Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Piece of ass

Then I found myself completely alone for hours. Kid one is at prom(!), kid two is at a movie with a friend, Belle’s in China. And here I am, by myself without even man’s best friend to keep me company. No, not the dog. He’s here. I was talking about the penis.

So I thought it might be time for some good old-fashioned ass-pounding prostate milking. Alas, no real men have raised their hands for the job so I’m left to my own devices. The devices in question being the growing assortment of dildos and plugs at my disposal. (Not Belle’s, of course. Those are for her.)

I’ll spare you the details and say only that it was a good night. I was able to go to town on a dildo I’ve had for many years and had acquired as the result of my eyes being bigger than my anus. The beast is 10″ long and has a circumference of 7 1/4″. And I rode that fucker long and hard. All because I had time and was patient, used plenty of lube, and worked my way up with smaller dongs first. Note, some of those ten inches were wasted as there’s just not that much room inside me, but I bet I got more than seven inches of it.

The milking was successful. I produced prodigious quantity of clear, sticky precum which dripped and hung off the Jail Bird in long ropes that swung around with the rhythm of the action that was forcing them out. I also made a smaller quantity of milky ejaculate (without the ejaculation, of course).

The main reason I mention this is because near the end of the evening’s activities when I was astride that giant dong in a position not unlike a reverse cowgirl and the satisfaction of the sensation was humming through my entire body and my prostate was zinging with electricity, I had this feeling that everything would be so much better if I could stroke myself as I was fucked. And, way in the back of my brain from a dark little corner, I heard a tiny voice.

You can back out of the Jail Bird.

And I was like, You know, I could.

And this is what happens to a guy. When you juice him up real good and either tease him to pudding or fuck him until he’s a quivering jellyfish, he is no longer thinking with his brain. Like you need me to tell you that. I defy any guy who hasn’t come in three months to basically have sex with himself for ninety minutes and not almost lose his shit like I did.

Almost.

After I had had my fill of King Dong, my calmer head prevailed. I knew what I had to do — bring out the big gun. I retrieved the Steelheart. But even that caused conflict because part of me said I should make sure I get nice and clean in my post-workout shower by taking the Jail Bird off and not putting the Steelheart on until I was done. Because, you know, nothing untoward has ever happened in a soapy hot shower. And I really should be as cleans as possible. Belle would want that, right?

I ended up putting the Steelheart on before the shower. After, I went looking for a solution to the free key issue. I needed to get that thing out of my reach. The key safe will only fit one key at a time so I resorted to using a little envelope and taping it closed with the date from today’s paper firmly affixed. Then I stuck it under Belle’s statue.

I’m not saying I would have pulled out at some point or used the key to take the device off and leave it that way long enough to get in trouble. In fact, I was good and didn’t do what I’m expressly forbidden from doing and was able to control myself. But placing the key out of reach gives me piece of mind to go along with the piece of ass I had earlier. And I need that right now.

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Keys to the kingdom

Eternal IdolBelle’s gone on her trip. Due to the ballpark metal detector/plastic device issue and the timing of her departure, I ended up having all the keys to everything at my disposal.

So, just to reiterate, I am to stay locked up because I can’t be trusted with the penis and she likes knowing what I’m not doing with it when she’s not with me but I also have all the keys and am allowed to wear whatever device I want. But she has made clear that she expects me to be locked up the entire time she’s gone. Truly, this is just a different flavor of obedience chastity except I get to wake up early in the morning with a crushed erection and have to demonstrate sufficient willpower not to cheat along the way.

Grrrr.

I swapped the Trainer for the Jail Bird last night before bed. I did it as quickly and efficiently as possible leaving the penis free for only a few seconds. Just long enough to get the Trainer ring off and the JB ring on and barely enough for any optimistic swelling in between. The one thing I really like about the JB is how it feels first thing in the AM when the meat is at full pressure. Unlike the Steelheart which is fairly intense due to the slightly too small A-ring or the Looker 02 which I often will sleep right through, the JB allows a delicious amount of uniform pressure all around the penis. Just enough to feel the erection really fight but not enough to be painful in any way. Just a foot over the “uncomfortable” line. The double thick oval A-ring helps a lot with this as does the fact that I think it’s just about perfectly sized for my anatomy. Another nice thing about the JB is how, when I took it off the other day to put the Trainer on, the penis had lines from the bars embossed along its length. That’s a pretty cool artifact if you’re into the locked up cock thing.

In any event, several years ago I bought Belle a small reproduction of Rodin’s Eternal Idol. It lives on the dresser in our bedroom. I use it as a kind of dead drop for device keys whenever I’m supposed to lock up after Belle’s gone to work. I slide them in between the form of the woman and the kneeling man kissing her stomach with his hands respectfully held behind his back for Belle to retrieve when she gets home. I’ve decided that I’ll do that for the next two weeks even if I decide at some point to switch into another device. That little statue is, to me, something like a shrine to our dynamic and placing the key there or removing it is a more significant act than just throwing it in my nightstand drawer or something. If I have to know where the key is and have easy access to it, this is the place it should be.

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Of porn and rogue vibrators

Two random things…

I’ve started a new Tumblr. One more brick in the global Thumpermedia empire. Of course, there’s the original Portfolio. When I first started curating it, I said it was a place to “collect pictures I like, but also the occasional story or even video. It’s not going to be just any porn that turns my crank, but specifically the porn that, for whatever reason, speaks to me as a submissive bisexual male.” I tend to pick pictures of men being used for sex by other men, beautiful women being beautiful, hot guys being hot, guys going down on women because pussies are awesome, and men being subjected to a variety of torturous hotness from both genders. It may appear to be a bit of a hodgepodge at first glance, but if I can place myself somehow in the scenario depicted, I will usually reblog it. For me, that’s critical. I really like to associate with the image personally in some way (and it’s not always obvious what that way is from the outside, I’m sure). Also, I’ve made the editorial decision to never show men ejaculating on the Portfolio because duh.

The second Tumblr I made was the Pit Stop. Pure dude pit porn. Very little deep thought put into it except I really have a thing for dude’s armpits. Cumshots allowed, though not the main point of the site so infrequently found.

The new one is called At least she lets you watch. This is another case of where the value of the porn for me is accentuated by trying to place myself in it. Due to my submissive tendencies, I tend not to really get off much on the images of women being fucked or otherwise appearing to be “bottoming” for a guy. But, I found that once I viewed these images through the lens of my nascent cuckolding kink, they suddenly become about a hundred times hotter for me. But they don’t fit on the Portfolio because images of MF sex there tend towards those where the woman appears to be in charge or I find the sex to be more reverential or respectful. On ALSLYW, I can freely post images of woman being complete sluts and loving it because the implication is she’s doing it with someone who’s not her husband. Convoluted, perhaps, but that’s how it works for me. Also, of course, the more cumshots the better. Especially if it’s all over her face or tits. Oh, yeah.

In a way, I think consuming porn is like going through a bucket of differently shaped pegs and seeing if they fit into any of one’s differently shaped holes. Some slip right in, some can be forced, and other just won’t work. It’s interesting to me how a simple internal change of perspective can make a peg that otherwise won’t fit suddenly work even though the peg itself hasn’t changed a bit.

Second random thing is Belle’s departure this morning for her two-week Asia trip. Much sadness. However, when I got home from the gym, she came out of the bathroom and told me she had a job for me. She gave me Pink and told me to give her new batteries so she wouldn’t have to worry about the little vibrator not working while she’s gone.

Funny story about that. We took Pink on vacation with us (and used her, too) and, upon leaving for home, I packed her in my suitcase. The suitcase went into a Jeep and then onto a ferry and then stacked in the back of a cab before being handed back to me at the airport. When I picked it up, I felt what I though was some kind of machinery vibration coming up from the ground. Thought it was weird, but didn’t stop to consider it more than that. Then, once we were checking in and about to hand over the luggage to security, I felt the vibration again. And it hit me. Pink was happily buzzing inside my suitcase. Right in the middle of the check-in area, in front of the kiosks and airline agents and fellow travelers, I laid the suitcase on its side, popped it open, and rustled around inside until I found the vibrator. It was hot. Probably a good thing I turned it off. No idea how long it had been going (had to have been a while based on its temp) or if anyone around me noticed what I was doing (doubtful), but that’s why Belle wanted me to swap out her batteries. So I dutifully shuffled off and tended to my wife’s vibrator so she could get herself off without worry while I was left at home with a locked up penis.

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Desperate spooning

Belle leaves the country on Thursday for two weeks. I hate these trips, though to be fair, she hasn’t had to take one like this in a while.

As I said, and regardless of how good I’ve been recently, she’s not about to leave me alone with the penis. There’s a complication, though, in that I have tickets to the baseball game both tonight and on the day she leaves and they’ve recently installed metal detectors there. Not sure if they’re the walk-through kind or the wands (I’ve been wanded in the Steelheart before without detection). Therefore, I’m in the Trainer, but I really don’t want to be in it for the entire time she’s gone. I’d rather spend some time in the Jail Bird, actually (it’s been a while), or whatever device she says she wants me in. We’ll have to figure out something regarding keys and swapping devices and such.

In any event, she’ll be gone and I’m feeling pretty horny lately so last night I was lobbying hard for some pussy time even though she just came twice over the weekend and was generally tired and ready for bed. I didn’t push too hard. I wanted to leave her plenty of room to opt-out. Mental anguish over my subordinate lot in life would have been good, too. I was mentally prepared for that, but it didn’t happen. I presume she felt a little sorry for me and she eventually pulled back and said, “Make me happy.”

I went to work on her in the ways that usually induce happiness on her part. I was in the Jail Bird and felt the erection push hard against the bars while her pussy grew wetter and wetter. I didn’t want to rush as I was enjoying myself but I also wanted to be respectful of her desire to go to sleep soon. After a little of this where is seemed as though she wasn’t progressing as fast as she wanted, she asked, “Would you go down on me?”

And I’m like, FUCK. YES.

For the record, she never needs to ask if I’ll do this. Any day, any time, any place. Point to the pussy and push down on my head and I am so there. Eagerly.

It was hard work getting her home (her refractory period is more than just a few days after two orgasms in two days), but we got there. I lingered, kissing the inside of her thighs and resting my forehead on her mons and breathed deeply, letting her pheromones penetrate while she basked. It’ll be a while before I’m there again and I wanted my fill for as long as she’d let me.

I was a leaky mess after. And I did that thing where I spooned desperately into her and got thisclose to falling asleep before jolting awake. I guess that’s hormones. Happens more often than not after I get her off and I’m left locked. Eventually, I did sleep, but not until after some melatonin. Probably got about four hours.

On balance, four hours of sleep in exchange for pussy juice all over my face seems like a pretty fair deal.

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Symbolism

Several comments on my post about Belle’s decision to tattoo me as a way to commemorate my permanent denial.

Dave said…

If this is what you both really want, then you should consider chemical castration. This would make it easier for you and would prevent future accidents. If the chemicals work out, then consider the surgery this would really make it permanent.

Castration would be the exact opposite thing we should do. My desire for orgasm is what powers my role in our dynamic. Anything that would remove that desire would be my kryptonite. Also, Belle wants a mate who’s hot and bothered over her. She likes it when I fuck her and when I want to fuck her. Remember, chastity and denial IS NOT abstinence. It’s not the opposite of sex. It is a way to enhance a sexual relationship.

MsDana said…

You might wanna ask someone who knows Japanese if that sign has all the right connotations of ‘deny’. It might not mean what the literal translation says it means.

And Tim added…

One of my new patient’s came to me recently and he has a tattoo that went on in the 1970s when he was at college. It says “Keep on Truckin” He told me that he thought he knew then what he meant but he is certain that he is not really certain now what it means. He is not the first patient to confide in me with lament about a tattoo

I am persuaded that everyone should have the freedom to choose what they want to do with their bodies. As you look/consider images, I would suggest that you look to something that has an affirming meaning… Such as the kanji for Commitment and Locked, or Service and Purpose. Just some ideas.

And Michael concluded…

The commenters suggestion to fully explore the symbols meaning is a good one. You don’t want the wrong connotation. That being said, I don’t think Japanese is either of you or Belle’s first language so you are probably ok if the intended meaning is within the greater lexicon of it’s literal meaning.

First off, I consider the message of what I believe to be the meaning of that kanji (which, yes, I will do a bit more research on) to be affirming. In our context, “deny” also means “commitment,” “service,” and “purpose.” Her decision to do it and my accepting the mark (because, let’s be real, if I really didn’t want a tattoo I wouldn’t get one) are all wrapped up in super sexy, hot, and ultimately loving sentiment. She’s not permanently denying me as a punishment. Quite the opposite. I think we both consider it a further deepening of our commitment to one another and our relationship.

Regarding potential tattoo regret, you need to know how I feel about tattoos in general. To me, they are markers of significant moments or influences in your life. They should have meaning, even after the moment or influence has past. They can serve as a reminder of where you’re from or where you’ve been or even as an indication of where you want to go. In short, even if at some point in our lives we find ourselves not in this dynamic (unlikely but who knows), we will still have been there at one time. It will still stand for an important point on the map of my life. I won’t regret it. Hopefully, I’ll always cherish what it meant to us.

To me, this tattoo will be a permanent symbol of our mutual dedication, commitment, and love.

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Volly

Schnoff and I are going to continue our game of blogging badminton…

He wrote recently about the conflict of not living up to the expectations of that person with whom one has placed control over one’s orgasm (and I like writing using words like “one” because it does makes one feel as though they’re speaking dialog from an episode of Downton Abby). In my first post in response to his first, I said…

I still touch it and fiddle with it absentmindedly and give it a squeeze if it’s hard and I’m liking that, but I will not “play with it.” Which means I’ll not be able to find myself in that spot Schnoff did. 

And even as I wrote it I thought it sounded a bit too confident. I should have said if I remain true to Belle’s wishes that I not play with the penis when it’s unlocked and I don’t have permission in that way I know from years of experience will bring me into spitting distance of orgasm, I’ll not be able to find myself in that spot Schnoff did. Lately, I have been really good about that. There’s some kind of mental block that’s been trained into me so that the idea of stroking myself, while appealing on one hand since I know how good it will feel, is really unappealing to me since I also know it would be very wrong. That’s not to say if I found myself locked in the bathroom with my ass in the air and the Pure Wand sticking out and punching my prostate that I wouldn’t also find my hand all over the penis if it were free, but that very specifically is one of those things I just mentioned. So I won’t do that unless she says very specifically that I can.

To illustrate. Belle left me unlocked this weekend from Friday night to this morning. She let me out on Friday not because she wanted anything to do with the penis but because she knew she might want it Saturday morning and she didn’t want to have to fiddle with the key or wait for me to attend to my cleanliness or anything like that when it was time. So, in effect, I was loaned the penis until she had a use for it. I was only holding onto it (figuratively) for her. So I didn’t do anything pleasurable with it until Saturday when she stroked it and let me put it in her. Similarly, the next morning we had sex again but this time there was no foreplay on her part. I was attending to her tits and fingering her pussy and the penis was rock hard between us but she totally ignored it. Neither of us touched it at all until she let me slide in because I’m not supposed to and she didn’t want to. There was a time when I might have maneuvered myself into position where her hand was adjacent in hopes that she’d play with it or even so that I could pleasure myself while pleasuring her, but the rule is now that the only pleasure I’m allowed from the penis is when it’s being used to fuck her. And I have been conditioned to obey that. I’m actually pretty proud of how good I’ve been, though I understand that she still doesn’t trust me.

I think there are some specific reasons for this recent success. One is Belle has given me very clear rules. No stroking. No getting yourself off without permission. Absolutely no orgasm. It’s hard to wiggle in that space. If I’m doing something that feels good with the penis, it’s probably against the rules. Two, I have come to realize that to really succeed I need to respect her, her rules, and our dynamic. All those things. Her authority over my body is not an island that is separate from me and my actions. I do not exist outside that construct.

I, of course, have willingly entered into this dynamic with Belle (just as I entered into our marriage which is a similar arrangement, I think). If I am to disrespect her wishes within the dynamic, I am disrespecting the dynamic. The thing I wanted and crave. The thing that provides me so much emotional pleasure. I can’t help wanting to stroke myself and even to come (in fact, I need to want to stroke myself and come) but to do so would mean I am not really invested in making the dynamic work. She has her role (which she is fulfilling quite well) and I have mine. If I can’t live up to her expectations, then why should I hope she’d do the same for me?

In a way, this mentality is the root of my assertion that the most secure chastity device lives between one’s own ears. Right now, I’m in the Jail Bird. It’s totally unsecure in that my PA has nothing through it. I could, theoretically, pull out and jack off or even go into my toolbox and use pliers to remove the security screw holding the cage on. She would have no way of knowing. But why in the world would I do that? To what end? And it’s the same willpower at a higher amperage that keeps me from breaking her rules involving free meat. The device is a deterrent but not the authority. That’s embodied in her.

So, the differences between successful device chastity and obedience chastity are non-existent…except for the device.

Like I said the other day, I think penis constriction is a kink all by itself. Some people get off on the feeling and, like in me, it’s buried deep down and has always been there. Another kink is about control (being controlled or doing the controlling). One could do either or both and still be covered under the “chastity” rubric. There is no right way. Layer over that ancillary kinks like bondage, sadomasochism, and even aesthetic preferences and you get some combination of this game we play.

The only advantages I have over anyone else sharing these kinds of experiences is the length of time we’ve been doing it and the fact that I often make an effort to tease out my feelings and thoughts in writing. But I do think that unless one gets to the point that they realize “being good” is really about respecting the holy trinity of their partner, themselves, and their relationship, they will struggle. I know for a fact that Bear and Schnoff are on the right path because it’s the same path Belle and I are one. I can recognize it in his writing. All the familiar mileposts are there.

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Marked man

“You should probably just stop counting,” Belle said to me this morning after I mentioned that today made eleven weeks since she last let me come — approximately one-third of the total time I was denied before. Then, later, “I mean, you’ll just be counting forever.”

You see, Belle has decided I won’t have any more orgasms.

After talking about it, she’s unhappy with how I am after I come (even though it happens, on average, about once every 9 months) and is much happier with how I act and feel when I don’t and doesn’t like waiting around for my hormones to rebalance afterward (which, with the extension of duration between events, seems to take a lot longer than in the past). So that’s that. Calling a spade a spade. She’s happier and we’re better when I don’t come.

This concept has been bandied about before, but she’s pretty invested in it now. Belle said she thought something this momentous required a ceremony of some kind. It’s not unlike marriage vows, if you think about. Submitting to your parter’s control over your sexual release and willingly giving that up forever in exchange for her happiness and the salubrious benefits it has on our foundational relationship. Just saying, “No more for you,” without some kind of mutual acknowledgment of the significance of it would make backtracking too easy. Someday, maybe a long time from today, I’ll beg in a certain way and she’ll be in a certain mood and she’ll let me (like last time). Or I’ll be alone with the penis and allow it to think for me and I’ll fuck up. How can we take it a step further and solemnify the decision in a way that will make it more persistent?

DenyOver dinner last night, she decided what she wants to do. She wants me get a tattoo. And she wants to be there to see me get it. That will be our ceremony. The tattoo she’s chosen is the Japanese Kanji for “deny.” She wants it about an inch from the base of the penis, just above and to the right. It’ll always be there as a reminder to both of us that my denial is forever. If I ask or beg or plead to come, all she’ll have to do is touch me on the Kanji. Every time I’m naked, her decision will be there to see. Right next to the steel ring (usually) locked on me. I will never be in a position when I’ll be able to allow myself to forget my commitment to her control. Every time anyone sees the penis, they’ll see her decision right next to it. She wants me marked. So I will be.

And I’m telling you, she’s really excited about this. She was near giddy as the plan was falling into place during our dinner date last night. She was laughing and grinning and I was feeling nervous butterflies tumble around inside me as I sipped my wine silently. I’m both excited and a little scared. Probably how most guys feel when they get engaged. This is a Big Deal. Not the kind of thing that just happens.

Every time I think about it, I get hard. Not just hard at the idea, but from how invested in it she is. Whenever I see her do or say anything that shows me she’s really into this dynamic, it makes me happy. This, in particular, makes me very happy. This isn’t about humoring me. This is what she wants, too. No doubt about it.

It occurred to me this morning, while laying next to her in bed after she let me get her off and with the sticky penis she let me fuck her with between us, that I shouldn’t be thinking about this permanent denial thing as something that’s in the future. The tattoo and commitment “ceremony” are in the future, but the denial is already happening. As she said, I will be counting forever. The last time she let me come really was the last time.

And there go the butterflies again. This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve asked for. But now it’s real. The tattoo will physically mark the day the phase of my life where I could hope for orgasm ended, but that’s a formality. In reality, that day is already in the past. That part of my life is over.

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The other way

Schnoff screwed up.

You should read his post, but the short story is, while attending to his prostate, he lost control of his impulses and accidentally came. “Accidentally” except for the part where he was jacking off with a Pure Wand up his ass.

I don’t point all this out to make fun of him or make an example of him or anything. Mostly to commiserate with him.

I am coming around to the idea that failure is a necessary part of success. I had been obedient since we started in August, and I am upset that I can’t say that any more. At the same time, coming without permission led to growth: I was cheating and kidding myself about it, and that had to come to a head eventually. I was forced to look at what I was doing with less self-deception. That’s a good thing.

I have been in that place.

Recently, I was unlocked due to the fact that I felt like total shit and the device was making me feel worse by its simple existence affixed to my body. I was sick (which is also a big reason why I haven’t posted in a long time — that and the vacation we were on). Belle let me out (I wasn’t entirely sure she would) and I was free for about four days or so. Maybe a few more. In that time, I didn’t play with myself. “Play with myself” is now defined internally as stroking the erect penis and/or stimulating that sweet spot under the penis’ head. I still touch it and fiddle with it absentmindedly and give it a squeeze if it’s hard and I’m liking that, but I will not “play with it.” Which means I’ll not be able to find myself in that spot Schnoff did. Not again.

Funny thing is, by the time Belle decided it was time for me to go back in I was telling myself I didn’t need to go back in. Bear doesn’t use a device on Schnoff like Belle does on me and that’s always seemed a little weird from my perspective but I was digging not having to deal with the steel and all the extra crap that comes with being locked up (and I wasn’t feeling 100% healthy anyway — not really until just a few days ago). It’s not that I was swearing off chastity devices, but that’s how it works sometimes. More time out leads to wanting more time out and more time in leads to being happier in. It made me think of Schnoff and Bear’s arrangement. Which is why reading his post was…ironic.

But Belle wanted me back in. It wasn’t a request.

I asked her this past weekend after she let me get her off while locked up the whole time why she keeps me this way day in, day out. Why has this dynamic moved from something that was at first a thing I was advocating to something she has so fully embraced. I bet there are a good number of guys who fantasize about being in my state who’d like to know that, too. I’m not sure I got to the bottom of it, but she has a few reasons for wanting me locked up. First, she doesn’t trust me with the penis. And, if I’m honest, I’ve not given her any reason to. Sure, I was good and have been for quite some time on those off days I’m not locked, but I’ve given her plenty of reasons to think I can’t control myself. Situations that sound a lot like Schnoff’s. Second, she just likes knowing my state. See reason number one. If I’m locked up and controlled, I can’t make any mistakes and that makes Belle’s life somewhat simpler not having to worry or even think about me being true. Of course I am because I have no choice. Third, I think she just likes the control. After that, I’d say there are a number of ancillary drivers. Like I think she’s more accustomed to the penis when it’s a shiny tube than a meaty one. Like how she associates my denial and my submission to her with a romantic act. Like how she thinks my attitude and behavior around the house are better when the penis can’t dwell on my mind.

I didn’t write this to suggest device denial is better than willpower or that Schnoff is doing it wrong or anything like that. This is really more about me stretching my fingers and knocking the cobwebs out of the blogging corner of my brain. But it was also a chance to do a little exploring between the cracks of the various ways this denial thing can be done.

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Born this way

After threeish weeks in the Looker 02, Belle decided she wanted the Steelheart back on. Also, unlike last year, when we leave for Spring Break, I’ll be left locked up as much as reasonably possible (excepting TSA checkpoints, scuba diving [easy to spot through a wetsuit], and if she wants the penis) since being free can sometimes lead to unacceptable emotional outbursts.

The Steelheart is, as I’ve said, the most unforgiving of all Belle’s devices. After giving her a nice, lengthy fingering last night (during which, I presumptuously started down to eat her pussy but was snapped back when she said, “Have I said I want that?”) I would have slept fairly well but was woken up four or five times by moderate erections I probably wouldn’t even have felt in the L02 or Jail Bird. The big one at 4:30 was ball-crushingly intense. Sooner or later, I’ll be able to mostly sleep through those, too, but right now there’s no way.

As I laid there waiting for the penis to back off (taking a leak barely took the erection down at all), I thought about how having the penis stuffed down a steel tube less than half its erect length was one of those intensely uncomfortable yet exhilarating and pleasurable dichotomies that seem to make up my entire sexuality. I also reminisced how penis compression is something I’ve kinked over for as long as I can remember.

My earliest sexual recollection was from when I was six or eight laying on my stomach on the living room floor watching Speed Racer. I discovered that rocking back and forth on my pelvis, squishing my little boy penis into the hard, nappy carpet, felt really nice. And, if I did it long enough, the most AMAZING sensation would happen. Fast, zinging jolts from the penis. Orgasm without ejaculation. That’s what I felt, even back then.

Dry-humping the floor became the sole way I masturbated (I didn’t jack off until I was 16). I did it a lot, even before I could come, feeling that crazy intense dry orgasm each time. I discovered that I liked it even more if I could get into position before the erection developed and rolled the penis up into my body so it was up inside me as it got hard. Rocking back and forth on that flat spot that shouldn’t have been there with my little hard-on all stuffed and stifled within may have been my first truly kinky fetish. If I couldn’t do that, I would ride my full body weight on the erection, balancing on it so no other part of me touched the floor. Hard, tight compression.

The first time I ejaculated, it was with the young stiffy stuffed up inside me. I left a gooey little mess on the floor. Interestingly, I recall thinking at the time that the orgasms without ejaculation were better than those with since they lasted longer. All that pulling and pumping at a dry well was more enjoyable than gushing success.

As I got older, I discovered my first of many pervertables: The small half of the plastic egg my mom’s pantyhose came in. I would cup it over the penis and my balls and get off on feeling the erection grow against the hard barrier. I would sometimes stuff it down my underwear and keep it there for as long as I could stand the sharp edge of the egg against my skin. I had to do this when I was alone, though, because it created a big bulge where one had no business being. Even that turned me on, though I recall wishing the eggs were smaller (and looking for suitable alternatives). I was well past the age of still using my mom’s pantyhose container for naughty purposes when I felt a distinct pang of regret discovering they started packaging them in boring cardboard boxes.

The pantyhose egg play transferred to hard cup and jockstrap wear when I was a young adult. Having a hard bump under my jeans instead of a soft package was hot (though, in retrospect, probably a lot more noticeable to others than I let myself think at the time). Even though it had ventilation holes in it, I’d still get home at the end of the day with a hot, sweaty penis to jack off furiously.

At some point, I picked up a dog leash made of a light chain. No idea where that came from as I didn’t have a dog, but I discovered I could wrap it all around my balls and the shaft of the penis and cause my erections to bulge purple. I experimented with all kinds of ways to configure it and tried to keep my mind off the task enough to keep the penis from becoming fully hard before the chain was in place, wrapped up and down the shaft. I’d try to jack off like that which was equal parts painful and pleasurable. Often, with one hand pulling the chain hard making the erection throb and strain, I’d twist and pull on my nipples and ride a dildo. Just luxuriating in the intensity of it all.

Note that at no time did I even consider what this meant. I didn’t think of words like “masochist” or “kinky” and always left these desires and practices walled up away from any concept of a relationship with another person. All this was before I shacked up with Belle.

So, that fateful day I was pursuing a sex toy website and stumbled upon male chastity devices, even though I had never seen one before, never thought about them as a thing that might exist, never consciously considered the idea of someone controlling my erections and orgasms even once, it was like a bomb went off in my head. I knew instinctually that I wanted that. I wanted to be in one. Wanted to feel my erection held tight and controlled. I knew what it would feel like before ever wearing one.

I don’t know enough to know if penis constriction is just another aspect of a general bondage kink or if it could stand alone as it’s own sort of kink, but I was born craving it. I was literally made for chastity.

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Flicker of zen

I had one of those epiphanous moments last night while struggling with my inability to sleep and my insatiable hunger for all things pornographic and sexual and my grumpiness at Belle’s apparent disinterest in having sex with me even after all the very helpful hints I’ve been dropping lately. But let me back up a bit because I have a laborious metaphor I want to walk you through.

Picard lol'dRemember that Star Trek: The Next Generation episode called “Timescape?” The one where Picard, Geordi, Troi, and Data find the Enterprise frozen in space locked in some kind of energy transfer thing with a Romulan bird of prey? Long story short (and, you know, SPOILERS for the eleven-year-old TV show), it turns out there were some little space critters living in the singularity at the core of the Romulan ship and that, somehow, had fractured time around themselves and the Enterprise resulting in a frozen-in-time warp core breach (which, even if you’re not into ST:TNG, you can probably tell is a Bad Thing) that a slightly loopy Picard drew a happy face on and —ANYWAY — everything turns out OK in the end except for the Romulans who lose their ship in spectacular (for 1993 4:3 non-HiDef TV special effects) fashion. 

But really, the bit I want to draw your attention to is the fractured time part. In their shuttle, Picard and Co. encounter little pockets where time is either sped up or slowed down. The phenomenon gets worse the closer they get to the Enterprise. Big chunks of normal space interspersed with big chunks of non-normal space, all created by this one event in the heart of the bird of prey.

Wow, long way to go for this, but, I feel like I’ve been moving through the same kind fractured space kind of deal since Belle let me come six weeks ago. Sometimes, I’m not feeling any of the denial hum that I love so much and other times I’ll find myself in a little pocket of it only to feel it slip away again. In all cases, I’ve been shorter than usual with Belle and less inclined to want to service her. I’ve even had a hard time keeping up with The Portfolio. You know it’s bad when even the porn isn’t appealing. But in the past few days, things felt like they were ratcheting up somehow. And that brings me back to last night.

I wanted and needed to have sex with Belle. I craved that connection. Nothing rambunctious or requiring of trapeze equipment. Just a nice fingering or, best case scenario, she’d let me eat her out. But like every other night this week, she shut me down and went to sleep rather quickly. And I was left feeling very horny, very locked-up, and grumpy. Toward her and my sexual situation in general. I spent time on Tumblr, cruised around the web seeking out erotica, finished reading a fucking fantastic article on bisexuality in the New York Times, and lurked on cuckolding forum. All the while, I was frothing myself up and letting my self-pity build on the crest of the frustration bubble.

But, sometime around 1:30 or so, I found a little flicker of that true denied sub zen magic. It was simple and in the form of three thoughts that all bled together: She controls your sex, that’s the place you asked to be in, this is what you want. And like that, the grumpiness evaporated. I reached out to her sleeping body and touched her warmth and felt a zing of comforting energy travel across my fingers and down my arm and into my soul. Eventually, I was fully embracing her, hanging my arm over her back and wrapping my legs into hers and pressing the hard, tight knot in my crotch into her ass. I was still fucking horny and I was still frothing with the energy pent up in the aftermath of that six-week-old orgasm, but instead of being irritated by it all, I was soothed. In a way. I felt like I was in my place. Eventually, I fell asleep like that.

Today, I still have it. When I kissed her goodbye this morning I lingered on her lips, smelling her and tasting her, and felt all kinds of light-headed wooziness at being so close to her and wishing I could drag her back to the bedroom and suck on her clit. And it left me feeling better for the experience, not worse. I actually felt something, which hasn’t always been the case for the past month and a half.

Somehow, last night, the fractures of my denial zen started to pull themselves back together. Finally.