Rubbing one out

It started innocently enough. Belle and I were watching some TV before she had to get on a conference call. Her job requires her to get on work calls at odd hours. Sometimes very early, sometimes at night. All part of being on a global team, I’m told.

So yeah, we’re there on the couch and I have my hand on her leg and was sort of absently rubbing it when a sudden urgency sprang up from the dispersed cloud of general horniness I’ve been feeling lately. I gripped her inner thigh and made an involuntary grunty sound and was really aware of wanting to bury my face in her snatch.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” she said (or something like it).

“That’s how it is,” I replied. “Maybe later you can sit on my face.”

I mean, it was a weeknight. Lol. She doesn’t usually want that stuff on weeknights and especially not on a Monday night after getting off twice over the weekend. So she went off to take her call and I watched a bit more TV before heading off to bed to read.

You see, I’ve been up late lately watching the worst most wonderful sport known to mankind; baseball. Games start at 7:00 and don’t end until about 11:00. They’re not just any baseball games. They’re World Series games and my team is in it. So I was thinking I’d read about the Revolutionary War for a bit, get sleepy, then catch up on my zzz.

But, as I said, I’ve been like 17% hornier than usual lately. I wasn’t asleep yet when Belle got off her call and came to bed. She told me I could sleep naked (which is a thing I’m not supposed to do without explicit permission). So then I was naked and horny. But I was tired and almost got there. But not quite. Belle had had an annoying call and was grumpy and was struggling to sleep herself and I picked up on that. Usually, she drops off to sleep almost immediately but she was tossing and turning and then sidled up next to me and put her hand on my naked ass.

BOING.

*shuddering breath*

“You know, if you’re having a hard time falling asleep, I can get you off. That…could help.”

She made an amused little sound which I assumed could be translated as, “Nice try, rabbit.” But no. She ran her hand over my ass and down between my legs. And then back up…and back down again.

My back arched like the slut I am. Ooooooh did that feel good. Her finger teased my perineum and then traced my crack back up to the small of my back. Instant pressurization of the Steelheart. I could have laid there like that for a week, but a little voice told me, You’re supposed to be getting her off, not letting her stroke your ass.

I rolled over to face her. Her hand went right to my balls and gave them an aggressive crunch. I winced with pain but it didn’t stop me from kissing her. Sometimes, she decides to hurt me more than others. It seemed to me her frustration with that call was going to be channeled into my testicles. And I would have to take it.

She can hurt me, but I can’t hurt her back. So while she was squeezing my balls against one another and the steel between them, digging in her nails and pulling hard on them, I had to maintain gentle kissing. When I pulled up her top, I needed to lick and suck her nipples gently. As much as I wanted to bite them, that is entirely forbidden. I absorb pain, I do not create it.

I worked my left arm up behind her head to get access to her other nipple from behind and moved back and forth from her mouth to her tit, licking and sucking one hardened nub while very gently rolling the other between my thumb and forefinger. My right hand ran up and down her inner thigh and flicked over the point on her bottom when I could feel the humid heat of her desire respond to me.

Her bottoms came off and my middle finger quickly found the slit below her clit, already seeping and wet. Then I moaned. Jesus god, I love pussy. I love her pussy. Had it been up to me, I would have buried my face in it. I would have eaten that pussy like a last meal to a starved man. But that’s what I wanted. What I inferred she wanted was to just get off as simply and efficiently as possible. So I didn’t even ask. Didn’t even consider making a move on my own. So my middle finger traced and flicked and encircled her clit and rubbed it in and out while I suckled the nipple in my mouth.

Attempting to get her off on a third consecutive day can sometimes simply not work. But I could tell this was working. I can read her hips and how she breathes. Her little moans. I know her orgasm as well as my own. This was going to work.

The contents of the Steelheart painfully pushed at the inside of the tube. As if it was there for the first time and assumed with enough effort it could break free. Her hand kept its grip on my balls and her crushing grew stronger the closer she got to orgasm.

Then she came. And it was beautiful. And painful. But still beautiful. As always.

Then her hand let go and the blood rushed back into my scrotum. She basked and I thrummed with unspendable energy. As she came down from her climax, the contents of the Steelheart flexed and surged in defiance. A useless waste of effort.

Shortly afterward, she was asleep. Breathing regularly, my mission accomplished. But I was…not asleep. Then I was not asleep some more. Then some more.

Random pornographic images pushed into my head and I tried to stiff-arm them to the side. But it was a losing battle. Eventually, something formed in my imagination with enough clarity to cause the tube to pressurize. And then I was done.

I find it a highly addictive feeling. I like how it feels for the contents to squeeze and throb with my heartbeat. It’s my earliest kink. And once I feel it, I want to feel it again. I want to feel it harder. I want the base ring of the Steelheart to bite into the straining contents. There’s never a time when the contents are driving the bus more than those times. Late at night. When I can’t stop my filthy imagination from running rampant. And with every shift and turn in bed, the weight of the steel and the captive meat and blood pull and tug and flop around making them and their situation more obvious.

Sometimes, I can recite a kind of mantra. Telling myself I am supposed to be like that. I was born to be that way. To suffer the frustration and urges. Often, that acts as a kind of soothing balm and I can catch a few hours of sleep.

But not last night. The contents woke me up again and again, like a petulant brat, just as I neared the edge of sleep. Swelling and subsiding over and over. Like a slow cadence of waves on a beach.

So I got zero sleep last night. And the game starts tonight at 7:00. Game six. Potentially the last game of the series and the first championship for my team since 1988.

Ugh.

Mailbag

Welp, I changed email clients and never set up my thumper account and now am woefully behind in answering reader questions. Woefullier than usual which is pretty fucking woeful. I am going to reply here to anything sent from June onward. If you sent me something before that…I’m sorry. Try again.

Joe jumps in:

Great blog. Great writing about a subject not easy to capture in words. I’m a 55 year old, bisexual, (non-active) married guy, no kids on our second dog. I’m a sub to my wife and she has purchased my last 2 Holy Trainers. I don’t wear 24/7, but for most waking hours I am locked everyday. It’s been an awesome experience that has changed the way we communicate for the better and improved our sex life for the better. Over the last 4-5 years, I’ve had a tiny fraction of the orgasms I used to have (daily) where K has many times what she used to get. It’s a win-win and we both couldn’t be happier. I love the fact that sexual pleasure for us has moved from me getting off to her getting off as much as she wants and my orgasms being rare occurrences, if they happen at all. There’s an indescribable feeling of being locked and making her cum….and she’s not thinking about me getting off at all.

Here’s where my question comes in. I’m curious about where cuckolding stands at this point in your fantasy/ real life. I’ve read your posts about TOG and Joe the Dildo. I may have missed a post or two, but it seems like it moves from being a potential reality to back in the pure fantasy world with both of you enjoying the scenario but, never finding (or wanting to find?) the right situation.

I feel like we are in that situation (which is ok!) But, being focused on her pleasure, I really do want her to have that bigger cock she does fantasize about. But, people and intimate relationships being what they are, it’s complicated!

I guess I’m wondering where you and Belle stand on this aspect of FLR and chastity. They have always seemed inextricably linked in my brain, though I can’t say that is the case with K.

Would appreciate your thoughts on the subject and how it manifests itself in you and Belle’s daily life.

Ultimately, as with all things, it’s Belle’s choice. She chooses not to actualize the physical aspects of cuckolding at this point. She has virtual relations that I’m not party to and she does have Joe the Dildo we both get to enjoy, but unless something changes I expect that’s how it’s going to remain.

I do link FLR and cuckolding. To me, the latter is the logical extension of the former. But female led means she gets to decide what she wants and not all women want that. At the moment, it’s not something Belle wants enough to make a third person a reality.

Andreas asks:

thanks for sharing and writing such an informative and real blog.

I come straight to the point: I am trying to extend my time wearing the ‘real swiss’ V3 Nub with a 50mm ring,

Two issues:

1. night time erections result in it pulsing / pulling out of the cage, i.e. escape is super easy.

2. the back of the nub, flange rubs into the skin and I suffer abrasions in various places.

I have quite a lot of scrotum. also uncut foreskin, and my questions are:

1. may a larger 55mm ring help (i also own the 45mm one and that is def way too small)

2. I am minded to get a cage 2 sizes up from the nub for nighttime use for now and ‘shrink’ into the nub over time.

3. in your opinion is the V4 enough of an upgrade to buy all new? Or would you settle to buy another ring and cage for the V3 kit I have?

In the longer term I am looking to get pierced and get a custom device but at present we are trying to settle into proper chastity to see if we want to proceed and it appears to us that a nub is the best tool for now if I can overcome the issues above, any help greatly appreciated.

I couldn’t find a device called “real Swiss” so I’m going to assume it’s the Holy Trainer which is Swiss.

Bottom line, I think you need a bigger tube. No, you will not shrink over time. I’ve been locked up for the better part of a dozen years and the contents are the same size when they’re out and hard as they were when we started this. You don’t say how big your dick is when it’s erect, so I suspect you’re just too big for the nub size. Maybe try a nano or small. Personally, I’d want a device I could wear all the time and not mess around with (or be tempted by) something I had to change before I went to bed, but that’s me.

If it saves you a few bucks, just get a new v3 tube for your 50mm ring.

Good luck!

Ike liked:

Hey Thumper, I am obsessed with your blog and Twitter, it makes my male clit a twitch every time I read your posts .

I am quite new to chastity, and i had a very random question… so the (metal) chastity device I got fits nicely and I can actually wear it for long periods during the day. My concern is at night when I get an overnight erection my balls look extremely red, like you can tell circulation is limited. Do you experience this or am I definitely wearing the wrong size ring?

I hate taking it out for the concern the circulation might actually be impacted.

During the day my balls look fine, it’s just when I get the erection that my balls look red… since I am new to this, I wanna know if this is part of the adjustment in becoming a sub caged fag .

I am no doctor, but red is not an issue as long as they don’t become blue/purple, cold, or numb which all would indicate a circulation issue. Mine get reddish when the contents are straining so I think that’s not unusual. If you experience excessive pain or pain that lasts after your erections subside, then the ring may be too tight.

I recall when I first started that I thought my rings were all too tight. In time, I found they were all too big. Weird.

Armin applied:

Dear Thumper, I am from Germany and I would like to thank.you for the door you opened for my wife and myself. Your excellent style makes this journey an aestethic experience. 

I have some questions:

How strictly does Belle control your cock is caged? Is this more a matter of trust (and committment, based on your set of rules) or is she doing anything like unannounced inspections? Would she notice if you would open the cage and lock it again using another key code? And who decides which cage you wear?

Best regards from Germany.

She doesn’t do unannounced inspections, though when we’re apart I will sometimes offer her daily proof of being locked. Very occasionally, she’ll ask for proof. For a while, my emergency key was not secured but recently I put it back in a numbered key safe and have even asked her to take it and her key the last time she was away from me. Fact is, no, she probably would not notice if I cheated. But then I’d have to live with the reality of cheating. And that would be miserable.

Regarding which cage I wear, she lets me decide that entirely. She always prefers the Steelheart (German made! 🇩🇪) but will allow me to switch when I feel like mixing it up. I can’t recall her ever not letting me change cages.

Dave denounced:

Do you have any posts that talk about the PA stretching process or appropriate gauges for jewelry for chastity devices? Is there a standard gauge that’s appropriate? 

I just got my PA and am doing my research.

I don’t think there’s a standard. Not one I’ve seen. I think less than 6 ga is too narrow and more than 4 ga is overkill.

Hob gobbled:

Right now I have an inexpensive metal device from amazon. It’s actually pretty good, considering. The only problem is that the base of my penis slips out a little (1–2 cm) after it’s on for a bit. I think it’s partly the weight of the cage, but it also happens anytime I get aroused. Is this just the nature of all devices or could this be fixed by a better device (like the holy trainer). I’d it’s just the nature of all devices I’ll just stick with what I have. 

That sounds 100% normal to me. The Steelheart does the same thing. It’s less prevalent from plastic since those devices are lighter.

Another reader (sorry, lost your name!) asked:

I recently got a bon4m (though I have now noticed you gave it a poor review). When I wear it while flaccid there’s no problem and I can stick a finger between myself and the device. However, when I get erect the veins on my balls become prominent and it has me worried the ring is too tight. I tried moving up a ring size but still had the same problem. I never had this problem with the hod300 that I was wearing before. Should I move up a ring size again – despite that this causes the device to slip. I’m already wearing the largest spacer. Many thanks.

Like I said above, I don’t think there’s an issue until they become blue/purple, cold, or numb.

John jabbered:

I’m considering a PA for eventually using in conjunction with a chastity device. Do you use cages that rely on your PA? If so, are they more or less comfortable than ball-trap devices in your opinion? I have a relatively comfortable jail bird from mature metal, but there are still times when I wonder what’s out there with lower profiles and this potentially more comfortable. Any advice would be greatly appreciated!

Lower profile devices like the Holy Trainer Nano or Nub don’t really have anything to do with PA-secured devices and all the devices I wear, PA-secured and not, are trapped-ball devices because they have base rings that encircle the testicles. So…I think that answered your question?

Steve stewed:

I’ve been a long time lurker / follower of yours and life has gotten me to the point where I’m thinking I’d like to get some of my (mis) adventures up in a blog. 

Some background….When I first happened across your blog a number of years back I was a drunk, in a sexless marriage, and could only fantasize about the things you blog about. Today, I’m 6 years sober, divorced, in a full on poly relationship; my cock is locked up and I don’t have a key….As I type these letters, my VERY bi fiancé (I guess I’d call myself situationally bi) is with her lesbian GF and they’re banging each other with a dildo that is MUCH more of a cock than genetics gave me.  

You’ve inspired me, and I’d be very interested in starting a dialog with you and picking your brain / getting some guidance on setting up a blog. If you’re so inclined, please feel free to email me. Thanks!!

I hope this finds you, Belle, and your family well.

OMG. One, that sounds really fucking hot. Two, I’m so happy for you. For all of you. And three, I would read that blog! I have (very belatedly) replied to your email.

And on that note…more than enough for today!

Semantics

The inimitable Mrs. Fever commented on my last post:

“the contents” — I like this terminology; the penis being the contents of the package rather than being the package. It’s a subtle bit of semantic separation, but it carries weight.

Regular readers will know that quite a long time ago I stopped referring to the contents as a “cock” because the connotation that noun evokes is of action and intent and it seemed to be counter to what’s promised on the label of this site and in the spirit of our dynamic. I demoted the organ to “penis” because it was the most descriptive word and telegraphed no intent or overt purpose. I also stopped referring to it as “mine” since it’s not. I gave it to Belle and now it’s just attached to my body. More recently (though it may have been two years ago because lol time) I’ve tried to stop using the word “penis” and have gone with “the contents” for a few reasons.

One, as the Mrs. points out, semantically I’m trying to elevate the total package over what it contains. If, as I’ve said a million times, the Steelheart (or whichever device is standing in for it) is me (and it is), then I should walk that talk. When the Steelheart is off me, it’s a thing. A tool. When it’s on me, I am complete. It makes that part of my body whole in the same way my wedding ring finishes out its finger on my left hand. But I do, from time to time, need to refer to what’s inside the Steelheart since they are two parts of a whole and the new best word I can think of is “the contents.”

Two, in the same way the contents push on the steel, the natural urges I was born with put a strain on my state as a kept man. I like being kept and never want to not be this way, but hormones and deep reptile urges are powerful and I feel it’s important to use all the resources of the higher rabbit brain to maintain the careful equilibrium within me. Words, which are the exclusive domain of the higher brain, have power.

I mean, sure, ultimately this is a game of semantics. But I think it’s also finding ways to go from “having a locked cock” to “being kept.” There’s a spectrum there. One I’ve travelled. Part of my never-ending quest to move chastity from something I do to what I am. Never-ending in that being this way does go against a couple million years of evolutionary programming and, like a lot of devotions, needs to be practiced and looked after until it’s truly second nature.

Even that term — second nature — says it is not the first nature. And that’s what I ultimately want. To deepen and strengthen my commitment to what I feel is my conscious nature, perhaps. The nature of my higher brain — my mind — that is separate and distinct from my primal nature. The nature that is all urge and instinct-driven.

We are complicated beings. More than the sum of our programming. More than the impulses that all living things share. All our experiences and feelings are refracted by what goes on in our big brains. And what goes on in mine is reinforced by simple words. Using them and really accepting them to be true.

Our primal natures and our conscious natures are not always going to be in alignment. But we live up here in our consciousness. So…words matter.

It is better to give than receive

The first and most basic rule of my being kept is that Belle decides when and how the chastity device contents are used, always every time. Even in #Locktober. She is not bound by hashtags.

So it was the other morning, not long after our wedding anniversary and near our chastity anniversary, that she decided what she really wanted was for me to fuck her with the device’s contents. And that’s why my #Locktober won’t be 744 continuously locked hours.

Not only did she want me out, she wanted me to come. It had been more than a month since the contents were allowed inside her at that point and sliding in was, honestly, sooooo fucking nice. But the magic words whispered in my ear didn’t happen until I had already been fucking her for the approximately 90 seconds required for me to have to stop and I had already started to mentally shut the orgasm down when she said I could have it.

I didn’t hesitate. It’s not that I wanted to come. It’s difficult to say anymore if what I feel is a desire to come but, regardless, what I want isn’t part of the equation. So even though I had already started to back off when she told me to do it, I sallied forth best I could and had an orgasm, of a kind. It felt like the ruined leakages I usually have. No fireworks of sensation, no build of pressure and pop of shooting explosively. The only real difference is instead of stopping my thrusting into her just before it began, I kept pumping all the way through. And that made it real.

On a scale of 1 to 10 of orgasmic sensations, it was like maybe a 2 or a 3. Tops. I don’t think it’s possible anymore for me to have an “orgasm” if I only get one every twelve months or so. But is was an orgasm and the tell was all in the brain chemistry.

For a long time time, I’ve found Belle’s orgasms make me sleepy as though I had had one, too. It’s kind of a cute little sympathetic reaction I developed once I was weaned off the expectations of coming myself. But I had forgotten what a real post-orgasmic chemical hit felt like. A full man’s dose of that cocktail of hormones and other fun stuff hit me like a freight train. A tranq dart to the neck wouldn’t have put me down faster.

I mean to tell you, I was fucking drugged. Laying there next to her I could occasionally feel my consciousness try and surface only to get pulled back into the shadows by a hundred heavy velvet tentacles. It was amazing. Clearly, denial has not only given me a hair trigger but also made me a prolactin featherweight.

And I have found that there was little to no sub-drop after the orgasm. I put the contents back into a device right away without any internal resistance and have felt an edge to my horniness in the days that followed. Like I was given a taste of a drug I used to be addicted do and those old gnawing cravings flickered back to life. It makes me wonder if I was given the chance to have orgasms regularly, either with her or on my own, if I’d be able to have what feels like normal ones again. If so, how long would it take? How many? Or have I been reprogrammed to such an extent that they’ll never again be what they were?

The fact that I’m even thinking that is a symptom of being allowed the one, though. If she makes me wait another year and then another after that and so on and so on…well, those are not the thoughts of a man kept in my condition.

One and a dozen

Neither Belle nor I can remember the last time I had a real, full, man’s orgasm. Like when she lets me fuck her and, as soon as I enter her, she whispers in my ear, “I want you to come in me.”

She thinks it was around Christmastime but I’m almost positive that’s not the case. We were in St. John over the holidays (RIP the Before Times) and I was mostly locked up and while I can’t recall specifically coming, I have a pretty good sense that I did not. And there’s no mention of doing so in my posts from that period.

In fact, as I recall, I hadn’t in a while by then and wondered if she’d make me come since vacation trips are not unusual times for such things based on her previous behavior. And, as I recall, I was almost always locked up during that trip. I think it’s been or is about to be or has recently passed the one year mark.

Note, when she lets me fuck her, I do ejaculate. I don’t have an orgasm. The difference? Significant. After I come, I feel like I came. I feel that build up and explosion of sensation and the fluid jets out of the penis and slams into her cervix. There’s a detonation of chemical release in my brain and the penis gets incredibly sensitive and I get sleepy and my balls tingle as they contract. I mean, come on guys. We know what orgasms feel like. And what I have isn’t that.

What happens is almost as soon as the penis hits her warm, wet and inviting snatch, I feel like an orgasm is imminent. If I can hold off more than a minute, it’s an achievement. And of course I want to hold out since the feeling of being inside her is the only pleasurable sensation I’m allowed or capable of feeling from the penis. But, honestly more importantly, she likes how it feels to get fucked and I want her to feel that as long as possible. “As long as possible” is always less than three minutes, though.

We’ve spend the better part of the last dozen years controlling my orgasm and she’s been strictly determining my ability to come for about half that so I’ve become an expert in the minutiae of the orgasmic order of operations. I know precisely where my point of no return is. I know precisely when I need to stop thrusting to keep myself from going over the falls. I know precisely how much additional sensation I can bear to avoid the autonomic inevitability of coming. While I’ve never surfed a wave on a board, I feel like staying perched on the edge like this, milking (as it were) as much pleasure as possible without getting too much from the act, is not unlike surfing. Surfing the inevitable and dropping off at just the last moment.

And then I squirt. Not as forceful as real orgasm, but definite and distinct shots. And while it doesn’t feel like coming, the penis begins to soften immediately after. Back in the day, I was able to make my mess and then keep fucking her for as long as she could take it. But not anymore. The penis is trained to bail out once it coughs up its load, no matter how much I wish I could keep going.

One year (and counting) is a milestone I craved when we first started down this path of denial and chastity. And that path, it turns out, began twelve years ago today, at least based on the date of my first blog post.

The funny thing is, “one year” just sneaked up on us. She never made a decision, as far as I know, that I wouldn’t have an orgasm in a year. And she hasn’t made the decision, as far as I know, that I’ll come again any time soon. If ever. She seems perfectly happy with the status quo as am I. I don’t miss orgasm and feel what I get is more than I deserve already. And I suppose it’s a measure of maturity in the dynamic that the metrics and obsession with when and how I come have kind of melted away. I suppose it’s the real definition of the ideal that I feel is central to our dynamic that my orgasm isn’t considered or expected or really any active part of our sex except in its absence. So, in that way, it seems like twelve years in, we’re doing this exactly right.

Phantom handjob

Belle is away for the next week for the first time in months. She’s not jetting off to the other side of the world this time, obvs., but instead driving to see her bestie who has a place in upstate New York and who’s been sequestered there since the pandemic hit the east coast. She’s very excited and I’m very happy for her.

We will have two weekends in a row away from one another which means at least four separate opportunities for me to get her off. I guess she did this math, too, and last night told me I needed to do it right then before she went to sleep. A totally non-standard weeknight orgasm for her.

She was tired so it took way longer than usual but she was grooving to it the whole time and really enjoying it. At one point, she apologized for taking so long which is nuts because getting more time to suck her tits and finger her clit is not a thing I’m trying to avoid in the slightest. She likes to hold the Steelheart while I get her off and the harder she squeezes my balls the closer she’s getting. She had what I’d describe as a long, very sweet orgasm and was asleep minutes later. I…wasn’t. But I did eventually get there.

I woke up around 4:30 with a raging packed tube. Fucking throbbing. No surprise since I fell asleep pretty worked up. I laid there and tried to make it go away and eventually it did subside enough for me to fall back into a light sleep.

Not so light, though, that I didn’t have some kind of dream. A woman, not Belle, was holding the penis. It wasn’t locked and it wasn’t erect. She cupped my balls with her other hand and cooed at me some dirty nothings I couldn’t comprehend. She started to stroke me slowly and roll my nuts around. Each stroke caused the penis to grow larger. Larger and larger, but also each stroke hurt. This weird bigger-with-every-stroke thing made the penis massive and downright cock-like in size but the pain was growing exponentially every time the cock head came up out of her hand. I pulled up my legs and arched my back and felt like I was so, so close to coming but the pain was getting to be too much for me. She smiled at me in a slutty, porn-star way. That kind of, “What, am I doing that?” thing they do sometimes. I felt the rush of orgasm plowing through the wall of pain and then…

Woke up. Thump thump thump went my pulse in the tube that was hotter and harder than any cock in my hand. The pressure was pulling on and crushing my balls cruelly.

There was no stroking going on. No impending orgasm. Just the pounding of my heart trying to bust though unrelenting steel.

It’s what I get for getting her off before bedtime. And totally worth it.

Burning man

I first felt the burning on Friday. I think it was Friday. But anyway, I was sitting in our snug with Belle watching YouTube videos about RVers (jealous?) and way down deep in the end of the cage there was burning.

Of course, I’m no noob. I knew what it was. Sometimes, and for reasons I can’t explain, conditions will exist that allow the acid content of my urine to spike and burn a bit of the device contents. It’s almost always on the head of the thing and, I think, is due to the PA fixing rubbing it so that it becomes irritated and then the extra-acidic urine hits it and boom. Why does it run that way? No idea. What causes the urine to be so extra? No idea.

I left Belle and went into the bathroom and irrigated the tube with water. The burning stopped. But then, later that night, I could feel it again right after I peed. So more water. And again the next morning, but this time I used soapy water. Then rinsed. Felt good. But…no. Not enough. The damage was done and I knew it.

I asked Belle for the key and took the tube off the base ring and found exactly what I knew was going to be there. A slashing angry red blotch that followed the line of the PA fixing.

In the past, this would lead to the device coming off. Probably for days. Logically, the device should have come off. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just…couldn’t. And why?

Well, read this post by Doc. I quoth liberally…

People ask me how I can stay locked for so long. It’s not an easy answer, because there are many factors, but one reason is that I don’t feel locked. I have a titanium dick and it’s my normal state. I don’t like taking it off. It feels wrong. I like denial, as you know, but when I do get an orgasm; they are some of the best orgasm I have ever had. Chastity changes you. It changes your perception of yourself. Removing my cage is like removing an arm. Something is missing when it’s off. These feelings have only grown with time, and I think that’s why those of us fortunate to be locked long term find it so pleasurable and easy to deal with, because we become something new. We are, as Thumper has said, rewired. Without my titianium shell, I feel different, somehow incomplete, and wrong.

I mean, aside from the talk of nasty orgasmses and the part where he name drops me, that’s all perfect and all I can do is nod and nod. It feels so good sometimes to read exactly what’s in your head and how it feels, especially when those things are basically absent from our culture.

So no, I didn’t want to take it off. But I also didn’t want to get to a place where it would get so bad that I’d have no choice and would need to wait through a prolonged recovery. So I kind of compromised.

The issue was started by the PA fixing. So I just took that part out. Inside the tube was only the normal contents, no other metal. I hoped that would let the irritated part of the meat settle down. And, spoilers, it did. All fixed up now. No issues at all. But along the way, something weird happened.

When the contents are in the Steelheart without the fixing (which very rarely happens, but has been the case a handful of times), it’s…well, unfixed. Meaning it can come out the back. Which can be helpful if you need to take a (very) quick looksee at its condition, but also it means it’s just kind of bouncing around in there. The tube of the Steelheart was sized to be just smaller than the diameter of the erection it was designed to contain, but when not in that condition, the contents can be much less filling. Think clapper in a bell.

That’s very distracting. And totally ruins the feeling of the Steelheart and its contents being one inseparable unit. Doc talks about the merging that happens in our brains which is how I’m usually feeling but that extra bit of movement removing the fixing allows shreds that. So I was locked and felt good about that, but did not like all the extra bobbing about.

What I also found weird were the sounds that came from the Steelheart. At one point yesterday, I was reading something that made me tight and I heard a very strange long, drawn out kind of…I dunno. Squelching sound. I can’t describe it. I looked around me to find the source and realized it was the fucking Steelheart filling up. I have no clue what was going on there. And another issue was the little button of meat that would pop through the hole in the end of the tube when it was filled. I hate that.

But whatever. Things are all back to normal now. The fixing is back in, the burned bit is healed (enough), the sounds and little button of pink are gone. And nothing can be removed from the device without a key.

Bliss.

Pride of penis

So I have these (relatively) new workout shorts and was wearing them today at the gym (yes, I’m going to the gym, but I’m wearing a mask and so’s my trainer and it’s not a very busy gym and I’m doing my best to distance from others and infection rates are low in Minnesota right now) and I noticed while I was walking toward one of the large mirrors that their white material and somewhat snug fit were combining to make the Steelheart look like a fairly impressive package.

And my first thought, was damn, that looks good. And my second thought was…wtf, who are you trying to fool? It’s interesting to me how on the one hand I’m totally invested in not having a penis as much as I have a locked steel device in its place as my default existence and even identity and on the other hand being pleased at how impressively masculine the device makes me look (assuming penises are a defining aspect of masculinity which is up for debate).

Then I was browsing Bodyaware’s website and saw this guy.

And it struck me again. As much as I like to post images of me in the Steelheart and how it looks in underwear because it makes such a sexy, impressive-looking package, I, me, the penis I was born with, will never be able to fill out underwear as well as this guy or the Steelheart. The nice pouchy stuff I get from Cocksox, in the infrequent times I’m wearing them without being locked, are baggy and unfilled. Totally inappropriate to my anatomy because, really, it’s not especially impressive. But the penis in the Steelheart is. And I like that. But…should I?

It’s a complicated question. Part of me says this is vestigial pride of penis and unbecoming of someone like me. A man who has spent so much time trying to define an existence apart from his genitalia but, of course, still a man. I have to admit I like thinking someone seeing the silhouette the Steelheart creates might make an incorrect assumption about the penis. Like, if I was really invested in being a denied, kept man wouldn’t I want to show no package? Present as flat and featureless so as to remove direction from that part of me that I have so studiously attempted to disassociate?

Truth is, at this point in my life, I don’t identify as a man with a penis. I’m a man. But with…a thing. An inert object. A container filled with meat. But still. I like showing a #chastitybump. So how I identify and how I present are…in conflict?

Well, perhaps they’re not. I like some of the really minimizing devices I can wear and think they’re super hot on other kept guys, but I always come back to the Steelheart. Not only because it’s Belle’s favorite but because the Steelheart is me. It’s more me than what it contains. So when I’m showing an impressive bulge, no, it’s not the penis. But it is me. And I have to admit, I want to be seen as who and what I am.

This all gets back to the whole point of the #chastitybump thing. Of being proud of it. As is often the case, it turns out I may have already had the insight that helps explain this potential incongruity. As I wrote last June:

I’m not nearly as worried as I used to be about my device being detectable by Muggles. I was running two days ago (and this morning) outside in light blue shorts and discovered as I was moving that I was sporting a fairly obvious bump that moved in a weirdly heavy way. And…I didn’t care. See it if you want. I dare you to ask me about it. I won’t take it off for you. Not wearing it is easy. It’s not special. But wearing it. That’s a thing I’m proud of. The dedication and the difficulty. It is special. It’s my super power. 

The presence of this thing on my body makes me more me than I am without it. I feel lesser without out. And it made me like this.

Short of wearing a pin that says “I’m locked in steel, ask me how you can be too” I will just have to accept people will make assumptions. And their assumptions will almost always be in the opposite direction of who I really am. But…no, I can’t help that. But they will see it. And I do like how it looks. I like it much more than how I look without it.

And maybe those are the only things that matter.

The one about the p-word in which I don’t use the p-word

Belle chose not to let the contents of the Steelheart out yesterday even though it was Father’s Day here in the United States and it’s kinda sorta how I became eligible to celebrate (or be celebrated) on that day. It’s fine, though, since she let me eat her out (culminating in one of those wiggly legs orgasms on her part and an assurance that I was “very good” at it — purr).

Based on my experience over the last several months, the contents get out and in her once every six weeks. Otherwise, it’s locked up. That means in May I didn’t get out at all and in June so far, I was only out for about 50 minutes. Not that it takes me 50 minutes by any stretch of the imagination (lolz). Actual hot and wet thrusting time is likely not even five minutes. The rest of that time is me servicing her and then post-coital snuggling.

Looking back, this is what I craved for so many years. To be like this without consideration or comment on her part. For being locked to be the default and being unlocked the rare exception. This is what “kept” really means. And now here we are.

Even though this was what I craved, it took a long time for me to get over needing her to recognize the state of the contents. I would ask if she could tell if the device was packed and the contents straining and sought some comment on her part. Because it takes a long time to let go of it being the center of attention.

Of course, that’s to be expected. Boys and men have such easy access to it, its method of stimulation is so obvious, there’s so much embedded understanding of how it works in our culture, and there’s still a cultural assumption that it and what it does is the central point of sex. As men, we’re conditioned to equate our worthiness to its size and ability and stamina. So when she started keeping me locked, I wanted her to keep paying attention to it and acknowledge the sacrifice I was making. To keep it centered on the experience instead of her. I expected us to continue to pay it service even though it was unavailable, unseen, and basically unnecessary.

It’s one of those weird chastity and denial paradoxes. The practice of keeping a man like that is to demote the element that defines his maleness but its importance and prominence never goes away. It is always there. Even when it’s not.

And while I can’t deny that because it is always there, I think the point of being kept as I am — nearly all the time and without making any fuss about it because it’s just how things are — is to get to a point where I simply can’t think about it in its “natural” state and only think about it in its kept state. That takes time and runs counter to both nurture and nature. But it’s where I feel the most comfortable.

And in the same way being kept is to appreciate the journey, not the destination, getting to that space mentally is something I will always be working towards.

For example, I don’t get “hard” anymore. I get tight. I never want it out. To be out and without constraint feels wrong and exposed. I’d rather be seen by Belle or Frodo or whoever with a device between my legs than not. I feel more self-conscious of that exposure than I do sporting steel (or plastic). I try to avoid any unnecessary contact with it keeping all touching to the minimum required for its maintenance. I’ve even found that lately, when I’ve seen what I think of as incredibly sexy women out and about (usually walking or running around my neighborhood in spandex), my immediate and overpowering thought isn’t about penetration. It’s about what it would be like for them to sit on my face. To be used by her for her pleasure. And that’s always been the default for me when it comes to men, even before being kept by Belle.

To be kept as I am is to recognize the whole rest of my body is my primary sex organ, especially my mind. And that organ is for the use of my sex partners first and me only secondarily. The contents are not the point of the experience. And what they’re going through and feeling is not a topic worthy of mention during sex unless my partner wants to bring it up.

I think to get to this place I’m describing (which, as I said, is a journey and process I think I’ll be working on the rest of my life) is not just the point of being kept but the point of who I am as a sexual being. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who allows me to evolve in this way.

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.