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.

She calls him Joe

Belle has been keeping me locked up more lately. Used to be, she’d let the contents out once a week or so so she could enjoy a hard penis but then that started to go to every other week. And now recently it’s been weeks, maybe once a month. Longer, even.

Last weekend, she let it out for her enjoyment. Of course, I lasted barely any time at all. I tried so hard but I have next to no ability to resist at this point. Not so much premature ejaculation as much as near instantaneous. And then, after the feeling passes, the penis loses all firmness. It’s been beaten down and just gives up. Which makes me feel bad. Not only do I think she’s leaving me in longer than her pleasure would dictate (that is, she may want to get fucked but she’s not letting me out because it’s what I want rather than what she wants), but then when she does let it out, it barely works. She can’t get a good fuck and I get a majority of the pleasurable feelings from the brief encounter (because it feels amazing), even without orgasm.

I’m just not wired to think that’s OK. I want her to have maximal pleasure. I want her to have everything she wants from sex. Always and every time. And I know, because we’ve been having sex for a long time now, that she really, really likes getting fucked. I mean, I totally get that. So obviously, being unable to give her that is a challenge for my sub nature.

In the past, we had experimented with strap-ons. She wasn’t happy with how the dildos felt since they didn’t feel real. Also, she generally likes our sex to be as low effort as possible and waiting for me to get the harness on and such wasn’t of interest to her. But it was apparent to me that she was not getting what she wanted with the current arrangement so I suggested we try again. To my surprise, she was open to the idea.

Continue reading “She calls him Joe”

There is no spoon

An interesting little exchange on Twitter about Tom’s chastity/denial matrix. I was trying to formulate a response but found the Twitter construct limiting so I’m doing it here. The exchange was this, in response to a tweet of mine about the matrix and asking people where they’d put themselves on it:

While I don’t think of chastity and denial as a punishment, I also don’t strictly speaking think of it as a life choice. I mean, yes, of course it’s a choice. I have a choice as to whether I’m locked up and denied. I entered into this arrangement with Belle and, theoretically, could get out of it if I needed or wanted to.

That said, I feel that accepting chastity and denial is more than a simple choice. I feel, deeply, that I am meant to be locked up and denied. That it is my natural state. It’s how I am supposed to be. Some of us are meant to have orgasms and some of us are meant to cause them.

So, no, I’m not being punished. Because I have done nothing wrong and there is nothing wrong with me. But access to the contents of the device and the pleasure of orgasm are being enforced and subjected upon me. Left to my own devices, I would eventually succumb to desire and give myself an orgasm. My nature and my evolutionary programming are at odds that way.

Tom left a comment on my reblog of his post saying that too often chastity and denial are conflated as the same thing. Some men are denied but not locked up. Some are locked up but are allowed to come fairly regularly. And that’s totally true. Tom suggests it all falls under the umbrella of “erotic orgasm denial,” and that works, but I do find myself wishing we had a word that was exclusively for the part of the Venn diagram where one is both locked and denied. I have no idea what that word might be. Some people use “chaste” but that’s not at all right since it’s a synonym with celibate and chastity and denial lead to more and better sex, not less. Certainly not none.

In reality, being denied but not locked would make me a non-functional adult. I would not be able to concentrate on anything at all after a few weeks. The device makes the denial not just possible, but also doable. I’ve read some blogs where the sub or the Dom consider devices a crutch or not “real” denial. Because the sub isn’t in control of it, their keyholder is. Of course, there is no One True Way. But for me, deviceless denial is a non-starter.

Also, I like the gear. I’m a nerd. I like stuff. I like to think about stuff. I like to compare them and consider their plusses and minuses and how they might be made better. I’d miss if the device was absent because I like it as an object. And, as I’ve written about a lot lately, I’ve grown to think of the device as part of me. It’s not separate from my sexual existence. It is my sexual existence. Like I said above, I was meant for this.

Also also, I’m into the compression. I’m into bondage. I’m a masochist. I like the feeling of having a locked penis and especially when it’s locked and trying to get hard.

So anyway, to circle back, it’s not about punishment. But it is about discipline. And it is about control and order and security. And I crave all those things down deep in my core.

The Chastity / Denial Matrix

This is totally brilliant.

Based on Tom’s matrix, I’m a 8,7. I’d like to be higher in both scores, but I don’t know it’s that’s possible/practical especially since Belle still likes to feel the penis inside her.

Anyway, this thing needs to be the standard for how we talk about how chastity and denial are part of our lives. I love it.

The Edge of Vanilla

Over the years, I keep getting sucked into discussions in which some person asks a question about “permanent” chastity, and the thread devolves into a mess in which most of the responses are about defining “permanent” and then arguing about whether someone’s ideas meet some arbitrary standards. The original question ends up being completely overlooked.

This is something that I’ve been thinking about for a while, but only recently had the light bulb blink on.

We all “know” what the term “permanent” means. Unfortunately, none of us can agree on it.

Because the conversation come up several times a month, and because everybody has their own variation on the definitions, I’m going to propose a matrix, similar to those political or religious ideology matrices that you see all over social media.

For you geeks, I’ve defined the two variables as: Chastity (i.e., the wearing of a device) and Denial (i.e…

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Cheater’s dent

I don’t remember who told me this, but the indentation on your wedding ring finger left behind when the ring is not there is referred to as the “cheater’s dent.” I thought this was a common phrase everyone had heard of, but it turns out it may not be that prevalent. When I punch it into the Google machine, it steadfastly refuses to acknowledge anyone on the internet has used those words together before.

“Chester Dent?” it helpfully suggests. No. Not Chester Dent. “Are you looking for information on carpool cheaters in California?” No. I am not. “Dental…something or other?” No. Try again.

I have a cheater’s dent on my finger. I bet if you wear a wedding ring, you do too. Apparently, people can figure out if the person hitting on them is already married by looking at their ring finger and seeing if there’s dent.

The only thing I wear more than a chastity device is my wedding ring (but not by much). Turns out, I have two cheater’s dents. And here they are…

Continue reading “Cheater’s dent”

Mandalorian fetish

I, like many if not most nerds, am enjoying The Mandalorian on Disney+. And not just for the Baby Yoda memes.

I’m a multi-faceted creature who nerds out about many things, not just Star Wars. Branding, for example, and as such, the fact that Disney has chosen to refer to Disney+ as “Disney+” rather than “Disney Plus” or even “DisneyPlus” interests me in a way totally unrelated to the rest of this post.

For those unaware, The Mandalorian tells the tale of a man who is part of an ancient culture (the Mandalore) whose home world has been made uninhabitable by the Empire following their effort to capture a unique substance found there called “beskar” which can be alloyed into metal that’s extraordinarily resistant to damage from energy weapons such as blasters and light sabers.

I swear you don’t need to be a nerd to enjoy this post.

There’s a lot more super interesting stuff to Mandalorians than that (such as how their belief system is based on survival of the fittest to such an extent that weapons are integrated into their religion), but for the purposes of this fetish blog, the one that’s most relevant is their obsession with the aforementioned beskar. In fact, one of the motivating factors of a Manadlore’s life is trying to get all that plundered beskar back. Not only does it belong with them, they believe, but due to their unique belief system, they need it to make armor and their distinctive helmets. You can see both in the image above.

It really kind of pisses me off that the most famous character to wear Manadlorian-style armor was Boba Fett, as did his “father” before him, Jango Fett, even though neither of them were Mandalore. Just one of many little things that bug me about how the Star Wars universe was created by George Lucas. Like, George wanted to come up with the Manadlore and thought the Fetts looks pretty cool so let’s use that design but no they’re not the same they just look the same stop asking so many questions and buy the fucking action figures already. Also, midichlorians.

We find out some really interesting things about the Mandalorian’s obsession with beskar in episodes 3 and 4. Like how he’ll make truly questionable moral choices in order to get his hands on it (though no spoilers). Also, that it’s forged into Mandalorian armor like his bitchin’ helmet. And also, that if he ever takes the helmet off in the presence of a non-Mandalorian he can never put it back on.

I have to say, there’s a fair bit about the Mandalore vibe that excites one of my primary fetishes. I say that as a guy with a stainless steel wedding ring, stainless steel posts in my ears, a stainless steel cuff secured to my right wrist, a stainless steel Apple Watch with matching stainless steel band, and, of course, a stainless steel chastity device locked between his legs.

If he ever takes the helmet off he can never put it back on. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? That is so hot. If you find absolute rules about which metal devices you can and cannot use (and in what way) on your body hot. And I do. Also, how he wants to literally encase himself in a beskar bodysuit.

There’s a scene where a Mandalorian elder forges his armor and of course I was fantasizing about all the other places he would put it and all the other shapes it could be made into and how he could never take it off and, oh boy, I’m really not one for erotic fanfic but I’d read the fuck out of Mandalorian chastity porn.

Anyway, yeah, get yourself the Disney+ and nerd out with me about all the amazing ways beskar could be utilized. And, of course, enjoy that adorable Baby Yoda. Or whatever his name is.

Being bad

Left unlocked and knowing it was wrong, I couldn’t help myself. I was in a place where I could jack off in private, but not so secluded that it was guaranteed I wouldn’t be caught. But I had to. Had to. Now or never.

I wrapped my hand around the hard shaft and indulged. Quickly, alarmingly so, I was on the edge of coming. And I wanted to. I intended to. No one would know unless they walked in on me. They might, but I couldn’t stop. I focused my efforts on fast, short strokes near the head of the penis. The final stage of masturbation that would lead inevitably to spewing my long-denied orgasm. Oh god, I wanted it so bad. I wanted to feel it so, so bad.

Stroking. Quickly. So close. So…close. Just…close. Why…why am I not coming? I’m stroking. I can feel it in my balls. I can feel the orgasm right there. I’m stuck on the edge. I can’t make it happen. I can’t come. I’m…

…in bed. My hand wrapped around the hard, unyielding, packed steel.

Fuck.

I will myself back to sleep. Back to the fantasy.

And there I was again. Different place. But the same in that I could have been found out. If someone had looked in just the right place. They would have seen me just like I could see them. They would have seen me totally nude, contorted so that I was jacking off over my face, mouth open. Ready to eat it. Wanting to. And again, I was right on the edge. So close. Balls tight and tingling and the pressure of the impending eruption building along the hard shaft in my hand. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue to accept the inevitable.

Stroking. Faster. Faster. Oh, god, so close. So fucking close. Right there. Right…there…

And I’m awake again. Sharp, tight pain from the steel tube. So tight. Throbbing. I try to stroke the tube and the PA fixing pulls on the PA ring and makes it hurt even more. Impossible.

My heart is pounding. The steel won’t relent. I’m so horny. Desperate. Consumed.

Just another Locktober night.