Amorphous want

I was having a really good chat with someone on Bluesky today about how our perceptions of ourselves change the longer we’re locked up. And it got me thinking about whether or not guys getting into chastity today would do it if they knew where it could end up.

Being locked by someone is kind of like one of those things you see in science museums that demonstrate a black hole where you put a quarter in a slot at the top of a convex cone-shaped thing and let it go and then watch the quarter roll round and round and round towards a little hole in the center going faster and faster until it finally goes POP and disappears at the bottom.

The quarter in this analogy is a penis, in case you missed that.

At first, you lock up because it feels hot and the orgasms you get after denial are mind blowing. And, at least for me, as I got to know my own orgasm better though edging and being allowed to fuck but not come, I actually turned into something of a fucking machine. I’d find that spot a hair’s width from orgasm and stop all movement. I’d ejaculate (a lot) but not come all the way. Like I was ruining my own orgasm inside of Belle. And after, I’d still be hard and able to fuck and fuck though my own load without getting back to the point of feeling like I was going to come again. She’d need to tell me when she had had enough. I was Superman. Ah, those were the days.

But the lock ups still got longer. I wanted them to be longer. I craved the feeling of being locked up and denied even the pleasure of fucking her. And she changed too so that keeping me locked up longer and longer wasn’t any great sacrifice. She was perfectly satisfied without the penetration. And then one day I found that my fucking superpower had gone away. I had lost the ability to hold the line on my orgasm. I could’t find it anymore so couldn’t stop it from coming. And then when I came I felt the crash and my attitude would change and she really didn’t like that. And, as my trigger got shorter and shorter, she didn’t like that I couldn’t fuck her for more than a minute or two (if I was lucky), so the times I was allowed out for sex became even less frequent.

But I didn’t mind! I wanted it. I wanted to want to be out more than I wanted out. I craved her pussy. When she came, I wanted to be inside her most of all. I could feel in my tight, locked tube what her pussy felt like as my hard-on slipped in and the sensation was incredibly intense. I actually went through a period, after she had told me I wasn’t likely to fuck her again, where I mourned my loss of that. Of my connection to that most male of acts. Even though I really wanted her to keep me locked forever, just as she was doing.

Similarly, I would crave the feeling of holding my own erection in my hand and jacking it. I wanted that so bad. But also didn’t. I didn’t want it more than I wanted to crave wanting it.

But things are different now. I’ve moved past the cravings for jacking or fucking. I still want. But that’s all it is. A sort of amorphous want of…something. But it’s non-specific. I see guys jacking off on Bluesky and I don’t think of wanting to do that, too. I think of wanting to do it to them. I see videos of guys getting a blow job and similarly never feel like I want to be blown. I see guys fucking women or just super hot women in general (irl and the internet) and the idea of fucking them myself is non-existent. My first, most intense and primal thought is of eating their pussies. Of them grinding down on my face or letting me eat their partner’s load from their beautiful fucked and swollen lips.

My body has forgotten I even have a penis. When I’m out for the brief moments of swapping or cleaning devices, I don’t get hard. I so rarely even get a minor chub from it. Honestly, I don’t even like handling the contents. They feel so small and wet and sad. All crushed and deformed from its confinement, broken and useless for anyone. It’s almost like I’m touching an internal organ. I resent deeply every minute I have to be out. And the contents doesn’t even bother to try to tempt me.

I don’t know for a fact that every guy who locks up will end up a penisless hole like me. A lot of it depends on the needs and wants of the person holding the key, of course. Belle and I took this journey together. Our quarters weren’t always synchronized on the way down, but we ended up in the same place. That same, inexorable destination. She wants me locked up permanently, all the time, end of story. She doesn’t want me to fuck her. Doesn’t miss me fucking her. Feels zero guilt for denying me that pleasure ever again. Feels zero guilt about denying me my orgasm for the rest of my life.

And while I still have the amorphous want, I’m perfectly happy to be kept this way. I’m way past mourning my days of fucking. Well past any desire to jack off. I simply am not equipped — physically, emotionally, mentally — for that sort of thing anymore. The profoundness of being permanently locked and denied has led to a sexual awakening of similar scope and magnitude of going through puberty. I’ve left one life segment and entered another. A whole new world I didn’t know — could not have known — existed.

So, yeah. It makes me wonder. This was not what I was signing up for 17 years ago. But here I am, and I’m happy as a clam. Also, clamped shut tight as a clam, lol. For me, this feels really natural. As I’m supposed to be. As I was born to be. But I could never have even guessed I’d be like this one day. Prior to discovering male chastity, it never would have even remotely crossed my mind.

So I’m quite sure there are guys just locking up for the first time today who are like I was and will end up like I am. It’s just they have no idea at all what they’re in for. Maybe, they can’t even imagine it.