I love waking up. Not those alarm shrieking, got to get to work mornings, but those lazy mornings when I slowly rouse and my cock is hard in my cage.…Morning Glory
Reblogging this post by Doc because I can relate. And I wish I wrote it. Spot on.
I love waking up. Not those alarm shrieking, got to get to work mornings, but those lazy mornings when I slowly rouse and my cock is hard in my cage.…Morning Glory
Reblogging this post by Doc because I can relate. And I wish I wrote it. Spot on.
It seems to me there are two kinds of men in chastity.
I think way back at the dawn of time when Belle locked our first CB6K on me, I was definitely the first type. And a lot of guys are always going to be that type. For them (and their keyholders), chastity is a means to an end. They use it tactically to enhance their sex lives and make the inevitable release, fucking, and orgasm as mind-blowing as possible. For sure, all the second types start out as the first type. As I did. But then we find ourselves in a new place. Where being locked up is no longer a means to an end. It is the end. You do it for it.
And to the first type, the second type will either seem totally crazy, which means they’ll always be the first type, or totally terrifying. As I did. And that fear, I think, is the best indication that they’re not going to become the second type. They already are the second type.
There are lots of examples I can think of in my own sexuality where I was confronted with something I had no conception of that scared the hell out of me only later to realize it was me. If you’re not into something, it either squicks you out or you think it’s hilarious or crazy or whatever. But the fear is rooted in something else. It’s self-realization fighting with shame.
I can recall the first time I read accounts of cuckolding. Of being cuckolded. I recall how it made me tremble. Of how panicked it made me feel. Because I saw myself in it in a way I did not expect. And I had to deal with what that meant. Of how I had to reassess my understanding of myself.
I think with chastity and denial it was slower, but the same. In the early days, I was frustrated at Belle for locking me up but then not letting me have as much sex with her as I wanted. Perhaps in an attempt to get me to leave her alone, she’d let me go unlocked and allow me to edge myself for hours in bed next to her while she slept. I’d literally jack off for hours, frothing myself up, leaking like the Titanic and making our bedroom stink of ejaculate. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?
Letting go of preconceptions about oneself is hard. I spent the first 40 or so years of my life defining my sexuality around the contents of the Steelheart. I was always leaning into submissiveness since I always wanted to get my partner off first and was very invested in their pleasure, but I also very much expected and felt entitled to my pleasure. I had pride of penis. Of its role and primacy. I can even remember arguing with Frodo way back in high school about whose dick was bigger. And thinking mine was. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?
Losing my pride of penis was scary and hard because I had to come to grips with being the kind of submissive that was almost entirely focused on my partner’s pleasure to such an extent that mine was totally ignored. And that being denied like that was how I found my pleasure. A satisfaction and contentment far in excess of post-orgasmic stupor. I had to let go of being the archetype male who is the sexual aggressor and penetrator and whose sexual release is celebrated over all things and become instead…this other thing. The second type of man in chastity. The type who lets go of his penis, figuratively and literally. A type of man we have no archetype for.
And, of course, this is who I am. And it no longer scares me. It provides me comfort. I am living my true life.
It’s impossible to imagine finding myself here without Belle. She had to adapt to what I needed nearly as much as I needed to adapt to being kept as I am. She never signed up to be married to a kept sub bottom who didn’t want to (and now barely can) fuck. She likes being fucked. Riding my hard-on was her preferred way to come. But she’s allowed her body to relearn some things to accommodate me. We’re not sure she can come from penetration anymore. It’s all digits and tongues now for her.
I can’t ever really express how grateful I am to her. Her understanding and generosity.
But, getting back to this post’s premise, there are two types of locked men. It’s worth asking yourself which type you are. Are you appalled at the idea of letting go of your cock? Or are you afraid of it? Or do you aspire to it?
There’s nothing wrong with either type. You are who you are. Embrace it.
It should not be much of a surprise to anyone reading this that I find the idea of fucking Belle with the strap-on to be many times more of a turn-on than using the contents of the Steelheart. There are practical reasons for this but also deeply significant psychological ones. The dildo in the harness is always ready. Always hard. Never comes too quickly. Able to give Belle anything and everything she wants. As a man who’s nearly always kept in a chastity device and who hasn’t had a “normal” orgasm in who the hell knows how long and can’t actually fuck for more than 90 seconds, this is all practical good sense.
But also, the dildo is bigger than me. Obviously. And she prefers bigger than me (at least, girthier). And while I’m going through the motions of fucking her, the actual fucking part isn’t me. The part of me designed for fucking is just underneath the part getting to fuck, tight and pounding for release. Shoved roughly into the base of the dildo that’s buried deep inside her. The thing making her make those noises and squirm like she does. And that pushes a whole bunch of my buttons.
The thing I was thinking about and realized recently is that there really is no point in my sexual life where, if I could travel back to it and reveal this to myself, I wouldn’t totally get how it’d make me super turned on. I would not be like, what the fuck, dude? with myself at all. My sexuality is best defined as being willing to try almost anything once and, in fact, I used to say when I was far younger that I’d try anything once unless it hurt and, even if it did, I’d keep doing it until it stopped hurting before figuring out if I liked it. So while it’s been a dozen or so years since chastity and denial became part my life, I know for certain that I was 100% born be how I am now and certainly would have been this way had I been able to put the pieces together sooner and would have been 100% up for what I described above even when I was 17, 27, or 37.
This is, I suppose, what it must be like for someone who marries someone of the opposite gender and has a life only to realize much later they’re gay. That post-coming out life is the more authentic one and the life before was something like an act being performed. Not necessarily a lie as much as going through the normative motions expected because the alternative was either never realized or never thought to be possible. That’s how it is for me. I know what I am now — submissive, denied, a bottom — is what I always have been. And when I think back to all the time before when I was jacking off whenever I wanted and selfishly retreating into my own masturbatory fantasies and just not being who I am sexually…it’s not with regret. I don’t begrudge that time. Everything happens in its own pace, I suppose. But I do wish it all could have started sooner. Because right now is pretty great. And I only regret not getting here sooner.
Earlier today I was texting with Frodo. Without getting into too much detail, he described the D/s dynamic as “role play.” And while I didn’t challenge him on that, it immediately reminded me how Dan Savage describes kinky sex in general as “cops and robbers with your clothes off.” And that’s always left me a little put off. I’m sure it’s not this way for everyone, especially the switchy among us, but I’m not playing at anything when I think about my submission. I know I’ve always been a sub and will always be a sub and, for me, it is so real and genuine and necessary. I do not, in a scene, act submissive. I allow myself to be myself. I remember when Belle slowly came to the realization that she liked having me locked up, wanted me that way, expected me to be that way. When she came into her own as my keyholder and I stopped thinking she was doing any of it to humor me. It all became so much better.
Of course, Frodo didn’t mean anything by what he said. He was just using the words he has and I get that. And, to be honest, I don’t really know where this is going. Sometimes, you start writing a post with an idea where it’s going to end up and sometimes the post has a mind of its own like now. I guess, in closing, the best way to summarize the moral of this post is be true to yourself. Don’t put on an act for anyone else’s sake. Be your authentic self as soon as possible. Everything is so much better on the other side.
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.
“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.
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.
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,
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.