Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Bean spilling

I have a couple friends with whom, regardless of time apart, I can fall into conversation with as if we did it every day. One is the boy I kinda sorta dated during high school and after who ended up being the best man in my wedding and the other is a friend I met though work twenty-some years ago (and to even be able to write a sentence with that kind of time span in it freaks me out). Last night, she was in town on business. It happens somewhat infrequently, but we ended up having a lot of one-on-one time. I suppose I should come up with a name for her, but I can’t think of anything at the moment so she’s just “her.”

So anyway, we spent a lot of time taking about our personal lives and how they’ve evolved over the years. Both of us happened to fall in love with married people at about the same time, though the outcomes were very different, so there was much catching up and comparing of experiences. Also, after I first moved to this city, I wrote a lot. I did this because I was an angst-filled youth in a new town with no friends and not even a TV. There was time, so I wrote. Not unlike how I write now, but that was all fiction while none of this is. I used to send it to her to read back then. This was, of course, before the internet. We’re talking wood pulp marked with petroleum-based ink being manhandled by government workers.

In any event, she asked me a couple times if I still wrote and I gave sort of mumbling noncommittal answers. She even suggested I was writing in secret which was either very perceptive or a lucky guess, but she eventually pressed me by saying, “You don’t even have a blog or anything?”

“Oh, I have a blog.” What? How are you going to explain this, bunny boy?

I guess I thought I’d just say it was secret and leave it at that, but over the years we had shared very personal details about ourselves and she was having none of it. She wanted to know what it was about and why was it a secret. I told her it was started immediately after Belle and I had issues in our marriage and it detailed our relationship. She pressed some more. I said it also described my evolving sexuality. She said she knew I was queer and I said there’s a lot more to sexuality than gender preferences. Finally, I told her reading the blog was not unlike cracking open my head and peering into the most intimate and private part of my brain. And that there were explicit pictures. Of me.

She was perturbed. She felt I was keeping it a secret, even then, because I didn’t have faith in her and didn’t think she could handle what she saw there. I tried to explain that it was not that at all. That not everyone wants to know the kinds of things I say here about the people they associate with. I have many friends whose sex life I’m not even remotely interested in and frankly don’t want to hear about. My reticence in divulging the blog and its contents were out of respect for her right not to know everything about me. But she wasn’t buying it. Then I got nervous.

It’s not that this blog is embarrassing to me. It’s not. Really. This is who I am and I have no issues with it, but there are only two people I know of who know me personally who also know about this blog (and I’m married to one of them). Widening that circle is sort of a big deal. Also, it’s not just about me. Belle’s in here, too. At this point, I maintain my secret identity mostly out of respect for her.

In the end, I spilled my guts. Everything. We discussed my perversions, we discussed the relationship dynamic, we talked hardware, she knows I haven’t come in a month. The sky did not fall. There were many questions and I was forthcoming with answers to them all. We have very different life perspectives, but we respect one another and (I assume) her opinion of me is safe (but there are almost 700 posts here for her to read, so we’ll see how that goes).

So now there are three people who know (you know, not counting the teeming horde of you guys who come and read my drivel).

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Triple play

Belle gave me the key this morning which was a bit of a shock. I didn’t think she’d let me have it until tonight for some reason. The unexpected freedom meant I could stroke the penis while tending to the porn farm (where, by the way, I found out I couldn’t queue more than 301 images at a time). There was some dribbling but nothing approaching orgasm.

Being out and totally unencumbered is an odd feeling after sporting steel for so long. I’ve said in the past how it seems to fuse to my body and become part of it as opposed to a separate object. At least, that’s how it feels when I’m in the right place and enjoying it. Being out this morning left me feeling…well, naked. As I was putting the Steelheart away, I found an old three piece triple cock ring (kind of like this one) and decided to put it on. It’s not a long term item since the ring that goes around the penis shaft is just a little too small when the penis gets stiff, but it felt better having some metal around me (even if popping my nuts through the rings caused nuclear powered winces).

Getting dressed, I decided to go commando. It’s a treat I don’t often get with the device because it needs some support. I find freeballing for too long causes irritation around the ring, but I wasn’t wearing heavy steel today so I went for it. The unexpected consequence was a riot of sensation where there’s usually very little. The cock ring makes the penis sit up and out more than it would normally and that in turn causes it come into more frequent contact with the inside of my jeans. Along with the penis’ newly hatched sensitivity after three weeks in the tube, walking around has become an invigorating activity, to say the least, and has made me thankful for my untucked shirttails.

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Left to drip

I get out tomorrow. Belle’s on another trip and she told me before she left that I’d be out on Wednesday. That’ll end three weeks of being locked up. No idea if being out means I’ll get to come, though I really hope she’ll let me get her off one more time before we’re apart again. I’m leaving for a ten day trip on Saturday and will get back just before Memorial day. It’s one of my long summer camping trips and, while I have been able to do it locked before, Belle’s letting me out in this instance. If I get to come, then it’ll be about four or five weeks since the last time (I can’t remember exactly when it was). If not, it’ll be like eight weeks before the next opportunity presents itself. I assume I won’t be allowed to do so while gone.

In any event, before she left, Belle gave me access to her snatch and the activity left me feeling pretty charged up to put it mildly. After she came, I was laying against her, my leg over hers, grinding the device into her thigh and softly moaning/whining.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said lazily.

Desperation. My nuts ached and I told her but she only said that’s how they were supposed to feel. I’m not sure the penis ever got soft before I eventually fell asleep. Then she left on her quick trip leaving me to drip. Sunday night, I tended the porn farm late into the night and had a very difficult time sleeping. Last night, not quite so bad but the penis is waking me frequently. I’m in Tumblr overload trying to load up the queue before I leave. Not sure I can get two weeks worth in there to post automatically while I’m gone, but I’m trying.

Here at the blog, things are likely to be pretty quiet for a bit. I have an HNT set up, but unless I need to post again before I leave, it’ll be almost June before I can get back to it.

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All natural

Saw this on the interwebs today.

And I’m thinking…really? Cambridge scientists? If you follow the ad, it’s trying to sell you some kind of testosterone boosting supplement. Whatever.

I got all the supplement I need right here…

Yes, I am grabbing my crotch when I say that.

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Reentry

Getting back into the swing of things now. It takes a bit of adjustment having Belle back. I’m not able to stay up all night abusing myself and looking at porn. I’m once again locked up beyond my control, not because I want to be that way but because she wants it. She did allow me to get her off on Saturday, but I’m wanting more. Last night was spent nuzzling into her, hard penis straining against the steel. I wanted her. In no particular way. Just wanted. Her breasts, her snatch, her everything. I wanted to feel the strain of my desire against the device and at the same time wanted to thrust it into her. I wanted to eat her and lick her and fuck her, but she said wanting rather than getting was good for me. She said she had no idea how long I was going to be locked up and she wouldn’t tell me even if she did.

She fell asleep stroking the hair in my armpit. I fell asleep somewhat later, still thrumming and happy to have her there with me.

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Harry gets it

I was cruising the chastity blogs and found myself on Harry Haversackers’. A couple of weeks ago, he had this to say:

[I]s teasing really on the same level as put-it-in-her-pussy-and-blow-your-load sex??  I guess everyone has to answer that question for themself.  For me, at this stage in my life, it’s better.  Way better.  The daily fondling of my balls as my cock throbs in its cage, or experiencing frequent blow jobs that end just a nanosecond before it’s too late, is miles ahead of a “not tonight, dear” and a quick kiss before rolling over to go to sleep.  And the bonus is that I wake up as horny as a goat every morning!  No post-orgasm refractory period.  Best of all, there has been a steep rise in intimacy between Mrs. H.  We get along better, kiss more passionately, cuddle more, and she offers me her magnificent tits to fondle way more often…

Yes! That’s it exactly. I don’t suppose it’s possible for someone who hasn’t lived like that to understand, but being brought to the point of orgasm over and over and then staying there for a long time is way more enjoyable (for some of us) than going all the way to squirtsville. But why? And if it’s so obvious, why doesn’t the whole world practice orgasm denial?

I think some of the answer is earlier in Harry’s post where he mentions his age. It’s not universally true, but it does seem like most couples doing this are in their forties or later. Most have been married a while. Not all. Most (if, at least, the blogs and forum comments are to be believed). The problems in our marriage were evident, but I didn’t realize how much my libedo had changed prior to being denied. According to the internets, this process can start for men as early as their twenties, but usually begins in their thirties. I recall being in my late teens and fucking like an absolute rabbit (hence the nickname). One day, my girlfriend and I had sex like six times. I remember how bad it hurt just to come (and how it was all muscle flexing and no ejaculation by that point). It was, in a word, awesome. Who doesn’t want to feel like that?

I don’t know how it is for women, but a man’s constant companion from puberty on is his sex drive. It becomes part of a guy’s identity. It helps produce (or is the product of) high levels of hormone. Testosterone is like a wonder drug. Having it means feeling alive. Not having it means feeling old. So, in a way, denial of orgasm is a way to at least feel like you did in your teens and twenties. It makes you young again.

Layer on top of that how it can rejuvenate a relationship. The denier can become the center of the denied’s universe. If, as Harry points out, the one being denied is only being denied orgasm, not the affections of the denier and not other sexual stimulation that in that past might have ended with mutual orgasm. I can’t recall where I read it, but I recently saw someone again use the word “celibacy” to describe a denied man’s condition. No! A thousand times, no. Locking up a dude and then making him celibate is like a fucking prison sentence. Locking up a dude and then teasing him unmercilessly is heaven.

Which gets back to the point Harry made that I agreed with so much. The one that can be controversial even in the community of orgasm denied men. The one that, in a way, punctures the premise of so many wank stories. Being teased and left wanting orgasm is actually better than fucking and being allowed to come. Being denied is the point of the exercise. It makes you feel like a kid again. It makes you desire your partner more. It can make any number of things better. Orgasm is fantastic for about 6.2 seconds, but when it’s done, you’re human again. You can lose interest in sex. It can remind you that you’re getting old. It’s kinda like kryptonite.

I’m sure I’ve said things here that will annoy some. I’m sure to some I sound crazy or too strident or…I don’t know. Too something. I’m not saying (and have never really believed) that living with orgasm denial is the One True Way. But is it a way with some fantastic benefits. I think the world would be a better place if more couples tried it.

Knowing what I (and, apparently, Harry) know now, I’d never want to go back to living permanently with free orgasms again. They’re just not worth it.

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Bad touch

I was going to the trainer on Saturday and decided, since I’m locked up on my own recognizance, that I’d let myself out beforehand. I don’t need to be unlocked when training, but I had gotten used to not being in the steel and when I’m being stretched the device makes an unusual bulge (plus, on a couple of occasions, there have been inexplicable clicking noises coming from my crotch when doing jumping exercises).

So yeah, I decided I’d get out but that I’d put the locking cock ring on instead. I had the key in a pants pocket though I couldn’t remember exactly which pants it was. I went to the pair hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Nope. No key. Hmm. I was pretty sure that’s where it was. Then I went to the pair of jeans I had on a few days earlier. Not there. I dug into the hamper and checked yet another pair of jeans. No dice.

I admit I experienced a brief flash of panic. We have several locks and I used the first one that plopped out of the little silky bag Belle keeps them in. It had just the one key which meant the spare was likely the emergency key in the little steel key safe she lets me carry just in case, but until I popped the seal I couldn’t be sure. In the time it took me to get to the drawer where the spare lived, I wondered if this particular lock only had one key now. I know we thought we lost a key at one point. That’s why we have more than one lock.

Crisis averted. The spare was to the lock in the device. Then, today, I found Belle’s key deep in the pocket of the first pair of pants I checked in the first place. We have a full set of keys again.

A little while back, I bought a bunch of little numbered blue plastic key safe seals. I had been thinking for a while that since Belle doesn’t ever check the numbers being used and that I had the all the extras I could, conceivably, cheat by popping the spare whenever I wanted to and locking it back up again afterward. I thought giving the seals to Belle was a better idea, but she hides everything within a two square foot space (except for the key which she usually has with her all the time) so they weren’t exactly out of reach to me. I think I have a better idea, anyway.

Off to the right of this post in the blog’s sidebar I have placed a log of the seals used (including the current one). As they get broken, I’ll record the date and reason plus add the new one’s number to the top of the list. I’ve went back a few since it was pretty easy to do so, but obviously we’ve gone through more than the three currently listed. It seems to me this is the most secure way to deal with the spare since the number of the current seal is essentially public knowledge.

In any event, in the few hours I was out prior to going to the trainer I was as weak as ever and took full advantage of the situation. The cock ring, of course, does nothing to keep my hands off the penis so there it was. Minutes before I had to leave for the gym, I ended up giving myself a very productive ruined orgasm. I know it was ruined because even as the creamy goo was shooting into my hand I was thinking how fine it would feel sitting in my mouth being swished around by my tongue. There was a ton of the stuff and it covered my palm and got in between my fingers and I licked every bit of it clean. Even the few extra drops I milked out afterward. I savored it in all its slimy glory and swallowed it in a thick gulp.

I have mentioned before that my main trainer is a massive West African dude. He’s nearly a foot taller than my six feet. I can appreciate the fact that he’s a fine specimen of the human species, but I have to admit I don’t find him all that sexually interesting. He’s simply not my type. The only thing about him that kind of transfixes me is that I can sometimes totally see his dick when he’s wearing the right stretchy pants. Not surprisingly, since everything else about him is large, his cock looks pretty big. In its flaccid state (obviously), it appears to be at least four or five inches long as it gracefully arches downward. Some days, I can even tell he’s circumcised. I know that flaccid length is not necessarily relevant to erect length, but still. Chances are good he’s near the top of the bell curve.

Anyway, the reason I tell you all this is because yesterday he had me laying on a bench on my back doing chest presses. It was my third set and he’d kicked up the weight pretty high (for me, anyway). He was standing close to me in order to spot the weight in case it turned out to be too much for me and as I started to lift it, my right hand – I am certain – brushed against his cock. It’s bad enough that he’s walking around showing everyone his dick, it’s worse when one of his clients is as fucking horned up as I am and actually gets to touch the damned thing. I know the contact was purely accidental. He stepped back a bit and I kept lifting, though I was replaying the brief sensory input over and over as I completed the set.

Once I got home I went into the bathroom and put the device back on as quickly as possible. I didn’t think, I didn’t touch, I just locked it all back up. Belle gets home on Thursday. I wish there was some way for me to get rid of the key until then. Things are just so much simpler when I have zero control over penis access.

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Thanks but no thanks

I received the following feedback from a reader calling themselves Castimonia:

Have you ever thought you might have an intimacy or sexual disorder?  I read some of your blog and it seems that there are some issue you have that I used to have quite a bit.  I am not judging you because I have been where you are, I am simply stating that IF you would like true freedom and true happiness, THEN there is help for all of us!  Good luck!

I read that and went, “Hmmmm.”

Castimonia has an eponymous blog upon which I found the following on their about page:

Castimonia is a Christ-centered 12-Step Support and Recovery program for sexual impurity or sexual addiction with the goal to achieve a Biblically-based sexual purity. We share our experience, strength, and hope with each other so that we may achieve sexual purity and help others overcome sexual impurity or compulsive sexual behaviors.

Although we believe Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior, Christianity is not a requirement for attending meetings or working the 12-step program. We are open to any group or denomination. The only requirement for attendance and participation is the desire to stop compulsive sexual behavior and reach sexual purity.

And:

Every man struggles with some level of sexual purity.  This group is designed to help men who struggle with sexual purity, particularly in the following areas:

  • Sexually immoral thought life
  • Pornography
  • Sexual acting out such as self-gratification, using prostitutes, frequenting sexually oriented businesses, or adult bookstores
  • Adultery

If you are dealing with any of these kinds of struggles then you have found the right place.

I gotta tell you, that term “sexual purity” makes my skin crawl.

Yes, Castimonia, I once did think there was something wrong with me. I was ashamed and tried to hide how I was. I resisted the feelings that came from within me until I couldn’t any longer and then felt deep guilt and self-loathing once I indulged my desires. It wasn’t until I embraced those desires that I felt good. Once I admitted who I was to myself and my partner, a great weight was lifted. Your path, based on an interpretation of a corrupted mythology originating thousands of years ago, leads to self-hatered and mental anguish. Wrap it in whatever platitudes you like, it’s the same old anti-sex anti-human bullshit that’s made generations of people hate themselves and hate others who won’t do the same.

I have no use for you, no use for your belief system, and no use for your concern for me. Please go peddle your bile elsewhere.