeze. Hard, but not as hard what he usually found there. His other hand reached just as instinctively for his phone. 5:58. The alarm was set for 6:00 anyway, so he turned it off and snuck out of bed trying not to wake her up.

Six o’clock is too damned early to wake up on a Saturday but he had to go to the gym and meet his trainer. This early spot was really hers but she decided a while back she didn’t like waking up that early on a Saturday, either, and told him he had to take it. She’d have his 9:00 spot. Kiss on the cheek. Thanks.

He padded around the house, still naked, morning wood bobbing around in front of him like an eager dog at the end of a leash. He tried to ignore it. Speaking of which, the dog would want to go out soon. Grab a Diet Coke. Get the sandwich in the microwave.

He didn’t like getting up that early but liked this early morning stillness. Like it being quiet. Liked being able to be naked around the house. Liked the kids being away so he didn’t have to cover himself. She let him close the blinds on the huge fishbowl-like windows in front of their home. The ones that let all the people see in and observe their every move, if they wanted to. He opened the door and grabbed the paper. Just a flash of nakedness, but no one to see it. Minor thrill.

Eat. Drink. Read. The dog came out. Back in their room (occasionally referred to as her room), he looked at her still sleeping and quietly grabbed his workout clothes. Sleeveless Nike shirt, light and airy. Under Armour compression underwear. Baggy Nike shorts. Branding mismatch. Ankle socks. Swiss shoes. Into the bathroom to pull everything on. Out the door with the dog. Walk.

Back in the house, he checked his watch. 7:16 now. Fourteen minutes. Need to go. He put his water bottle in his bag, found his keys.

He heard a stretchy groan from the back of the house. A mumbled call. She’s up. Go see her.

“Good morning,” she said, warm and sleepy. Covers up in the morning coolness, bit of nipple showing on the right side.

He climbed into bed and hugged her. Kissed her.

“Hi,” he said.

More kissing. More hugging. Holding her close though the covers.

She didn’t usually sleep naked. Not like him. But she was this morning. Naked and warm and smelling and tasting like her. His hips started to grind into her leg, though his clothes, through the bedding. He could feel himself start to harden. Push against the compression of his Under Armor. He pulled the comforter down a bit and put her nipple in his mouth.

“Mmmm. You don’t have time,” she said softly.

“There’s time,” he replied.

Mouth on nipple, mouth on mouth, one hand on nipple, one hand moving over her body, drifting south. Finding her neatly kept hairy patch. Slipping his finger over her folds. Mouth back on nipple, finger gyrating.

She moaned appreciatively. Her eyes closed and her lips parted and she felt his touch. His hardness was feeling distorted. Squished by the stretchy fabric. Compressed. But nothing he wasn’t familiar with. He’d had it worse. Much worse.

“You need to go,” she complained half-heartedly.

“I need to do this.”

Her back arched a little more, her legs parted a little more, he reached into a wetter, hotter part of her. Slick. Sexy. Her.

Her hips started to move. That’s a good sign, he thought. Fucking hell, he wanted her. But he wanted to feel her come more. He wanted to start her day with this. The rubbery soles of his sneakers caught on the fabric of the bed covering as he wrapped his legs around hers, pressed his needy sex into her. She pulled the covers down. Exposed herself to him. Allowed him full view of his alter.

He felt her rhythm quicken. Her breathing. Her heartbeat. Her pussy silky under his long fingers. More moaning.

She came. Now it was his turn to moan. More like a groan. Her passion in harmony with his desire.

He kissed her again. God, her taste. Her lips. So soft. So perfectly kissable.

“Thank you,” they both said.

“7:28,” she said.

He hopped out of bed, sprinted to his gear, into his truck, down to the gym. Barely late.

On the exercise bike warming up, he could still feel the hard-on in his shorts.

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Hacking

The other day, I was IMing with Dev (formerly of Devastating Yet Inconsequential) and the notion of chastity and orgasm control being a kind of life hack came up. According to the Wikipedia, a life hack is “any productivity trick, shortcut, skill, or novelty method to increase productivity and efficiency.” Seems to me that denial and chastity definitely do not increase the “productivity” of a very specific thing, but work with me here.

Cast your minds back to the beginning of our journey into the life of male orgasm control. We, Belle and I, had been through a hard time in our relationship resulting from the fact that we had pretty much stopped having sex. I went outside our marriage to find the kind of intimacy I wasn’t getting at home. I suppose it would be an easy thing to then draw a line and say I cheated, therefore I ended up in a chastity device and, as punishment, rarely get to have any orgasms. But that’s all wrong and kind of backwards.

Our problem wasn’t that I cheated (though, yeah, that was a problem all right), it was that we weren’t connected to one another sexually. I loved Belle. Never stopped loving her. Never wanted to leave her. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but with her from the moment I realized I loved her. But we were not intimate with one another anymore, emotionally or physically. We were roommates running a live-in day care center. As I suggested yesterday, kink of any kind, when successfully executed, is the result of and the catalyst for emotional and physical intimacy. It’s only done well after a lot of communication and honesty with one another. The fact that we have kink in our relationship now is because we were open, communicated, and all that. The kink helps keep us that way, but kink is definitely the egg in this model, not the chicken.

The hack part, for me, is the denial aspect. Remember, my problem was that Belle and I had disconnected sexually. I relied on myself for pretty much all my sexual satisfaction and I resented it. She didn’t seem to care. I craved intimacy with another person, not just my hand or a sex toy. By slaving my orgasm to Belle (using the non-D/s definition of “slave” — a component controlled by another machine or component), we have essentially produced a situation where we cannot ever find ourselves in a disconnected place again. This isn’t about quantity of sex, mind you. We don’t have sex as often as I’d like. We have sex as often as she likes. But it forces the issue of emotional and physical intimacy. She controls when I come. She controls pretty much all my sexual activity. One of my primary sexual releases is her orgasm. We can’t move too far outside of one another’s orbits before the issue becomes evident and then it can only be corrected together, not by me slinking off to the bathroom after she falls asleep to jack off in the sink. I used to worry that we’d slip back to the old way. The disconnected way. In exchange for her controlling my orgasms and access to sex, I got security.

Sexually, we are one. That’s deeply intimate. It’s hard to get more intimate than that.

Another part of the hack is how it fucks with my hormones. I’m about to be 46 and, in the greater scheme, that’s not that old, but biologically, shit’s not as easy as it once was. Even if I wasn’t being denied orgasm, it would take me a lot longer to bounce back from one than it used to. When I was 17, I could fuck four or five times in a day and come each time. (I recall one day in particular when I did something like that and the last orgasm, which was maybe the sixth or so, was dry and hurt like a motherfucker…but I digress.) By not coming and leaving all those hormones in me, I feel as close to 17 as I’m likely to get again. Yes, the trade-off is huge. I rarely get to feel the awesome five to ten seconds of real, uninterrupted, unqualified orgasmic rush. But in exchange, I feel like a total raging sex god. Sometimes. At least when we get to fuck (and there’s been an awful lot of that this past week since the kids have been away).

I’m not saying we’ve discovered the key to marital bliss. We’ve discovered a key to marital bliss. And we’re hardly the first to use some flavor of male orgasm continence. I don’t know how what we do would work for a guy who didn’t want to be dominated or wasn’t all that into the bondage aspect of chastity or was just too wrapped up in his own masculine bullshit to even consider limiting how often he came. But it is a hack of the male sexual circuitry and it does work. At least for us.

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Furnaces going cold

Back in 2009, Ranat on Beyond the Hills posted a list of all the blogs written by submissive or switch guys she could find. That, in and of itself, created a vibrant conversation (as you can see in the comments).

Flash forward to now. Ranat has apparently abandoned her blog. The last post was from April…of 2012. The one before that was posted in September of 2011. The most recent comments appear to be from spammers. Except this one, left by the inimitable Tom, from just the other day:

So, here we are, 4 years after, and I just happened to be searching for FLR-type blogs, preferably ones run by women. I Googled into this discussion, and realized that most of the blogs you’ve listed are long dead — except, interestingly, for the ones that you’ve noted as being non-traditional.

But the bigger point is that 3/4 of those blogs are dead, and yet I haven’t found any decent replacement blogs that aren’t more of the same.

He said that on a dead blog. Ironic.

The thing is…blogging is hard. It’s hard even when you’re not blogging about your life and your failures (as so many FLR blogs end up being about since they’re often written by guys in relationships with women uninterested in being the F in an LR). Also, even though it’s just four years ago, the internet is a very different place now. There’s Facebook (which, of course, there was four years ago, but it’s SO MUCH BIGGER now). There’s Twitter (also, around four years ago and, also, bigger now than then). A metric crap ton of the conversation that used to happen in blog comments happens on Twitter  and, I admit, I feel a little left out because browsing Twitter is like drinking out of a fire hose. Be that as it may, it certainly is true that blogs (like this one, I suppose) seem to flame out. Just the other day Belle was saying how it seems like the people who comment on this blog seem to be all different than in the “old days.” It’s true.

It’s somewhat depressing. You “meet” these people, in a way (and sometimes, you actually do meet them), you enter into their lives through their writing, you follow their ups and downs, and then, one day, they’re gone. It doesn’t always happen at once. They just post less often, they comment less often (the only way you know they’re reading your stuff), and then…nothing. They go quiet. They disappear. Many of the links on my own (infrequently attended) blogroll are defunct.

Of course, these are blogs about personal things. People change. They evolve and grow and move on. I think a lot of people blog for very specific reasons. Like, blogging helps people (like me) process and think and learn about themselves or get through a difficult time in their lives. In many cases, once the need for them is done, they’re abandoned and go to seed or are imploded by their owners. And for those of us “left behind” it can be hard. I said over on Ranat’s old post that it’s weird to be having a discussion on a blog that’s been left for dead. Like going to your high school best friend’s parent’s house and hanging out by the pool like in the old days even though your friend doesn’t live there anymore and the pool’s empty and the house is boarded up.

I said that to a new blogger on the scene who calls himself Schnoff. He’s only got the two posts so far, but I like his stuff a lot. I like that he’s gay if only because there are so few voices speaking from that perspective on this topic that I know of (and, as I’ve said, I find gay guys playing with chastity and denial totally hot). Will he last? I can’t say. There have been other exciting new voices who open up and then disappear just as quickly. I hope he sticks around.

And then there’s this blog. In a way, I still feel a bit like the new kid, though I know I’m not. I’m veritably venerable at this point. I admit that my fire to blog waxes and wanes and I’m finding myself, for whatever reason, disinclined to give the kind of blow by blow accounts of our sex life as I once did. I feel like I’m in some kind of metamorphosis state, though it could just as easily be a kind of torpor I’ll snap out of at some point. What is the point of Denying Thumper anymore? It’s not here for the reasons that started it, that’s for sure. Sometimes I think it’s inertia. That act of blogging and writing begets more blogging and writing. Let it go cold, and it dies. Maybe that’s what happened to some of those old bloggers. They let their furnaces go cold.

No, I’m not announcing anything. I’m still doing this. I’m not going to go cold. In a way, I feel like a dinosaur. Not old, but doing an old-feeling thing. Like a cold-blooded creature that needs to keep active to survive while a bunch of warm-blooded newbies skitter around my feet.

I guess what I’m saying is I know where Tom’s coming from. I feel it, too.

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Mailbag

Reader sg4esubby reached out via the FetLife and had many nice things to say as well as a question for me:

My first question is how has the introduction of chastity affected your day to day relationship dynamic as well as its long term dynamic?

Gah! I mean…whew. That’s, like, the biggest question you could ask. My only response can be this entire blog has been an attempt to answer it. In short, the increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed has made my relationship with Belle perhaps stronger than it’s ever been. We’ve been married coming up on sixteen years and I’ve never been more into her (and her into me, I think).

But notice what I said there. “The increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed…” That’s the secret. A clear and honest exchange of what we want and how we feel has led directly to where we are today. Of course, I think there’s a lot of special elements that denial adds into the mix, but it’s that openness and communication that’s really made our relationship better.

He went on to ask…

The second question is actually more geared toward your wife should she have the time to offer a response. We’re both curious as to her experience adjusting to controlling your orgasms and discovering the changes that took place as a result of that new control. Be it a more submissive husband or a more pestering annoying husband or anything else that she experienced.

Again, super broad question. Unfortunately, Belle’s not kept a parallel blog along the way so all you have is my take on it. Belle’s not usually been eager to contribute here and I’m not sure where she’d even start on this. Maybe if you could break it down into more bite-sized bits.

An anonymous source inquired:

Dear Sir,
I’m sorry for using this way of contacting you in this matter but I have to admit I find myself unable to register onto chastityforums. I must have been trying for like twenty minutes but I’ve been unable to find the bunny’s name.

Can you offer any advice?

Nope. Assuming you’re trying to find out my real name. I don’t put that out there. This is mostly out of consideration for Belle.

I misunderstood. It’s apparently in reference to a security question I set up on the Chastity Forums a long time ago and forgot about. The answer, of course, is “Thumper.”

Jesse asked:

Hi, I have a question about effects of chastity.  There seems to be a lot of conflicting information on the topic online so I figured I would contact someone personally who has first-hand experience.  Have you noticed the size of erections diminishing or the ability to achieve an erection after being in chastity?

This is a total urban legend. I’ve been locked up maybe 70% of the time (or more) for the past several years. I’ve had thousands of erections compressed and constrained by various tubes and cages. The penis is the same size erect now as it’s ever been.

You don’t say if you want it to be true or not. Most of the people I’ve seen discuss this online actually do want it to be true (or are happily claiming it is). I get that. I really do. But, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your thing), penises are what they are and seem very difficult to change in either direction.