Schrödinger’s contents

I posted on BlueSky yesterday that it’s been 3.8 years since I was unlocked for any appreciable amount of time. It’s one the numbers I track on my phone using an app called Countdown+ which, the way I use it, is actually counting up.

Yeah, so, “3.8 years” is a weird milestone to call out and I didn’t actually know it was 3.8 years because the app counts days and I usually pay attention when the number rounds off to 10. In this case, it was 1,390 days. Getting pretty darn close to four whole years.

As a refresher, my definition of a day being locked up is a) one where I was locked for all but a handful of hours (“a handful” is what it would take to go to the doctor unlocked or travel through the TSA or what have you) and b) one where I was locked all night long. I don’t actually know the last time I was unlocked for more than “a handful” of hours, though it’s buried somewhere inside ATracker (the other tracking app I use). I do believe that the last time that happened was, as of today, 1,391 days ago due to a hot spot that needed to heal.

The reason I bring this all up is because I was pondering this morning that I’ve had 1,391 mornings dealing with nocturnal tumescence (aka, morning wood). Someone I was chatting with asked if I still got that and, yes, I do. I would probably talk to a doctor if that stopped happening. But yes, 3.8 years of stifled and contained nocturnal/nighttime erections (along with however many waking attempts I got from being horny).

Most mornings (and I do mean most — probably 80% of the time), it never wakes me up. I’ve become too accustomed to it. I know it’s happening when I do wake up and I guess it’s possible I’d sleep longer if I wasn’t locked up, but it’s nothing like the old days when I’d wake up in pain in the middle of the night and have to walk around to make the erection go away before I could sleep again.

Usually now I simply get off on the sensation of being so tightly contained. Like last night when at 1:30 I woke up and felt the tightness but was otherwise so horny I couldn’t go back to sleep. My imagination kept the pressure going and I was left to grind my tight package into the mattress like the horny bitch I am.

So yeah, anyway, back to the pondering I mentioned. Recently I’ve been wondering what the condition of the contents is with regard to its erection, if it could achieve such a state. Several years ago I wrote about how the shaft of the erection was dented from prolonged lockup. That post is from just over four years ago, so right before my current locked streak started. Has the dent gotten worse? Has it been deformed in any other ways? Has the much rumored yet never observed permanent shrinkage finally set it?

The other number that intersects this curiosity is my recent decision to never look at the contents unlocked again. I’ve been locked up for so long that even seeing the contents feels weird and dissociative. As if I’m emotionally detached from what’s inside the Orion. And now that I’m officially post-pussy, it feels right and natural to become post-penis. The last time I laid eyes on the thing inside the Orion was 84 days ago. I do not want to think of myself as a penis-having person.

So why the curiosity about what this thing I want to stop feeling like I have may look like erect? I dunno. Maybe it’s like a rhetorical kind of question. It doesn’t actually matter what it’s like since I have no expectation of it ever being used for anything like what it was intended ever again. But part of me also kinda hopes it is permanently disfigured from its containment. I saw the dent as indelible proof that the erection it appeared on was supposed to be locked up. If the dent’s worse or if there’s more or if the actual shape of the thing is drastically changed, then all the better.

Whenever I see an image of a beautiful cock, I think what a crime it would be if it was forced into a device. I guess I like to think that the theoretical potential erection I’m carrying around every day would be the literal opposite of a big, fat, smooth and perfectly arching cock: small, stunted, knobby, and not unlike a crustacean missing its exoskeleton. The more deformed and altered and even ruined it becomes, the more real and indelible and irreversible my post-penis existence is.

But as I said, it’s all theoretical. I won’t be seeing or holding or feeling any erections on me again. All I will ever have now is tightness. In my imagination, I can make it as Quasimodo-like as I wish. I can dream that it’s withering away to nothing since nothing is what Belle wants to do with it now. And it doesn’t actually matter what it’s really like. It can be all the things I want and need it to be now that nobody will want or need it again.


Got a comment on a post I wrote in July in which I was trying to process being told by Belle that I wasn’t going to fuck her again. I shall endeavor to respond to it here. Feel free to jump over there first and read it in context.

“I’m curious how she feels about never fucking you again. I mean, as you say, it was her decision, but it seems incongruous with what you say she wants.

My husband and I just listened to your episode on the chastity podcast, and you made it clear that she enjoys being penetrated, and enjoys (enjoyed) your cock. But you also stated that you haven’t fucked her in almost a year, probably would not be able to do so anyway, and she’s not entirely open to the cuckolding angle.

How sir, does she get the dick that you say she still wants?”

It was, as you said I said, her decision. And, it’s true, that for the better part of our relationship, she loved being penetrated. But she’s also said (and I’m pretty sure I’ve recorded it here), that being with a man who was essentially always locked up motivated an evolution in how she gets her pleasure. She really likes me to get her off manually. So much so, that she doesn’t see the need to let me out ever again for sex.

I am reporting to you what she’s told me. I can also report that she does, in fact, get off quite well from other methods that don’t involve penetration. She gets as many orgasms as she wants. I know exactly what I’m doing when giving them to her. The way she screams tells me all I need to know.

“How do you reconcile the tension between being a ‘service oriented’ sub, while simultaneously destroying your ability to serve her with something she still desires?

How does she feel about being denied PIV sex during your chaste adventures? Has she just given up on the idea and decided to adapt around you? That sounds wildly selfish for a scenario that’s supposed to be about denying you and making it ‘about her.’”

If she wanted me to fuck her, I would fuck her. In an instant. I didn’t ask to never fuck her again. As far as I can tell, she weighed the pluses and minuses of me fucking her and decided there were more minuses from her POV. I don’t need to reconcile it because it’s her decision, entirely.

For several years, she’d want to me fuck her and I would. In fact, it’s written into my rules that I can’t complain about such things, and I didn’t. Her decision to cut me off wasn’t as a result of my prodding. She did it all by herself.

The issue I take with your questions is the perspective that the only thing that matters when in a relationship with a man in enforced denial is what he does with his penis. Keeping me locked up has other benefits that Belle has decided outweigh her previous preference for PIV. I’m more attentive, more accommodating to her wishes, more focused on her pleasure. I’m not perfect and I don’t suggest that locking a man up makes him so, but she notices a difference between unlocked slash recently orgasmed me and the locked and denied me. And she likes the latter more than the former.

It’s also the case that she, as my mate and life partner, cares about how I feel. She knows how being denied makes me. She knows how living in a permanently submissive space affects me. And since she cares for me, she’s apparently willing to make some adjustments.

“My husband agrees, this seems a lot like topping from the bottom.”

If you want to boil down the relationship dynamic of two adults who’ve navigated more than 25 years together and a power dynamic that’s similarly evolved over 15 years to such a simple thing, I guess that’s your (and your husband’s) prerogative.

I read a lot into your comment. I don’t know how you came upon my blog (perhaps as the result of a Google search, perhaps — more likely, based on history — at the suggestion of your husband), but I see a lot of judgement in your words. Trust me when I say, there are a lot of ways to incorporate enforced denial into a relationship. I should know since Belle and I have done most of them.

We didn’t end up here overnight or by accident and it’s possible we won’t stay here forever. But here is where we are. Neither of us are being duped by the other and all signs point to us being perfectly happy with it.

The prince and I

Today is the 15th anniversary of the day I got my PA piercing. Some things leap out reading that old blog post. One, it’s really weird seeing me talk about the contents as if they were a) mine and b) not just the contents. I even called it a dick (which, I suppose, is a pretty innocuous term — at least I didn’t use the C-word). Two, I was worried about how the piercer would judge it for being small which, I mean, lol at this point, right? I was still holding on to a lot of outdated masculine pride.

It’s always kind of surprising to me how quickly we went from playing around with denial devices to me having my body modified to help with the enforcement aspect. It was only about two months from my first blog post, which I wrote before even having the CB-6000 in our possession, to when I was getting a hole punched through me to make it all that much more metal. And all that PA security experimentation was pretty much disastrous. I probably wrote a couple dozen posts about trying to figure out how to use a length of wire outside the CB6K fed through the PA ring and then attached to the lock. That was about the time I realized penises like to grow and shrink as part of their daily routine and when you literally wire it so it can’t do that, it motherfucking hurts.

I do kind of miss PA jewelry. Feeling a thick, heavy PA ring move around inside the head of a penis during sex or masturbation is pretty delicious and I think PA rings in general look hot as fuck. But that kind of expression is behind me, of course. Most men use PA jewelry as a way to beautiful their cocks and enhance the pleasure they receive from them. I don’t have a cock, let alone anything that resembles one, and the days when I could use the contents for anything pleasurable are over.

What the PA represents to me is a way to integrate my body into the device that perfectly enforces my permanent denial. The metal I’m encased in wraps around and through me. It’s not about affectation or beautification. It’s about absolute security.

Though, that said, I do think most devices I’m secured into are more attractive than what they contain.

I don’t judge anyone who does enforced denial without a PA (or some other) piercing. Of course not. There is no One True Way. But, for me, it’s not real unless a part of it goes through that 15 year old hole in me. Unless I have no choice but to always be in it. Everything about it is different. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Luckily, devices in general and my knowledge of how to use them with the PA piercing have advanced considerably over 15 years. It no longer represents an often painful complication of being locked up. Rather, as with the hollow PA hook in the Evotion Orion, being pierced actually enhances and simplifies being permanently denied.

Thank you, Prince Albert, wherever you are.