It’s supposed to be hard

Even after nearly 14 years of enforced male chastity being an integral part of our relationship, the wires can get crossed.

Day before yesterday, after (due to one reason or another) it had been weeks since I was able to get Belle off, we finally had the opportunity. And while I was pretty worked up at the prospect, I took it slow and gave her what I thought was a lovely orgasm. In fact, it occurred to me while it was happening that I was ten or twenty times more skilled now at getting her off with my fingers than I ever was using the contents, even when it was still a functioning sex organ.

As I’ve said in the past, it’s those moments right as she starts to come and for a lingering period after that I always find most difficult being locked up. I never want to shove the unencumbered contents into her more than right then. The craving urge passes in a few minutes, but…yeah, that time is rough. Some days more than others.

And day before yesterday was one of the rougher ones. Following the weeks of not being able to have sex with her and a weekend away from her with Frodo (and god only knows since the last time I came), I was feeling it. Hard.

So, after a period of respectful waiting so she could bask in the afterglow, I climbed up on top of her and between her legs. Since I’m in the Evotion 8 with its little open bits, I could actually feel her pussy, if only a little. That only made my urges more intense. I pushed her legs farther apart with mine as if I was actually fucking her and moaned into her neck.

Yes, it was indulgent. But I also feel that when I do that I’m showing her how much I want her. And I think that’s a positive thing. And usually, she just allows me to do it and says something dismissive about how being locked up is good for me, etc.

But for whatever reason, that morning my actions rattled her confidence. Words (not angry ones) were exchanged — something to the effect of don’t I want her to keep me locked up? And I asked if she wanted me that way, and she said something like, “If you want me to.”

And all of a sudden the entire foundation of our chastity dynamic seemed like a weird feedback loop. She was keeping me locked up because I wanted her to which, of course, I do, but not just because I do. I need to feel as though I’m being actively denied, not humored.

So yeah, a few moments of existential angst. But they soon passed.

We talked about that moment several times over the past few days. The air was cleared and the foundations of our dynamic were found to be in top form.

Sometimes, she told me, she can feel the nagging socialization of needing to please her mate gnaw at her resolve to deny me the traditional way men are pleased in bed. It makes her doubt if she’s doing the right thing or being a good wife. Because, of course, there are no Disney princesses who lock up the dicks of Prince Charming and life before chastity had no archetypes for either of us to factor into how we do male chastity together. And at that moment I was on top of her and pushing her legs apart and feeling the heat of her snatch through the bars of the Evotion, it seemed like I needed something she could give me but was not.

In fact, she related, she does want me locked up. More now than before. Meaning she doesn’t want me not locked up. Not only can I not remember the last time she let me come, I can’t remember the last time she let me inside her (those were the same day, whenever it was). She 100% prefers locked up and denied Thumper to the other kind. She’s never been more committed to my essentially permanent enforced chastity.

Which is exactly what I need to hear. My denial and chastity need to be in service of what she wants, not just because I want to be locked up and denied. And actually, what I want shouldn’t even be a consideration. That, truly, is what I want. For the concept of my sexual satisfaction to be completely irrelevant to how she decides I’ll be in service of her needs and desires. In fact, to hear her say she wants me always locked up and denied because it makes me the more perfect version of the partner she wants is…perfection. To me.

When I climbed up on her (and every time I do it), it’s not to pressure her to let me out to fuck. It’s to show her how badly I want to. To demonstrate how intense my craving is. Because, in a way, it’s my gift to her. My submission and suffering is for her. Because it makes me more like the partner she wants. Because it keeps me focused on her pleasure. Because it keeps me focused on serving her.

And of course I don’t want her pity. I don’t want her to ever feel sorry for me. Because, she’s right, I do want it as much as she does. I could, theoretically, withdraw my consent to be locked. But I never do. I never even consider it. So, if anything, I want her to tease me and twist the proverbial knife. Make it harder for me. Because hard is what I crave. And if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t do it, would I?

I relate this story because I think some of my readers think, after all this time, we have it all figured out. And maybe we have it mostly figured out. But even for us, things like this happen. And it’s only through open and honest communication that these bumps can be smoothed out.