In celebration of being back in the Steelheart, the following HNThumper entry…
Hapa’s comment
Hapa left the following comment on my 2016 metrics post:
Love how you’re always pushing boundaries and publishing results. For real. As I read this blog entry I started wondering about the big picture. My guess for arguments sake, is you and Belle are in your late forties. A lot of couples naturally start seeing a slow decay in sexual frequency as they age,.
Do you think about trading the natural ability of your most active sexual years for lifestyle?
Clearly you and Belle have a great thing going and and your blog is both inspirational and entertaining but thought that chastity could potentially fit a time when yours or your partners appetite for physical sex is lower (especially when you’re at 16 orgasms/ year) than trading your more vital years.
Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards and the hotness of the trade off is everthing regardless.
In a comical parallel, I used to buzz my hair for many reasons, mostly that I liked it, then, one day I realized I’d be better off enjoying my natural ability to grow and style my hair leaving the buzzing for a time when styling isn’t possible. Chances are I’ll go back to buzzing sooner than that but it made sense enough to stop buzzing my hair for now.😉
Thank you for continuing to write so authentically about your life and sexuality.
Happy New Year,
Hapa
I started to respond but it got all long-winded so I’ve promoted to a whole post. I do not want this to be read as some kind of personal take-down of what Hapa asked or said. Quite the opposite. I want him to understand my perspective. There was a time when I would have asked and said the very same things he did.
Your guess is right that Belle and I are in our late forties. We were in our early forties when we started all this. And while I do agree in general that denial and chastity is one way to combat a slackening libedo, that’s not exactly what happened for us.
Prior to the denial dynamic overlay to our relationship, we had endured years of essentially sexless marriage. Then I cheated and then we came back together and started having sex again. For a while, we had quite a lot of pretty standard sex. Then I discovered what chastity was and we were off to the races. So, for us, it wasn’t a way to enhance a declining sex drive. It was a way to enhance our relationship. Also, for what it’s worth, Belle’s sex drive has increased pretty dramatically in the past year or so.
For a while (like, more than a year), I bought into that “trading my more vital years” thing because I was not yet getting my head around the fact that the point of being locked up is not for me to have sex or for me to have more sex or for me to have better sex or for me to have hotter fantasies or for me at all. It’s not about me. I was terrifically turned on all the time and the chastity was hot as fuck and I’d lay there all mad at Belle for not wanting to take advantage of me in my turned on state and let me make her come, etc. etc. I was being selfish and not accepting that she held the key and owned what it secured. I wanted the female to lead my relationship but only if she led it where I wanted it to go. I was one of those poor bastards who wants to be locked up and talks his wife into it and then becomes a pain in the ass horned-up idiot. Chasity and denial are acts of submission and submission means sacrifice at some level.
It’s from sacrifice that submissives draw their energy. It’s the very definition of being submissive. Giving up control of some kind. Giving it to them, for them. And then living with the consequences. And knowing that living like that is how we as submissives were meant to be.
In a lot of ways, when I talk about my mantra — This is who I am, not what I do — it’s an attempt to draw strength from the reality of the previous paragraph. Giving things up is what makes me as a submissive happy. Seeing her enjoy what I can do for her, as well.
That’s a heavy way of saying I don’t see the exchange of being able to come when and as often as I want for her control over those things and as a trade-off. It’s the entire point. I don’t know how it would be different if I was 30 or 20 or 70, but I do know I wish we had started this as soon as we met. I don’t care if I’m having 1% or 10% or 90% of the orgasms someone my age would normally be having. I care that she owns any I have from this point forward and that she takes that seriously. I’m a fucking sub. I want to be dominated. It makes me happy to be controlled. Being controlled makes me happier than having orgasms. My responsibility isn’t to think about what might be, it’s to focus on making her happy and all the ways I can repay her attention to the responsibility she’s accepted.
You do get there in your comment (“Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards…”), but your hair analogy is off. Even if I couldn’t come as often as I could when I was 20 (i.e., grow as much hair as you can now and not when you can’t), I’d still want her to control it. It makes no difference if I have the natural urge to come three times a day or three times a month. In fact, if I’m unable or have no urge to do something, what value is there in giving it to someone else? It’s potency is its value. Because I have the urge to come (however often) but do not in deference to her control is why this works. That’s where the energy comes from.
I don’t think your POV is uncommon. I do think it’s wrong. Orgasm denial, in a weird way, isn’t about orgasms. It’s about denial. Denial is the thing. Sacrifice. Handing over control. Submission. Yeah, baby. That’s the stuff.
/end sermon
The campfire rule
Good news is, the Steelheart didn’t wake me up as I expected last night. Bad news is, that’s because I barely slept. Yes, the Steelheart did wake me up from time to time between fitful periods of sleep, but it wasn’t due to discomfort as much as it was obvious to me I was wearing it again.
As I’ve said, that first orgasm after a long period of denial is pretty crappy (like the one from Saturday). The impact of coming following such a period of inactivity lands with a thudding implosion, not the sky full of fireworks you might expect. It’s the second one that lights up the night like the 4th of July. But I didn’t get a second one, did I? No I did not.
I’ve said before that long term denial isn’t like climbing an endless roller coaster incline into the sky, ever more horny and turned on until release. There’s a period in the first week or three when starting from zero where one can find themselves feeling that way, but once you get past that it’s more of a slow burn. I find it’s not so much that I’m ever more horny, just that I can get really turned on in the blink of an eye. Also that when I do get turned on, I get really turned on. But then it subsides into the background radiation of everyday horniness again.
It used to be, one shot and I’d lose all the effects of being denied. But that was then when I assume my body was still adjusting from pretty much always getting orgasmic release when it wanted it. As time went on and the periods of denial lengthened, things changed. Now that first time is not the reset it once was. But it does play a role.
Now it’s basically a set-up for the next time I come. Like dumping kerosene on a campfire, the intensity of my denial flares up and rages. If I come again in the days that follow, then it’s a near-total reset. The campfire burns itself out. But if I don’t come again, I’m a basket case of unrequited desire.
And that’s why I didn’t sleep last night. Being back in the Steelheart gave me just enough of a boost to make it so I couldn’t stop being turned on. Every movement in bed reminded me I was back in the heavier device. A persistent radioactive need nestled inside the hard steel and burned in my imagination. But I eventually did sleep. I don’t know how much, but it was after midnight before I got there and I kept waking up. I never got to the point where I was so asleep that the raging nocturnal erection happened because every time it started to plump up a bit the feeling woke me up again.
But yeah, I did sleep. I repeated my mantra and allowed myself to feel as I felt. I didn’t let it panic me. I let it happen and relaxed into it. I didn’t get good sleep, but I got some and the difference between a little crappy sleep and none at all is huge.
I suspect tonight will be more normal. Eventually, the kerosene will burn up and leave my denial campfire as it normally is. I can’t stay like this forever.
Belle’s favorite
For the past several days I’ve found myself thinking more and more about the Steelheart. I had intended to wear the Halfshell for 1,000 hours minimum before even considering asking Belle to change it with another (so I could write a follow-up to its review), but had also somehow figured that wouldn’t happen until sometime in January. Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered I’ve actually already worn it for over 1,300 hours. Once that figure was in my brain, I jonesed for the Steelheart like Augustus Gloop sucking on Wonka’s chocolate river.
But, I’m not logical. In fact, the need to be in the Steelheart again is more emotional than sensible. For example, there’s a part of me that thinks the Halfshell is almost too easy to wear. It never gives me any reason to complain. Never pinches. Barely wakes me up. I don’t even need to lube the silly thing to wear it comfortably. Some guys will read that and line up for one, I get that. But I think there needs to be a certain level of physical discomfort with enforced chastity. Not the kind of torture that comes with a squared-off plastic A-ring or a tube filled with anti-erection spikes. But just enough to make you know you’re being kept. Truthfully, the Steelheart is probably a little too over that line (especially at 3:00 AM), but the Halfshell is clearly well before it.
There’s also the aesthetics. The Halfshell is ingenious, truly, but I find the clean, simple lines of the Steelheart to be far more attractive. I also very much appreciate how the Steelheart totally hides its contents. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how the Halfshell might be modified to make it enclose more of the penis and may communicate with Rigid about coming up with a cleaner, custom-designed device, but until then the Steelheart cannot be beat from an appearance standpoint, at least for me (and Belle, but I’m getting to her).
The next motivation is totally mental and distinctly personal. In a real and tangible way, I think of the Steelheart as being a part of me as much as and maybe a bit more than what it protects. I see the Steelheart and I see me (and not just in the reflection). I see the real me. Contained and controlled. Honestly, in those odd times the penis is free and I can look down and see it, it always kind of shocks me to find it like that. I never feel that way about seeing or feeling the Steelheart. The Halfshell never looked to me like something other than not the Steelheart, regardless of how much I admire it. I have an emotional connection to that hunk of steel unlike any other inatimate object save my wedding ring.
Last but certainly not least, the Steelheart is Belle’s favorite. By far. She allowed me to wear the Halfshell and never complained (maybe because it’s the one that looks most like the Steelheart of all I wear), but it wasn’t her preference. Only the Steelheart is. She’d rather see it than the penis. She feels it’s the real me as much as I do. And since she doesn’t have to wear it, the comfort issues aren’t as big a deal to her (within reason, of course — she doesn’t want me to suffer). I want her to have what she wants and I always knew while in the Halfshell that she would have rather had me in the Steelheart. That’s incredibly motivating to me.
So I’m back in it now (requisite photographic proof following the jump). Getting it on, I was reminded that the A-ring’s diameter is a millimeter or two smaller than my right testicle’s and that might not sound like a big deal, but believe me, it is. Since getting them through, I’ve had an on again, off again mild kicked-in-the-balls throb I assume is from the contents getting used to their previous, less forgiving home. I’ve also realized the Steelheart makes a noticeable clickity-clack as I walk around in sweats and no underwear. The Halfshell is totally silent in that circumstance. But whatever. I’m not looking for the least hassle and most comfort, as I said. And once the lock was turned and I was back in, I’ve felt a palpable energy emanating from my crotch. A sense of well-being seperate from the issues of comfort. It doesn’t fit as well, it makes a little more noise and is somewhat more noticeable, and will occasionally pinch…but it’s home.
And did I mention it was Belle’s favorite? Yes it is.
2016 metrics
Just about a year ago, I said…
I’m keeping track of when I’m locked up and in what purely for the statistical data. I’ve often said things about how often I think I’m wearing a device or how many times I come in a year, but I don’t really know. I lose track. So I’m using a little time tracking app on my phone to quantify these things. I hope to create a log that covers the whole year.
And I did. December and 2016 have both come to an end and so I have a year’s worth of metrics to look over.
Turns out, it was difficult for me to keep accurate track of the orgasms I had. I think the number is around sixteen. Of those, twelve happened in the first half of the year and the other four happened in the second half. Most of those (all but a handful) were orgasms Belle let me have. The remainer were either accidents while inside her or blatent theft on my part. She was quite generous as 2016 started (far more generous than she had been in 2015, as I recall), but following my camping incident at the end of August, she put the hammer down. I came once more by accident inside her and then not at all until yesterday. I have no idea, of course, what 2017 will bring regarding how often I come, but if the recent past is any indication, it will be a fraction of 2016. I shall endeavor to keep better track this year and am thinking of also tracking hers. Because, you know. You can never have enough metrics. (And for those looking for an early read, she already leads 1-0 on that score.)
I’ve been asked several times what app I use to track which device Belle locks me in and for how long. There are a lot of time tracking apps on the App Store, presumably for those who bill by the hour. The one I use is called ATracker. I set up each device as a seperate task and turn them on or off as she lets me out or puts me back in. I had to pay to be able to unlock unlimited tasks, but it wasn’t much.
December was perhaps the strictest month of the year regarding time locked up, even with some air travel at the start of it. I was in the Halfshell 99% of the time. That equates to eight and a half hours of free penis time out of 744 total hours in the month. I was careful to take the device off just as I was leaving for the airport and packed it in my carry-on (in pieces spread out all over) and put it back on right after security. The majority of the remaining time was when the Halfshell was soaking in vinegar to get really clean. Whatever’s left was when Belle wanted to be fucked.
As I said already, I came once in December on the last day. I’m told the next time that happens will be a long time from now.
For the year, Belle had me locked up for a total of 6,799.5 hours. That’s the equivalent of 283.3 days or 77% of the time. The Steelheart, always Belle’s first choice, was on me for 54% of that time. Had the Halfshell not come along, it would have been more like 70%.
The Halfshell has been my near constant companion since it showed up and has been on me almost 1,300 hours, or about fifty-four days, accounting for 15% of the time I was locked up on the year. The Jail Bird came in a distant third ahead of the Looker 02 and the Holy Trainer, but they were pretty much all the same.
Breaking the year into thirds, it’s clear things got more serious as the months went by. I was free 30% of the time through April and 35% of the time through August. There were a few months where I was unlocked far more than I as locked. To be honest, by mid year I was feeling like the wheels were kind of coming off our chastity and denial dynamic. I was out too much and coming too frequently and it all culminated with me jacking off by myself more than once. Luckily, though, I was able to get my head on straight again by the end of summer, not coincidentally when Belle doubled-down on her control over me and started to lengthen my denial.
I’m going to keep tracking in 2017 mostly because I’ve become so used to doing it and to stop would seem weird. The data-loving nerd in me wishes I had this information going all the way back to the first day of being locked, but I don’t. Best I can do is keep it going. However, as always, this is simply me reporting what Belle decides to do and is not meant to be something that influences her choices. If anything, it can inform her decisions since she often loses track of some details (such as forgetting it had been three months since I last came), but I don’t lobby or cajole or do anything else other than what she wants.
And with that, I hope everyone who read to the bottom of this boring post has a happy and prosperous 2017!
Changing the playlist
Belle mixed it up the past few days. While getting her off, she told me to start fucking her. She hadn’t come yet, but I did as I was told and tried to focus on the fact that she needed and wanted to feel a real cock inside her before she came. Perhaps even to make her come, but that was unlikely. I lasted longer than usual lately but it still wasn’t more than five minutes, tops.
When the orgasm came rushing up out of the deep, I froze and shot my load without any climax. One thick load and another less so. But the penis did what it does now and started to droop. I went back to stroking her clit with my fingers, but she wanted something inside her. She reached into her nightstand and took out the lovely glass dildo I got her from Smitten Kitten. She used the ample lubrication of my seed to work it into her pussy and I sucked her tit and fingered her clit until she came hard and loud. I felt her pussy spasm and clamp against the glass toy over and over. We had the house to ourselves so she could make all the noise she likes to and, had it been summer, the neighbors would undoubtedly been woken up if they were not already.
After, she was suprised at how much of the pretty dildo went inside her. It’s about 9.75″ long and only an inch and a half or so went unused. Of course, I went back into the Halfshell immediately (before even getting out of bed). I could tell she was happy with the outcome of the morning’s activities since she mentioned it several times over the course of the day. Not just that she really enjoyed herself, but also revelled in the mess of my ejeculation mixed with her juices.
This morning, she let the penis out again and, again, changed the playlist in the middle of our set. She climbed up on me and started to ride the hard penis with easy abandon. I did my usual bit of trying to stay as still as possible and thought hard about baseball. Like how the Dodgers are reportedly about to trade a hot young pitching prospect to the Twins in exchange for an established second baseman stud who they need for the position and hits right-handed pitching well which is also a weak spot and while I’ll miss the guy on the Dodgers at least I can go see him at Target Field, rinse, repeat ad infinitum.
But baseball can only get a guy so far and I’m no good at doing figures in my head and don’t know the Periodic Table by heart so the next thing I know she’s pushed me to the point of coming. I let her know through a mouth-full of nipple by making the “OK, I’m about to come” noise and putting my hand on her ass to suggest she slow down, but she didn’t. Not at all. If anything, she sped up. I resisted as much as I could and tried to clamp down on it but the lizard brain made a good point. She was obviously trying to make me come, so why not go along with it? Resisting an orgasm after such a long stretch would end up being physically painful anyway. So I started to fuck her back and got two and a half thrusts in before I shot and shot and shot. So much fucking come. We did not have the house to ourselves and I might have tried to keep it quiet if any part of my brain that tracks of such things was working, but it wasn’t.
Instead, it felt like a brick wrapped in red velvet slammed into the back of my head. Belle wouldn’t stop fucking me and the head of the penis was about to explode right off the end of the shaft with hyper-sensitivity and I was still shooting weakly so I felt another velvety brick impact my cranium. That and my stomach flipped over. This orgasm, about three months in the making, was making me feel physically ill.
I had to get Belle off of me because I felt so strange but the worst of the issues passed in a few moments. Then I was stupefied by the rare post-orgasmic hormones flooding my system. I could barely move. The penis shriveled up into almost nothing and Belle told me how much she enjoyed literally pulling that orgasm out of me.
I was such a wreck Belle told me I didn’t have to help her get off. I was in and out of consiousness as she get off with her little vibrator but woke up to hear her come because that’s my favorite part.
The Halfshell is back on, of course, and Belle’s told me it will be another long while until I come again. The craving for me to do so right now is pretty intense. It’s always the second one after a long period that both feels really good and blows away all the lingering denial byproducts. But that’s not in the offing. Not even on the horizon, apparently.
The Trinity
Belle asked me this weekend how I was doing. We were in bed up at the cabin and being lazy because it’s the holidays and at first I made some non-commital grunting-type sounds but she pressed.
“I really want to jack off.”
The rules are such that usually any admission of that kind of desire would be kept to myself since it could be construed as me trying to get her to allow me to do something she might otherwise not be considering, but she asked and it was true so I said it.
After a bit more conversation (her reply to me saying what I said was something like, “Do you,” and then we moved on), she said that she was thinking she needed me to come pretty soon so I’d be able to fuck her for more than 20 seconds.
“I’m afraid of coming,” I said.
“But you just said you wanted to jack off!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t say I wanted to come at the end.”
“You’re confusing.”
Fair.
For the longest time, I’ve blogged about how denial and chastity is a struggle between the higher brain and the lizard brain. Sometimes I’ve said it’s the higher brain versus the penis. But I’ve changed my thinking on that. It’s all of the above. I think to truly understand how the dynamic of denial works we need to steal a concept from Christianity. Namely, the Trinity.
In Christianity, we’re expected to believe that God is a consubstantial being encompassing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Three that are one. I think of a man’s sexuality to be similarly structured. (And yeah, I get the sacrilegious nature of comparing my sex to the Holy Trinity, especially on Christmas, but that’s just a freak bonus of timing.)
A man’s sexuality apears to be a single element. It acts as one and, because no part of the trinity is usually denied what it wants, it appears to be one. The need to fuck or come drives actions until relief is achived. But I now perceive three things working together. The higher mind, the lizard brain, and the desire for pleasurable sensation from the penis. One of the three of these drag the other two around, depending on the situation, or they conspire in some combination. Getting the hang of chastity and denial, especially when doing it with a partner, is finding the seams between those three elements and knowing they’re not always connected and coordinated, nor do they need to be.
- My higher mind gives me the basic wiring of what gets me off (i.e., makes me bisexual, a masochist, heteromantic). It drives the potent stimulant that is my imagination. But it’s also the fundamental element of control. Of reason. Of knowing the difference between what I crave and what I really want.
- The lizard brain is all impulse and instinct. It’s what constantly whispers to my higher brain while fucking to stop resisting so much. It’s what makes the tube fill when I see just the right image on Tumblr. It’s the part of me that makes me petulant and short-tempered from denial.
- The third part is the penis itself. It’s all sensation. Zillions of nerve endings and the feeling of achingly hard erections. All it does is demand and crave attention.
When I said to Belle I wanted to jack off, what I really meant is I wanted to feel the penis hard and in my hand. I wanted to feel my fingers gripped under the head and slide back and forth. Of course, that would lead to the lizard trying to make my higher brain push it too far, but really neither of them were the motivating factor in my saying it to her. It wanted out and wanted to be stroked. Hence my also being afraid of orgasm. Of how the balance between all three of those parts of me get knocked after I come. The higher brain saw the danger jacking off poses to its equilibrium. But when she told me she was also thinking of letting me come, the lizard pipped up to say how wonderful it would feel to come while jacking off. To edge myself a few times and then really let go. The lizard told me to ask for that for Christmas and the higher brain immedialty tisked and shook its head.
I dunno if any of this is real. I know it feels real in me and keeping all this in mind helps me deal with the various emotions that come from denial. I think this model has helped me make a lot of progress lately in understanding myself. Maybe it’s hormonal dementia. Maybe it’s the typical kinky person overthinking. Whatever, I totally think that if she let me come twice in two days the whole thing would go back under the sea and disappear.
Not that that’s going to happen, of course.
22 seconds of glory
Among the other things that have changed around here since Belle has started to keep me locked up >95% of the time (99% so far this month) is the length of time I can fuck before I shoot my load.
Note, I’m not talking about orgasm. I’m talking about driving right up to it like Thelma and Louise going over the cliff yet jumping from the car James Kirk-style before reaching the point of no return. That was yesterday except it took me about 22 seconds (literally) from the time she guided the penis into her warm and inviting pussy until I was holding it stock-still and filling her up with my load.
Granted, I was worked up beforehand. I woke up two hours before she did and spent that time looking at porn and stopping the paper and the mail while we’re out of town for the holidays and looking at more porn. Plus a little Facebook and then more porn. Did I mention the porn? Anyway, by the time she gave me the key and I took the Halfshell off, the end was full of slippery leakage.
I kept my shit together enough not to bug her prior to getting her off with what she reported was a pretty sweet orgasm. The penis was merely chubby for most for the time I was working on her, but as she wound up for the climax it got about as hard as it can and, as she went over the falls, I pushed into her side and nearly felt like I came (or was about to) myself.
Patience at this point can be difficult. I know I’m going in otherwise I wouldn’t be unlocked so it’s a battle of internal wills (higher brain vs. lower) in the time following her climax and the moment she lets me mount her that’s probably not half as long as it seems.
In the past eleven weeks or so, I’ve been out for sex nine times. The average time out is about 40 minutes. In the past, I’d be out way longer than that. Maybe all weekend, but not anymore. Long way of saying, the penis is hypersensitive. In its protective metal shell it doesn’t feel anything. Of course, no playing with it in the shower or anything like that. Zero stimulation, not even the inside of my pants. Nothing. So, when the time comes, every millimeter of its shaft reports back what it feels like sliding into her. Sliding into the only place its allowed purely enjoyable sensation.
In those 22 seconds, I went from the breathless initial entrance to feeling pretty good about my stamina. Yeah, I thought, this isn’t so bad. I could keep this up for a while. Really give her her money’s wor-
ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck
STOP.
Squirt. Squirt, squirt.
Sigh.
And then the erection goes away. It just won’t stay up anymore after ejaculation. As if it’s forgotten what it’s there to do. I try to keep fucking her, but it’s no good. It just slides out, sticky and slick, and I curl into her. I no longer feel any intense frustration at that point like I would in the past. No slow burn of denial. Just a contentment with my status. Perhaps a bit of guilt I couldn’t give her more of what she wanted to feel. But it seems my itchy trigger is feature, not a bug.
I wait all week, sometimes two, for one chance to be inside her. All those hours for my 22 seconds of glory.
HNThumper LXXVII: Clean enough
Soapy bubbles after the jump…
Cops n’ robbers
On episode 527 of the Savage Lovecast, Dan related a story in the context of a caller asking if a 24/7 master-slave relationship was possible about how he was once taken to task for describing BDSM as “cops and robbers for adults with your pants off.” He was at a conference and someone came up to him and said it was much more than that and, oh by the way, not being able to literally own another human being was a form of sexual repression. Or something like that.
Not that I would know anything about 24/7 master-slave things (though I do know something of the end of slavery in this country), but the more I’ve experienced and lived the less comfortable I’ve become with the “cops and robbers” analogy. It seems too flippant to me now.
Sure, for some, BDSM is something that’s simply scene-based. They buy their 50 Shades “My First Bondage Set” they found on the endcap at Target, feel very naughty indeed, and then get along with their lives. Maybe they never do it again because they feel incredibly stupid and self-conscious or maybe it spirals into a full-fledged Thing for them, but for most, it’s just a playful aside. In these cases, I totally buy Dan’s analogy. But it can be (and is) so much more for some.
My theme around here lately is “it’s what I am, not what I do” and the cops and robbers thing is all about the opposite. Belle and I don’t live in a scene. When I’m really submitting, I’m not pretending or acting. Bottoming, being hurt by a sadist, really giving of myself and being denied create a deep emotional resonance inside me. Drew and I were talking about this when he visited recently. Knowing what I know about myself now and if I were in a position where I wasn’t married to Belle, finding someone who was capable of accepting my need for domination would be a high priority. Perhaps higher than any other single attribute. That’s not playing.
I suspect Dan knows these things. That an inclination to some aspect of BDSM, like all things, exists on a spectrum. But for those of us on one of the far ends of that spectrum, his description is severely lacking.