You are not me

Someone on Twitter asked me a simple question with a complicated answer. I answered them there (via DM) but wanted to expand (as I am wont to do). If only I had a blog or something…

They asked, “How do you commit to chastity so well? I want to but it’s so hard.”

YES it is hard. It really is. But while I do try and maintain a certain sense of modesty, comparing yourself as someone who “wants” to commit to chastity to someone who has for more than a decade seems unfair.

So, yes, it’s hard. But let’s break down the things that I think have been critical to whatever success I’ve had adapting to living the kept life.

First off, I don’t do it for myself. I do it for Belle. I do it with Belle. When I become blindingly horny or claw at the device locked on me in frustrated anguish, I always have the backstop of my commitment to Belle to support me. That commitment keeps me accountable. It keeps me centered and focused. I have zero experience self-locking and don’t really have any advice as to how that can work. And while I do totally consider being kept as central to who and what I am as a person, I don’t think I could do it alone. I don’t have nearly enough self-control for that.

So, right off the bat, if you’re on your own your expectations should probably not be that you’ll be locked 24/7/365 for infinity and beyond. I guess you could epoxy the key into the lock and break it off, but that seems…extreme. In the extreme.

Second, I have (numerous) well-fitting devices that can be locked onto me. I am fortunate to have the size and shape of penis that plays well with the off-the-shelf options one can find on the internet. I’m not exceptionally well-endowed (lmao) or very thick or even too much smaller than average. Also, the device I’m in most of the time was made to my specifications and works really well with and on me. Those guys with bigger dicks especially can find being locked up a challenge without a custom device.

So I don’t know you, random Twitter follower, and haven’t seen your penis outside a device. But one that fits well is critical to being able to stay locked for long periods. As someone who suffered through the CB6K and a handful of poorly made devices from China, believe me. Fit matters.

Third, as I mentioned above, I’ve been at this for kind of a really long time. Coming up on a dozen years. It wasn’t always easy. It hasn’t been a straight line to where I am now. There have been starts and stops. But the long arch of my submission has been toward a more defined and committed life in chastity. Eventually, it stopped being a thing I was doing and become what I am. Who I am. It’s changed almost every aspect of my sexuality. But, over time. Not in a year. Not in three. Longer.

Which, I suppose, is advocating for consistency. For keeping at it. For not giving up because you can’t achieve some arbitrary goal based on someone else’s experience. If you really want to be kept as opposed to just doing it, you have to do it for a long time. Those pathways in your brain circuitry are stubborn things.

Fourth, I do not believe chastity is for all men. Not even all submissively inclined men. I believe I was born for it. And others may be born close enough. But not everyone is. No matter how long you keep your junk in a trunk, it may never feel how you want or expect it to. And that’s OK. Maybe you’re one of those guys who only plays with it during a scene. There is no One True Way and my way doesn’t need to be yours.

Fifth, I’m fifty-fucking-two. (Man, really!?) Which I mention for two reasons. One, as I said, this has been a part of my life for more than a decade, yes, but also that’s just just over 20% of my life. Way, way more of my sexual life was with a normal, unkept penis (I even thought it was a cock). I do wish we had found chastity before we did, but I honestly can’t tell you it would have worked for me when I was in my 20s. The libido of a guy more than twice that age is different. It’s a slower burn. So, for a younger guy, being kept might look very different than for a 30, 40, or 50-year-old. Or even older. I’ve spoken to guys in their 70s who are locked up. And yeah, I expect that will be me, too.

Lastly, don’t be mean to yourself. Don’t fret that you can’t be like me. Or the next guy. Be like yourself. Push your boundaries, if that’s what gets you off, but don’t set unrealistic expectations of who or what you are. Let it develop naturally. Life’s a journey, man, and being kept is the epitome of that mentality. We don’t celebrate the destination. We celebrate the path that gets us there. We aren’t about destinations, after all. We’re not about culmination.

Don’t let your perceived failures get you down. Just be you. Enjoy the ride. Learn who you are.

Inside edging

I had this idea to track my relative horniness from day to day. It’s a myth that being in chastity long term and disallowed orgasm for weeks and months (honestly, not sure when I had a real orgasm last) causes one to be ever more horny every day. If that were true, eventually the kept among us would combust in sudden flares of superheated hormonal energy brighter and hotter than the surface of the sun.

More truthfully, being kept in an unreleased state doesn’t make one infinitely horny. I have found it does make one instantly ready. Always willing. My 0-60 time can be as close to the least amount of time that can be measured by modern instrumentation. But no, I’m not always distractingly, cravingly, achingly horny.

But I sure have been the last several days. It goes like that. Bumping along being more or less what passes for normal when you never orgasm then BOOM, horny as all fucking get out. Like, I am going to make bad choices kind of horny. It’s like and I guess literally is being under the influence. But not of a drug or man-made chemical. All hormonal. And it’s been like that pretty much all this week, culminating yesterday.

And the thing is, I have no idea why it’s like that. Why aren’t I always super horny? Or why aren’t I just always super ready? What causes the fluctuation? And if there is a cycle (as there is with so many natural things), what is it? Is this like some weird kept male version of a period?

So yeah, I was thinking maybe a tracker or something. Because if there’s one thing kinky people seem to love more than the Muggles, it’s tracking and quantification. And rules. And categorization. And process. Geeze, we’re like a bunch of management consultants.

Anyway, had I been tracking yesterday, I would have been at 11. The effects of which I wrote about on the other blog (for some reason, could/should have been here). But the tale of yesterday didn’t end with what I wrote there. Oh, no. Not even close.

The thing about the type of horny I was yesterday (ooo, sub-categories! hot!!) was that I was horny for everything. And since Belle was working and we’re all trapped at home and we still have a kid here with us, that meant whatever actions I took as a result of being in that state had to be on my own.

So, as the previous post relates, that meant some dildo and plug play. But it wasn’t enough. One thing led to craving the next. I had five different things in my ass by the end of the day and it left me with a fat and juicy prostate. The kind of swollen I can feel. Had I been the kind of person to have orgasms when he wanted them, I would have had a massive one. Explosive. But I’m not. So it was just in there burning and bugging me. Quite distracting.

Then I remembered. I have a thing specifically designed to deal with situations like this. I even wrote a review about it! The njoy Pure wand.

So I secreted myself away with it in the bathroom. I popped the big end (naturally) inside and let the natural curve of the wand find my nagging bits. Once it found them…uuuuunnnnfff.

The round metal bulb at the end of the wand ran up and down over my prostate and, through it, I could feel how swollen it was. I found I could angle the wand like a handle to control the level of intensity of the stimulation. For a while, I was worried I was only making things worse. It felt so fucking good, but was ultimately just more more. I didn’t need more. I needed less.

Then…things started to evolve. The sensations grew even more intense. I got on all fours like a dog in heat and grasped the wand like a joystick (which, literally, it was) and worked that fucking prostate hard. I started to feel like I was going come.

OH. Oh, god, Oh, fuck. I’m going to come. I’m…unf, I’m going to come…URGH…I’m…I’m coming…I’m…I’m…coming…I’m…ARGH…

I didn’t come. But I was right there. So goddamned close. Two things occurred to me. One, getting a person into the condition I was in and then strapping them down and using the njoy Pure wand on them the way I was using it on myself for hours would be an excellent way to torture some poor son of a bitch. And two, all that being the same but also having access to the penis and jacking off to completion while feeling that could, actually and literally, cause my head to explode at orgasm.

I can’t tell you how long I was on the edge like that. Edging myself from inside. Could have been 30 seconds, could have been an hour. Hard to tell time when your brain is liquified. But eventually the sensation began to change. I had an odd feeling of pressure and something like needing to pee. Instinctively, I felt that if I flexed as if I was coming, I would…express the built-up ejaculate. So I did.

Oh my god, there was so much. It just kept coming. Over and over. A little push, a little flex, and GOOSH. I was well and truly milked.

And after, I could feel the relief. I felt empty in a way I didn’t before I started with the wand. And, yes, relief, but not satisfaction. Not like I had come. Nothing like that. 100% as turned on and horny as I had been, but without the physical component of having an overly-juiced prostate. Frustration without the discomfort.

If yesterday was an 11 on the Horn-O-Meter, today is about an 8. I feel like I’m past the peak. Took about three or four days to get there and, I expect, it’ll take about the same to come back down. Part of feeling less horny today is thanks to Belle letting me get her off this morning before she started work. Feeling her come releases pressure for me, emotionally and psychologically. Pressing my body into hers while she writhes and convulses with orgasm, with my legs clenched around hers and my finger pressed against her clit and both our heavy breathing mixing. That time when her pleasure and desire flow out of her. A little bit of mine flows out, too. The reflected satisfaction of sexual service. Of her pleasure always being paramount.

Fuck, now I’m back up to 9.

What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.

Jack and Rose and the base code

I was thinking last night after one or another of the dogs decided that 1:04 AM was exactly the right time to get up and take a piss in the back yard that at some point my natural reaction to being incredibly horny went away. Well, perhaps not went away, but…transformed. I’d like to imagine that it was like a switch getting flipped but that’s not how being kept changes one’s base code. It’s less a sudden transformation and more a slow and gradual thing. Like when Titanic pulled away from the dock in Southampton and got ever so smaller the longer one looked at it until it disappeared, a small black dot on the horizon. Poof.

I’ve spent many a night struggling with the affects of being kept (remember, that’s the word we’re using now). Very early on, I wasn’t always even locked up. Belle would let me lay there in bed next to her while she slept and edge myself over and over leaking copious amounts of oozing ejaculate. Then, when we progressed to me being locked more often than not, I’d feel the tube of the Steelheart fill and tighten, then loosen, only to repeat again and again like the waves on a beach driven by the tidal force of my erotic imagination. And I can recall how my lizard brain would poke and prod.

*poke* You should jack off.

No.

*poke poke* Really, jacking off would make you feel better.

…no.

*poke poke* Look at the time. You know where the key is. You need to sleep. Jack off and you will.

…whimper.

*POKEPOKEPOKE* JACK THE FUCK OFF *POKE* ASSHOLE *POKE* WE BOTH NEED THIS. *POKEPOKEPOKE*

I mean, that’s natural. It’s how things are supposed to work in a penis-having person. You get horny and, absent a willing sex partner, you beat it. And to be fair, before being kept I would only get maybe 5% as turned on before taking matters into my own hands. Absolute tops, 10-15% and that was when I was looking at porn and trying to get all hot and bothered. I didn’t know anything about what being truly, deeply, profoundly horny was really like. Not the neither-of-us-is-even-sure-I’ve-come-this-year-yet kind of fucking goddamned horny. The kind that makes its own gravity well and light can’t escape it.

Of course, I’m not always like that. It comes and goes. Like the moon cycles or something. But when it comes, hoo boy.

And honestly, it’s the hardest part about being kept. I’ve more or less come to accept it now and know what it’ll be like the next day and know the absolute minimum amount of sleep I need to be marginally functional after. But it’s still hard. It’s the loneliest part of what’s hard about being kept. The occasional sleeplessness.

But this isn’t about that. It’s about how I deal with it. And, as I said, in the past an overwhelming desire to jack off was the most frustrating part. My body knew how to eliminate the feelings I was having and couldn’t figure out why my brain was refusing to accept its advice. There was a day when that urge to masturbate was like Rose on the prow of the great ship, held up by Jack, arms out, music swelling in the background. Then one day she was in the icy water, kicking Jack off (get it? Jack…off?) the bit of jetsam clearly large enough for both of them. Rejected, he drowned. Sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Whoa, this metaphor. (And yeah, I know, Jack left her, but my metaphor works better the other way around.)

Anyway, yeah, that desire to slink off and abuse myself for relief of late night horniness is dead and gone. I still want to jack off just sort of generally. But I don’t consider it as an option when pressed. The desire doesn’t consume me. It feels like the part of me that used to poke at my brain and push that option is just a stump. Unable to make contact.

So I just lay there and try my hardest not to let my imagination run crazy. Which is pointless and when it inevitably does it’s important to point out not a single of my fantasies involves me getting off. Quite the opposite. They’re all about further frustration. Being further tormented without release. I never, ever have any sexual fantasies about penetrating another person. About enjoying them sexually. They’re all about the exact opposite. That’s…significant. That’s what being kept can do to rewrite the base code of a penis-having person. The package locked away burns with desire of release, my balls aching and heavy, but those inputs have lost their receptors in my brain.

I’ve learned the only way to deal with being kept and surreally horny is to simply let the reality of the situation be there with me. I need to accept it. Not fight it. Not stress about it. Not worry. It just is. How I asked for things to be. How I want them to be. Obviously, how they’re meant to be.

Kept

Time really has lost all meaning. I was about to start this post with “the other day, Tom blogged…” and then, when I went to get the link, I realized “the other day” was like more than four months ago. That’s either cabin fever or old age or a combo plate of both. Anyway.

The other month, Tom made this great post about definition and terms related to chastity and denial. Like, what does “permanent” mean? And then, in further discussion, what’s a good term to use for the whole practice of what we do? I’ve often resorted to saying things like “chastity and denial” because they don’t always go together. And if the practice (which Tom suggested should be called “erotic orgasm denial”) is called whatever it is, what word should guys who are locked and denied use to describe themselves? What’s the right adjective? The right verb?

“Chaste” is often thrown around but the obvious problem with that is those of us who are locked and denied, usually, are not chaste. Belle and I have had more and better sex since the penis was locked up than before. “Chaste” means to abstain from sex and that’s the fucking opposite thing that happens while in chastity.

Of course, chastity is the root of the problem because it conflates access to genitals and ability to have sex. It has a very PIV bias. Chaste comes from chastity (or maybe the other way around) so the mess is predictable.

But what I want and have wanted for years and years (this blog and my chastity are now solidly into their thirteenth year) is a single, different word to encapsulate what Belle and I and, apparently, millions of others are doing by locking up one or the other penises in a relationship. One word that isn’t literally wrong or totally made up or just dumb sounding. And then, a word that I really like came to me.

Kept. Belle keeps the penis from me. She keeps me from masturbation. She keeps me from orgasm when I want to. She keeps me at a heightened state of sexual arousal. She keeps the key. She keeps total control over the penis and how I get to enjoy sex. I am kept.

I just…like it. I like how it feels. I like how it sounds. I like the protective nature it implies. The connotation of care. Of benevolent control and discipline. I am kept in this place, mentally and physically and emotionally, because it makes me a better lover and partner and person. Because it is what I need.

When the folks at Holy Trainer reached out to me and offered the new fourth version of their device for me to try out and review, they also offered to customize its “cartridge” (the part of the base ring that receives the lock). I wasn’t aware of this as a thing they did, but you can have image or words put on the device. The first and only thing that sprang to mind was “kept.”

And at first, I was like whatever. I did it because they offered and presumably wanted people to know it was an option when I reviewed it and posted the inevitable multitude of pictures of it locked on me I am apparently unable to stop doing. But I have to say, every time I look down and see KEPT looking back up at me…it’s a soothing, comforting thing. It centers me. It’s powerful.

So yeah. Kept. That’s me. Maybe it’s you. But I like it and will be using it from now on to describe who and what I am. I am kept. By Belle.

Priorities

Reader Mysticlez218 left a comment to my last post and when I started to think of a reply it became clear it was going to need a bit more room.

I love how you don’t let your pride or self-esteem play a role when it comes to wanting her to be completely pleased. That is rare with some people. Some people get so caught up with self-esteem and pride they forget their submission altogether.

Mysticlez218

I don’t want to give the impression I don’t have pride. I do. Just not…there. I have pride in being as good a sub as I can be and Joe is a new and important part of that.

The road to where I am today regarding the disconnection between the penis and my self-esteem has been a long one. It’s not where I was at the beginning of my locked existence and it didn’t come naturally before then.

Since I was having sexcapades with others from a relatively young age, I knew that the penis on me developed more quickly than it did with the other boys. Therefore, I had the opinion as I entered my teenage and young adult years that it was bigger than usual. I held on to this misperception for some time.

Then, when I met Belle, she related to me that her previous husband had been really big. Like, porn star dildo sized big. And that…caused a pang, I will admit. Perhaps she picked up on that because after telling me a few times, she never brought it up again. But he was so big she had a hard time enjoying sex when he was on top. He was, I’d guess, bigger than Joe.

Not only did she stop bringing it up, but she also seemed to go out of her way to tell me how enjoyable the penis was. And that felt good, tbh, back when it played a more significant role in our relationship. But over the past decade or so while experimenting with various toys and such it’s become obvious that while the ex-husband might have been too big, the current husband was not big enough. Which is not to say she was lying when she said she enjoyed the penis. But it wasn’t the preferred size.

Luckily, by the time that news broke, I had changed in a few ways. First, I have more or less disassociated my own sexual pleasure from the penis. Which is not to say I don’t enjoy when it’s out and getting stimulated. All the nerve endings still work. But my idea of a super-satisfying sexual encounter and all my fantasies have nothing at all to do with it. It’s all external to me. It’s all wrapped up in whatever person I’m having sex with, and in the case of Belle, it’s all about her body and her pleasure. Exclusively.

Point being, if you’re like me and don’t think at all about sex with your penis and are so totally focused on the pleasure of your partner, it seems like an easy jump to say finding a dildo sized to her preference and being able to use it for as long as she wants it used is one-hundred-and-fifty-fucking-percent the ideal situation.

But that’s not all of it. I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

Also related, I somehow and additionally get off on knowing the penis isn’t enough. Not just that it’s denied. But that if it was out, it still wouldn’t be enough. That knowledge is like pouring jet fuel on all of the above. I need to know that. I want to know that. It’s important to me.

And so, all together, no, the penis has nothing at all to do with my confidence in how I can pleasure and satisfy Belle. And Joe’s presence, assuming she likes it and it gets her off, actually enhances my confidence. It increases my satisfaction since my satisfaction is entirely invested in hers. The happier she is with sex, the happier I am.

When she lets me fuck her with the penis, I know it’s not as big as she’d like. I also know it doesn’t last as long as she’d like. Not remotely close. That puts a lot of pressure and guilt on me because I simply can’t do what I want to do for her. In this construct — and after everything written above is considered — I’d rather always stay locked up and never fuck her with anything but Joe for the rest of our lives.

Because, in all the ways that are meaningful, the contents of the Steelheart simply don’t matter.