Costume party

I was on the Tumblr this morning and scrolling through like I do and once again found myself transfixed on a GIF of a guy shooting his load. He was jacking off and had a pretty big dick and it was just the come shot. Quite generous ropes of thick creaminess being thrown from the end of his cock (not this one, but a lot like it). And I had another one of these epiphanic moments that have been showing up more often lately.

There was a time, for a long time, when I’d see a guy shooting like that and get all slack-jawed and dreamy because somewhere deep down inside I wanted to be doing that too. My lizard brain was aching so hard for what I was seeing and the vibes it would radiate overpowered my bunny brain so both got drunk on the idea.

But this time, I was watching this guy come like crazy and it was more like watching a woman get off in that it was like a separate thing from my frame of reference. Like a man stroking himself off to orgasm is a being totally removed from what I am as much as a woman getting herself off is. Just another way that I feel like a separate thing from the kind of man who does that.

Some people into this chastity and denial stuff will tell you all men should be locked up and denied but I don’t think that at all. Some men absolutely should fuck and come and jack off and do whatever they want. I feel there definitely are two classes of men (at least). Those who own their own cocks and those who don’t. Those who get to shoot loads and those who only leak through the openings in their devices. Real men have cocks and use them however they like. People like me don’t and don’t.

In fact, I feel the same kind of disconnectedness from images of men fucking as I do from men coming or jacking off. They’re meant to do that. They’re designed to do it. To pleasure their partners with their dicks. To pleasure themselves with the feeling of fucking another person. Some men (and some cocks) are born to that kind of position. To assert themselves in that kind of role. But not me. I mean, I literally can’t fuck for more than two minutes before I’m squirting and then, once I do, the penis starts to shrivel. It may have been a fuck tool once, but it’s not now. It’s barely passable as such.

I suppose if I were in a gay relationship it would be as though I didn’t even have a penis, but I’m not. I’m with Belle. And she like to get fucked and cannot fuck me so I can’t let myself slip entirely into this other type of identity because there are times when she needs me to be a man. Or pretend to be one. Like, four to six times a month, max, for maybe eight to ten minutes total. But that’s not nothing.

I don’t know if this means my lizard brain is dead. I still get pretty worked up and have plenty of urges, but they’re mostly focused outward now, not inward. Maybe the lizard has been broken by years of being chained. He’s still vicious, but maybe now he’s also fuzzy and has long ears. Maybe the lizard and bunny have found a way to merge. To align their energies.

Whatever the case, those guys shooting their loads on Tumblr are like a whole different species to me now. And I’m really OK with that. Because maybe all this time I wasn’t one of them, anyway. Maybe I was only going along to get along. Maybe I’ve been bunny in a lizard costume this whole time.

 

Purity

There’s a kind of purity in being locked up while getting your partner off. A simplicity of purpose. A definition of motivation. Once a penis is taught it’s not the center of attention. That not everything in the world revolves around it. Once it learns its place and ceases to harbor expectations. The focus shifts entirely to where it belongs. From the submissive to the Dominant. From me to her.

Free of freedom

I’ve been sick. Started Thursday with minor achiness, was full-blown awful with fever, chills, and night sweats by Saturday and Sunday. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I feel as though I’m heading in the right direction.

I mention this (in addition to the implicit solicitation of sympathy) because during this period of feeling absolutely crappy and terrible, I never needed to be out of the device. Looking back on the blog here, I think I can say this is the first time I’ve been really sick in which I didn’t also feel an overwhelming desire to be unlocked. This is also the first time I’ve been sick in the nine-ish months since Belle’s made me stay locked 98-99% of the time.

I think this is a subtle but significant thing. When I was feeling my worse, the device didn’t even enter my mind. When I’m grooving, the device feels like it’s part of me, not a separate and distinct thing. I’ve never felt like that when experiencing the diametric opposite of grooving. Even during my most recent depressive episode, I said this in my last post…

Whichever steel is between my legs is just an inert mass I need to keep clean. I don’t want to be locked, I don’t want to be unlocked. I just don’t care.

I guess it was the same way when I was feeling the sickest. It’s like being locked wasn’t a situation I had to deal with or endure…it just was. Even when I’m otherwise not super excited about being that way. My acceptance of security is no longer dependent on how horny I am. It’s there even when my horniness level is below zero.

This seems related to something I wrote about last December.

There’s an aspect of all this that’s been quite difficult for me to wrap my head around. Not difficult to do. I revel in my role. But it’s a thing that’s been bubbling around inside me and that was accentuated when I was with Frodo. It’s something to do with gender. I don’t really feel like a man anymore. That’s an odd thing to see myself writing and I don’t mean it be read as if I think of myself as a female. That’s the problem, really. I don’t have the words to describe it. Less of a man and more of something else.

I’m not a man who’s locked. I’m just locked. There is no natural state for me to be other than that. I feel like I’ve reached some new level of evolution. Imaging not having a locked penis is as difficult a concept for me to accept as the opposite would be for a man who’s just learning about enforced chastity. The penis isn’t being denied freedom since it no longer has freedom to be denied. All the frustration and the pressure of constricted erections and craving to jack off and even to come are now the point. They’re not a means to an end. They’re the end.

I don’t have a penis, I have a device. And I don’t want a penis. Not like that. Not anymore. Not ever. Belle could leave the key hanging on a nail out in the open. I’d never touch it unless she handed it to me.

 

May metrics, ups and downs

FullSizeRenderAnd there goes May! So many projects going on around here, house guests, graduation, not to mention planning and preparation for our imminent departure to Asia for a huge chunk of the summer. But there’s one thing that doesn’t change: I’m still locked up pretty much all the time.

Belle kept the penis locked 99.5% of May which is the highest percentage of the year (exceeding April by a tenth of a percent). It was kept staring at the inside of the Steelheart for about two-thirds of the time while the rest was spent studying the inside of the Halfshell.

It was let out for sex six times for a total of almost four hours which averages to about 40 minutes each time. That’s funny to me since the vast majority of that time is spent satisfying Belle or lounging around after. The time it spent actually fucking couldn’t have been in total more than ten or twelve minutes, tops. So if you count the time she will sometimes stroke it while I’m getting her off, we’re talking 30-45 minutes a month of pleasurable sensation.

Belle came nine times, three on her own, six from my prestidigitation. That’s down by three from April, but as I said, more stuff going on around here.

I came zero times in May, though as I said, I was allowed to fuck her six times. I ejaculated five of those times. As of this writing, it’s been 102 days since my last orgasm. Of course, I have no idea how long it will be until the next one and doubt she does, either.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to write about for the past few weeks but haven’t figured out how or what words exactly to use then I figured I could make it part of this post. It’s funny, but when writing like this sometimes the hardest part is figuring out how to start and, once that’s done, the rest takes care of itself.

Anyway, as hard as it is to quantify as precisely, the thing that goes along with how often I get to come or for how long I’m locked up is how I feel about it all. And lately, I haven’t felt all that great. It’s been about two and half weeks since I felt the bottom drop out and only now am I starting to feel the stirrings of a rally.

I think a common misperception about denial and enforced chastity is that the locked guy gets hornier and hornier and all that awesome frustration energy powers the whole dynamic to ever greater heights. That’s just totally wrong.

Most guys who feel like it get to come all the time. As soon as the slightest amount of sexual frustration builds, they either have sex or take care of themselves. If it were charted, it’d end up looking like with I think of as a hacksaw blade. When a guy is in his teens, his chart would like a fine-tooth saw — lots and lots of little spikes closely packed interspersed with shallow, short valleys. But when he get’s older, the “teeth” become less frequent with larger spaces between, but the basic pattern remains. There is only so horny a normal man will get before he relieves the pressure to come, one way or another.

But if you’re like me, that never happens. And since the pressure never gets relieved, an underlying pattern is exposed. I don’t know if this is the same for all men, but for me the build goes way higher than it would normally. Perhaps five times higher. Then it plateaus for a long time as I reach cruising altitude. After a certain period like that, it will explode higher for brief period then come crashing down. Lower than what it feels like after an orgasm. Like, a depth so low the fish have to make their own light or not bother to have eyes. I can’t say if the cratering is chemical or caused by external issues or if one is exacerbated by the other. All I know is it happens from time to time.

This used to be a real problem. It’s easy to get depressed. I still do, but the difference is I know it’s not permanent. Sooner or later, for reasons I can’t explain, things will start to build again. Right now, I’m still under water but not so deep that sunlight can’t get to me. It feels like I’m moving in the right direction, but I also know there are false glimmers. When I’ll start to feel more normal but then things’ll go south again. I can’t know yet where I am, but this feels like a real rebound.

When I’m in this place, it’s like the flavor is drained from everything. I’m easily angered and have little interest in anything sexual. I will usually be able to perform for Belle, but I’d not think to instigate anything. It has to be her to push the button. This is the time when, if I find a dirty selfie on my phone or computer, I’m most likely to delete them. I don’t look at my own blog, can’t imagine writing anything, and don’t even look at Tumblr. The toys I enjoy during normal times appall me. It’s not any fun at all.

The worst part is how it changes how I see myself. I’ve said before that being locked all the time alters my own perception of myself at a pretty basic sexual level. I feel less like a man and more like something else. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just what it is. But during a crater like I’ve been in I stop feeling like anything. Whichever steel is between my legs is just an inert mass I need to keep clean. I don’t want to be locked, I don’t want to be unlocked. I just don’t care. No energy means no self-perception of identity. And what are we without identity?

I don’t say all this to be a downer. We’ve been doing this long enough for me to know that in my case it’s a normal aspect of long term denial and lock-up. I will come back and will feel good again. If I go all the way back to why I started this blog, it was because at the time there was way more chastity fantasy bullshit being passed off as reality and little real-life experience being related to those who were just starting out. If I ignored this aspect of denial and chastity, I’d be doing a disservice to the sprit of the site. And, I guess, to you as its readers.

Long story short, most of the time I’m in a good place and feel as though the denial and submission are by far net benefits in my life. I can’t imagine really being “normal” again. Not ever. But it’s not all sunshine and unicorns, either. You know, like life.

Jet lag sex

Belle was in China for a week which is kind of a short trip considering it’s like on the other side of the planet and all but not the shortest trip she’s taken there. In any event, long enough for her to acclimatize to the time difference and have to deal with jet lag after she landed very late Thursday night.

Friday was a work day for me, but Belle told me to go in late so I could get her off then go to breakfast. So that’s pretty much exactly what happened. Once all the offspring were out of the house, we got to business. I really wanted out since it had been two weeks since the last time she let me, but we were pressed for time so she took her pleasure and left me tight and needy. Of course, I’m not allowed to ask to be let out and I tried not to make it too obvious, but she could tell. Didn’t especially bother her, but she could tell.

Then the jet lag fucked her up. Or, the sleep aid she takes to help get back on track to CDT did. She didn’t wake up as early and was groggy when she did so Saturday and Sunday mornings were a washout, sex-wise. It was starting to look like it’d be another week before the penis would have a chance to get wet.

We were in bed last night watching Grand Designs which we’re just getting in the states on Netflix and, if you haven’t seen it, is wonderful AF. While laying there drooling over two dudes and their fucking amazing farmhouse, she was groping my biceps and getting all worked up. Next thing, she was putting my hands on her tits and the next thing after that she was throwing her key at me.

Sometimes, like Friday morning, Belle just wants to get off. Other times, like last night, she wants dick. Once the Halfshell was off, she couldn’t keep her hands off its contents. She was stroking and teasing and generally manhandling it the whole time I was sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. A few times I thought to offer her the option of mounting me and riding it to her orgasm but I can never tell until that happens if I’ll be able to keep my shit together long enough to get her home and asking her to stop is almost as bad as coming without permission (pretty fucking bad). The fact that she would’ve had to be quiet could have helped since the sound of her coming is often enough to bring me to orgasm, too, but I never said anything.

As she was building to her orgasm, I was able to sync up with her in sympathy. Her breathing became faster and more shallow, so did mine. She started to gyrate her hips around, I started to grind the free and hard erection into the space between her leg and the mattress. She moaned and I did, too. When the moment came and she went over the falls, I pressed my fingers against her clit and reached in and hooked under her pelvic bone and rode her pleasure, wave after wave with each buck of her hips, holding my breath and moaning into her. When she was done coming, I felt like I was, too.

She could have told me right then to put the device back on the penis. To wait for it to lose its stiffness and stuff it back into the steel. And I would have been satisfied. To have her pay so much attention to it and allow me to share in her ecstasy is enough for me. More than I usually get, in fact. Yes, I wanted to fuck her badly, but that’s not uncommon. She could have ordered it back in and I would have complied.

But she didn’t. She pulled me over on top of her and guided the head of the penis so it lined up with the hot, wet folds of her pussy and I pushed it in. The snug heat of her snatch enveloped me and I immediately felt like I was about to come. I repositioned myself and gave it another thrust, this time nearly all the way in. Then again. Then I felt the urge. The tripwire had been hit. I urged it to stop so I could give her the fucking she wanted but the best I could do was sit as still as stone while my thick seed surged into her. Even immediately after, I needed to hold it still lest it develop into something too close to an orgasm. Regardless, my time was over. I felt terrible for lasting so shortly and truly regretted not giving her the chance to ride me when it might have worked.

Orgasm or not, the penis started to deflate. It knows the rules as well as I do now and refuses to stay hard after it shoots even the least amount. I thanked Belle for allowing me to share in her pleasure and apologized for not having the stamina to perform as she clearly wanted me to. But she gave me a kiss that told me she understood. This is what I am now. There’s no fixing it.

By the time she came back to bed, I was putting the Steelheart on. That’s the rule. I don’t even ask. I am always to be locked up. I gave her the key. We kissed again. And she fell asleep.

April metrics

IMG_3874April showers have brought…May showers here at Winterfell and the end of the month means another entry in my ongoing chastity and denial metrics project.

Belle had the penis locked up 99.4% of the month. The four and a half hours it was unlocked were the cumulative time she wanted to use it during sex. The whole rest of the time, it was secured. Even though I flew in April, the Schandmaske made it possible to remain locked through airport security. For the year, the penis has been made inaccessible by one device or another for 98.9% of the time.

The Halfshell was the predominant device used in April, though I started and ended the month in the Steelheart. On the year, the use of each is split pretty evenly: 1,280.5 hours in the Halfshell and 1,258 in the Steelheart. By the end of today, they’ll be tied. Basically, if Belle expresses a preference, it’s always the Steelheart and if I’m left to wear what I want, it’s usually the Halfshell, though I notice that so far this year I have not worn either the Jail Bird or the Looker 02.

On the orgasm front, Belle was in fine form after three below-average months. She came 12 times in April, twice as often as she did in each of the first three months of the year. I have an informal goal of getting her off about 10 times over 30 days, so this was a good effort. Three of those were when she was by herself travelling, one was when I used a vibrator on her, seven were from my fingers, and she had her first orally induced orgasm of the year. She also had her first multiple orgasm day of the year.

I had zero orgasms in April. The last time I came was February 18, seventy-two days ago. She allowed me to fuck her four times, though, and I leaked into her each time.

This is another month with Belle being away for part of it due to travel, though that didn’t slow her down last month. It’ll be a busy month beyond that, though, with family visiting and the high school graduation of our oldest kid and various home improvement projects going on. In June, we’re going to college orientation for the previously aforementioned kid and embarking on a grand adventure in which the whole family will be living in Hong Kong for 6-8 weeks. That’ll be interesting, for sure. In any event, life is picking up its pace as it does every summer and it’ll be interesting to see how that impacts what I track here.

You know when you feel it

After a few recent Metrics posts I’ve received the question of what I mean by ejacualting in Belle but not orgasming. As in, if you’re shooting your load aren’t you having an orgasm? I’m going to write this up so I can link to it from now on in order to answer similar questions before they’re asked. 

Supreme Courth Justice Potter Stewart (who, I suspect, is rarely name-dropped in sex blogs but who knows) said in his opinion in the Jacobellis vs. Ohio obscentiy case that while pornograhy was difficult to define, you knew it when you saw it. As I’ve developed as a man denied anything like a regular or normal orgasm frequency, I find orgasm is much the same. There’s a lot that skirts the edges of orgasm and many things that might be mistaken for orgasm from a distance, but when the real deal comes along (pun intended), you fucking know it. 

To be clear, when I come it’s often really intense. Nothing like coming was back when I was doing it several times a week. So intense that it’s usually not even enjoyable while happening and can even be painful. I’ve felt pain in the moment of orgasm above my balls and behind the penis from, I presume, the intensity of the ejacualation through infrequently excercised muscles but also, on occasion, in the back of my head from the wave of powerful hormones that accompany orgasm. And it’s the near total lack of those hormones following simple ejaculation that indicate most powerfully that an orgasm has not taken place. 

The term “ruined orgasm” is often used to describe what happens to me, but those are most often associated with mean old Dommes stroking a restrained guy for an hour and then taking him right up to the moment of orgasm and then stopping all stimulation while his hard cock strains and thrusts and waves around in the air and squirts ejacualte anyway. That’s what happens with me, but it’s inside her and I’m the one who’s stopping the stimulation because I don’t have permission to come. I wrote recently that the line I cross from “about to come” to “OMG I’M COMING” used to feel about a half inch wide. I’d be over it and losing my shit before I even knew it was about to happen. But now it’s so obvious to me and can be felt from so far away that it may as well be a yard wide. The benefits of not coming and forcusing so much energy and attention on trying not to will, over time, give one a detailed understanding of the mechanics and process it entails. If I’m on top and controlling the pace and rhythm of the thrusting, I honestly have no excuses when it comes to “accidentally” having an orgasm. I know when to stop, I know when I have to remain absolutely still, and I know when it’s safe for me to slide it out again. 

Over the years, I’ve also realized that orgasm is not entirely physical. Some of it is mental and my body has been trained in several ways to react in as though it has come, though with less intensity than if I had. For instance, Belle’s orgasm makes my whole body tense and my breathing increase as though her orgasmic energy is feeding back into me through my fingers as her pussy clenches around them. I can even feel a subtle sleepiness after. And when the penis ejacualtes now, it will almost always immediately begin to lose its erection no matter how much I want to keep fucking her. As though it knows the reason for the penetration is complete and the erection is no longer necessary. That has led to some very frustrating moments. I can recall in the past when leaking into her like that would only slow me down for a moment and then I’d keep fucking right through the mess. But not anymore. 

Speaking of which, “leaking” is what it feels like. I might say “shoot” because I like the sound of it, but the difference in velocity of the ejaculation in a real orgasm and the shadow of one that happens when I simply leak without orgasm is significant. When I come, it feels like the semen is being ripped out of me fast enough to burn the stiff shaft from the inside out. When I ejacualte, it’s slower and more relaxed. The boundaries between surges are less defined. Sometimes it can even feel like the semen is running out of me in one long stream. 

The important thing to remember is Belle likes to be fucked and she likes to feel me shoot inside her. Also, I think she feels letting me ejaculate is actually good for me (prostate, etc.). So I know one of the reasons she’s letting me inside her is so that I’ll fill her up with seed. When I fuck her now it’s with the knowledge that even if she doesn’t tell me to come she still wants to feel as though I did. 

So, that’s what I mean when I say I ejaculating and how I know it’s different than having an orgasm.