Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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New shiny

Belle gets home today. She’s currently over the north North Pacific on a beeline for San Francisco, completing the second to last leg of a four-flight journey back to me. She’s been in China, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Vietnam on this trip. Obviously, I’m very excited for her to get home. It’s been a long couple of weeks.

While she was gone, I picked up a new shiny piece of steel, though not one I wear between my legs. In this case, it was a stainless cuff from House of Collars by Dom Wolf. I’ve been looking at them for years and almost bought one on several occasions. I finally pulled the trigger. It locks on using itty bitty headless torx screws. Here’s what it looks like on yours truly.

There’s lots of reasons I love this thing. First, it’s stainless. I have a real thing for shiny steel. It’s nicely made yet still a bit rough around the margins as something befitting a slave should be (though that’s not really me, is it?). Also, it’s a piece of genuine bondage equipment I can wear 24/7, out in public, that’s practically invisible as such to 99% of those who see it. Over the course of the week or so I’ve had it on, only one person said anything about it but didn’t seem to recognize it as anything other than a chunky bracelet. And it is pretty substantial. It’s not simple jewelry. It feels like a handcuff on my wrist.

Which, of course, turns me the fuck on. After putting it on for the first time, every time I felt its heft shift on my wrist, I thought what it’d feel like to have one on both wrists and on my ankles and even around my neck and the tube contents would swell. I imagine the cuffs around my wrist being locked to the ones around my ankles, a chain attached to the collar, tube dripping…*shudder*.

Anyway, it’s a nice feeling having a little sliver of what’s going on in my pants out there on my arm for the world to see. I didn’t talk to Belle before getting it so it’s not like I’m wearing it for any other reason except that I want to and I like it, but it represents more than just a chunky bracelet. It represents the enforced restraint and lack of control that turns my crank so lustily.

If you’re in the market for such a thing, I highly recommend Wolf’s work.

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Damn dam

As I was preparing myself for the day yesterday, the though occurred to me that there was a chance I’d be confronted by a metal detector. I mean, it was our plan to enter a Federal installation and all. There was the key and there was the device (all freshly cleaned and lubed), but I decided against it. I had been to Hoover Dam several times, but not, apparently, since 2001.

So there we were, in line to the visitors center, and I had already passed by about 56 large yellow signs warning me of the extreme security measures in place, but I looked right though each of them. We were in line for the 90-minute tour, though my mom had already said she wasn’t interested in it (some kind of fobia about being at the bottom of the damn and all that water or something) and the female offspring didn’t seem all that into the idea, though the boy was. Then, just as I was about to cross the threshold into the lobby, I saw them. It was just like an airport in there. Multiple X-ray conveyers and metal detectors. And guys in uniforms. They might even have had guns.

Shit, I thought as a cold wave of inevitability laced with a healthy dose of panic washed though me. Then I thought, I can’t go through there. I’ll set it off, and apparently said it out loud, too. The boy made some kind of acknowledgement, though I was feverishly woking out what to do next and didn’t really hear him.

“Let’s go have lunch,” I blurted. It was 11:30 and the tour was an hour and a half, so it was a plausible cover to get me out of there. On the way back up the escalator, I worked though all the escape options. There weren’t any, of course. The device cannot be removed at all absent heavy tools or the key (which was on the 47th floor of our hotel back in the city). There was no way we were getting in there.

At first, I was very disappointed. Not just because I wanted to see it, but mostly because I was going to potentially ruin it for everyone else. However, when I came up with an alternate plan over a meal of snack bar burgers and turkey wraps, nobody seemed to mind. In the end, we spent an entirely enjoyable couple of hours crawling over the dam, checking out its nooks and crannies and muscular WPA architecture (it really is a beautiful thing).

So anyway, vacation planning affects aside, it’s probably a good thing I’m in it. When I took the SH-S off before we left, I should have done it after my shower since, once again, I succumbed to the sensual pleasures of antibacterial soap applied properly (though without climatic completion, of course). The cock’s siren song is so strong that this morning I saw the key in my dop kit and really, really, really thought about using it. Just a little bit of jacking off surely wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just a little? I can only imagine what it’d be like were it not there.

And, for the record, I did not use the key.

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No cheating

We’re travelling today so I need to come out. The plan was for me to pop the seal on my emergency key and then reseal it when we get back on Monday (and, in between, put the device back on). I wanted to be able to demonstrate conclusively that I did not release the meat prior to our departure, so I made the following video. Nerdy, true. Obsessive compulsive, maybe. But, no one can accuse me of cheating.

[wpvideo sQO50L0W]

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Bedtime story

Sleep is good. Saturday, the night Stryker’s Beast mauled me, I got to bed late and slept little. Too horny. Sunday night, I went to bed early but woke up two hours later and was wide awake until 3:30. Horny again. Yesterday, I felt like the walking dead by about 6:30 in the evening. Slogging through the kids’ homework was torture. By 8:30, I was ready for bed. The kids were all down and out by 9:00. The pillows were waiting.

But then, the little voice of the hormone sprite whispered in my ear. “It’s time,” he squeaked. The irresistible force of my horniness started to push up against the immovable object of my exhaustion. I procrastinated in the bedroom, looking at dirty pictures and reading smutty stories. The Beast called to me. The occasional twinging aftereffects of my weekend ass stretching had reduced to nearly zero. I had kept the area shaved and was ready and very willing to put that dildo back where the sun don’t shine. Except for the tiredness. I laid there, internet in hand, and waited for the internal struggle between raging hormones and expiring brain cells to work itself out. Finally, at about a quarter to ten, I gave up. Whatever fire the sexual frustration lit was smothered under the blanket of weariness. I slept like a stone and didn’t wake up until 5:30.

The pressure in the tube was intense and reassuring. I could have eased it by taking a leak, but I decided to lay there and revel in it. I even exacerbated it by rolling onto my stomach and putting my ass up so as much blood as possible rushed into the cock. I rolled over on my back and let it’s awkward heaviness flop around. I reached down and felt the hard smooth tube and the heat it radiated from within, my tight nutsack and the hairless trail that led from its encircling steel ring to my asshole. I still needed rest, but I was rested enough that the peaks of my desire rose above the fog of sleepiness. Had it not been so close to the start of the day, I might have acted, but there was no time. Instead, I simply allowed myself to experience the unique attributes of my life of chastity. Tight tubes. Hormones. Desire.

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Tids and bits

A couple of things I neglected to mention while describing my ass pounding:

  • The Stryker dildo is of the vac-u-lock variety and I purchased along with it something called an EZ Rider inflatable ball. My thinking was it would allow better penetration while not putting so much strain on my knees (which are not as springy as they were 20 years ago when I got my first suction cup Stryker dildo). Nice idea, but the ball sucks. The dildo moves around too much on the ball’s vac-u-lock plug making it more difficult to line it up and keep it in place. Plus, the little plastic doodad that supposed to keep the air in the ball kept popping out in situ. Had I to do it over again, I would have gone with the suction cup version instead and saved the extra $25. I could have put it towards the price of a fucking machine. Don’t suppose those are covered by Medicare, do you?
  • Nipple clamps! I totally forgot to mention I used nipple clamps at various points during the event. At different times, I was using three separate types, from mildly pinchy to wickedly so. I had the most vicious things available dangling from the tender pink flesh while I was cleaning up and they bit harder as I moved about, chain swaying and chest flexing. I was so horned up by that point that it seemed my capacity for pain was limitless. Those little fuckers hurt like hell, but the twin lasers of intensity were converted into pure sexual pleasure by whatever twisted little circuit in my brian makes me a masochist. Same idea behind the later ball-busting which was some of the most intense I’ve experienced. Getting trapped in a fucking bear trap probably would have made me shoot right there in my tube.
  • Speaking of the tube, it and I are very much in the zone right now. We’re in that phase where we’re one one and it seems more an extension and natural part of my body than a sex toy. I read on some blog recently advice that chastity play should only be practiced from time to time and not constantly for fear that it become boring. The flip side to that for some is that it’s not a situational sex game. It’s a lifestyle. Even though it’s causing me a great deal of frustration, there’s honestly nothing more than I’d want right now than it locked onto me. Its absence would be like losing an appendage.
  • In all the discussion about the size of the Stryker dildo, I forgot to mention that I wish they would have made one that was his actual size. His cock is so fantastic and working up to being able to experience the bulk of that dildo takes so long that, it seems to me, a 7.5″ version would probably result in more actual pleasure than the freakishly large member they produced. It’s not that I don’t absolutely adore that dildo, but just imagine being able to work yourself over with the real deal first before supersizing. Bliss.
  • Finally, it’s got nothing to do with the ass pounding, but I also forgot to mention that I slipped one of the Pinks into Belle’s open suitcase just as she finished packing Friday night. She got to her hotel room in China and found it nestled in with her underwear and bras. I knew she had forgotten about it because she packed somewhat in a hurry. I didn’t think she should have been without her favorite vibrator for two whole weeks. Hopefully, she’ll partake in its pleasure and tell me about each and every time she does.
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Stryker’s beast

If you’re really not into graphic accounts of self-administered anal action, this post probably isn’t for you.

Last time, I said the “realistic” Jeff Stryker dildo seemed ridiculously large. That got me doing some research to find out how big he really is. According to a page called Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Penis Size But Were Afraid to Ask, Jeff Stryker’s cock is 7.5″ long (measured in the proper way along the top, from the pubic bone to the tip). As you can see in the picture below, the “realistic” dildo is actually about 9″ long measured in the same way. That’s about a 20% increase. I’d estimate the insertable length to be about 8″.

Besides the length, the really interesting thing about this dildo is its girth. The circumference just under the head is a half inch greater at 7″ than lower down the shaft where it’s 6.5″. While I can’t find any reliable information about Stryker’s actual girth, I can say these proportions are accurate based on the numerous times I’ve watched him put it to use, though the actual size of the dildo is much larger.

So yeah, it’s bigger than the original. For me, it’s at the very limit of a usable size. While I might be able to get something bigger inside me, that’d just be showing off and not really all that enjoyable.

I haven’t had anything this big to play with in a while. In the recent past, when I felt like getting fucked, I’ve used a cheap vinyl dildo that’s 6″ insertable with a circumference about 4.75″. Nothing too impressive, but also pretty easy to use. Prior to climbing Mount Stryker, though, I made preparations. First thing I did was remove the hair around my asshole. I’ve found that hair is hard to lubricate and will grip a dildo and get pulled in and out with it keeping things from being nice and slippery smooth, so I shaved an area about two inches all the way around. Also, I used one of the other new items I bought with the dildo: the Colt Anal Douche.

As Dan Savage says, having anal sex without douching your rectum is like having oral sex with a mouth full of food. The obvious issues of residual fecal matter is what squicks out so many people who might otherwise really get into anal. This is too bad because it’s so easy to deal with when you have the right tool and the Colt Anal Douche is that tool. The really nifty bit, and what makes it better than the run of the mill bulb enema you can get at any drugstore, is the 6″ attachment you put over the spout on the bulb. The water comes out of it along a seam near the top as opposed to squirting out a hole way up into the colon. It feels better and keeps the water where it needs to be. There’s no point in filling your lower intestine with a gallon of water since the only part that really needs to be cleared is the rectum. All you have to do is fill the douche with warm water (get all the air out!), squirt it up your butt, and push it all out. After three or four times, if the water coming out is as clear as when it went in, everything is ready to go.

As I said, it’s been a long time since I had anything this large in my ass. I approached it in the only way you can when dealing with this much mass: slowly and with tons of lube. I used water-based Astroglide as opposed to the silicone lube. I like to put a condom over my toys to make clean up easier and also because I find vinyl actually causes irritation and stinging. Perhaps I’m allergic. In any event, I decided to get things going with the smaller vinyl dildo, sheathed in latex, to open things up and distribute lube all along the soon-to-be assaulted path. Maybe it was because I was staring down Stryker’s beast, but the smaller dildo slid in rather more easily than normal and was soon in all the way to the base. I could feel my prostate was already crackling with electricity. I left the small dildo in for several minutes while preparing the main event. Once it was out of the way, I moved the big guy into place.

It was as if the smaller dildo had never been there. As the fat, blunt head of Stryker’s beast pressed against my hole, I remembered that there’s nothing subtle about this cock. It’s all business from the very start. My sphincter complained, but I kept a steady pressure against it. I’d push, let it sit there as the tight ring of my ass stretched against it, then I’d pull back to give it a few seconds rest. Then I’d push again, trying to get just a millimeter further. At about 2″ in, the fattest part of the cock was starting to come into play and I found the compression of my hole against the condom squeegeed all the lube off. I had to reapply it again and again.

Push, wait, withdraw.

Puush, wait, withdraw. Lube.

Puuush, wait, withdraw.

Puuuush, wait (oh, god, the stretching), withdraw. Lube.

Finally, after maybe 15 minutes of this, my sphincter had finally opened wide enough to envelope the fattest part of the cock. I admit, if I had never actual had this thing up my ass before, I might of chickened out at this point. The sensation of being opened to that extent was incredibly intense and I only had about a third of the thing in me. But I persevered, slowly yet forcefully, until the 7″ circumference of the first half was past my rim.

After that, it was like the cock got sucked up inside me. As the shaft moved along and the slightly thinner part entered me, I felt myself being opened like I hadn’t been in a very long time. Eventually, I had the dildo in all the way to its balls. I couldn’t move it, though. I was so full of it, the best I could do was leave it in place and let my chute stretch along the entire 8″ of the beast. I’d leave it in as long as I could stand it, then pull it all the way out for more lube. I felt my rectum collapse behind the retreating invader.

Then, back in. All the way. I actually bottom out at precisely the point in which the Stryker dildo is in all the way. The entire length of my rectum is opened by it and its head presses against the point where my anal passage turns and becomes my colon. It’s as if it was custom made for my body.

After another 15 or twenty minutes of repeating the cycle of putting it in, leaving it there, and then pulling it out for more lube, I felt myself loosen up sufficiently to start fucking. I can’t even describe it. It’s like having your guts punched, but in a good way. Eventually, I was pistoning the fat dildo in and out, faster and faster, grunting and moaning and feeling the stretch on the way out and the filling sensation on the way in. Over and over. I can’t say how many times and for how long. In the past, I would have come well before I got to this point, but of course, I couldn’t even see the cock let alone stroke it. My entire being was focused on the feeling of this giant slab of rubber invading me, insistently pushing my prostate and everything else out of its way again and again.

I eventually just tired out. My legs were cramping and sweat was flowing down my forehead. A cock that couldn’t come was fucking a body that never would. The only barrier to going all night was physical fatigue. So much effort had gone into even getting to the point were I could put it inside me, that my tank was close to empty by the time things really heated up.

Finally, the dildo slid out heavily with a slurp and a pop. My asshole gaped at the abuse. I felt it with my fingers and easily could get two inside to massage my fiery gland. I could tell I had leaked, but the natural lube mixed with the Astroglide so I couldn’t tell which was which. I used the douche again to sooth my chute and flush out all the extra lube. I had to concentrate to keep my asshole closed so the water wouldn’t simply fall back out. The first time I pushed it clear, the action caused a huge glob of semen to escape the end of the chastity tube. I was well-milked.

After cleaning up and putting everything away, I went to bed, exhausted but still spinning. I read some porn and worked The Portfolio until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. After about three hours of sleep, one of my various electronic devices made a small sound, but it was enough to wake me up. I was in a hormone hangover, still buzzing with unexpressed sexual energy. My hand reached around to my asshole and it felt smooth and well-fucked and entirely not mine. It was as if I was fingering a stranger. A stranger who had been used and abused. I could feel the absence of the giant cock inside me and I remember why I loved it so much. I wanted it again right then. I wanted to feel it split me open and stretch me to my fullest, I wanted to feel it punch me again and again.

But I didn’t get up. Instead, I went after my nuts. I squeezed and pulled and slapped them. I found that whatever internal lock that usually keeps me from really working them over had been released, so I crushed them and beat them and felt the tendrils of warm aching pain snake throughout my body. Instead of pulling up when I normally hit myself, I was able to strike them with greater and greater force. They felt swollen and hot and they throbbed. All of my unreleased sexual frustration was taken out on the fleshy punching bag. Putting my finger back on my hot, shaved hole, I decided it felt not unlike a pussy. My pussy. Wet and loose.

Exhaustion retook me and I fell back asleep with the ache of my abused testes still rolling though me. I slept fitfully and woke often, each time finding my hands either on my nuts or along my crack. This morning, I’m still swimming in the hormones from the night before. My ass is craving the Stryker dildo again. I can still feel the void it left inside me. My guts hunger for it. Night can’t come fast enough.

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While the pussy’s away…

Belle leaves tomorrow. She’ll be on the other side of the world for two weeks. Sucks.

Normally, the cock would be secured during her absence, but smack in the middle of her trip, the kids and I are flying to see Grandma in Vegas. So, obviously, the SH-S will need to come off due to national security concerns. For me, this is a tricky thing because I could just say I need to be out for four days because of travel and leave it at that, but I know (don’t I) that I really only need to be out for a few hours on the two days I’m travelling. If I stay out the whole time, I’ll feel like I’m cheating. Also, I know temptation will be too great to avoid unauthorized diddling with the merchandise. So, the plan at the moment is to stay locked up until Friday morning when I’ll pop my emergency key and take the device off for the flight. As soon as makes sense on the other end, I’ll put it back on until Monday when we fly home.

Once home, I would, theoretically, have access to a free key. That’s not going to work for me. I can be trusted, but keeping the key secure is hotter for the same reason using the PA fixing is. The further away access to the cock is, the better.

As you can see, the current security tab in the keysafe is number 553. That’ll be broken on Friday and replaced with 543 on Monday. I’ll post a picture here of the locked device and the keysafe with 543 in place as soon as I’m resecured. Cheating will be impossible (even if it is also very unlikely).

It’s typically the case that Belle lets me pleasure myself in ways unrelated to the cock while she’s gone. She hasn’t yet given me the word, but assuming it’s coming, I’ve obtained a new toy. Well, actually I’ve replaced an old one. Back with I was single and young, my roommate had a porn tape starring Jeff Stryker. I have absolutely no idea what it was called, but the story line involved Jeff’s character being locked up in jail for an ill-defined offense. Once there, of course, he fucked just about everything with his quite impressing cock. There were a couple of scenes in particular I liked. The first was his check-in at the jail where the guard made him strip, turn around, and spread his cheeks. Jeff always played the top (at least in the stuff I saw him in) so to see him have to submit to authority like that was really sexy. There was another scene with him in a supply closet where he totally dominated another prisoner and yet another in his cell where he fucked a guard. Really hot movie. Pretty sure, between the two of us, that my roommate and I wore that tape out. (Edited to add that after spending about five minutes on the Google, I think the movie in question was called Powertool.)

In any event, the reason I bring it up is when I started buying my own sex toys one of the first I got was a “realistic” Jeff Stryker dildo. It looked like Jeff’s cock, but man. It was so big. And yeah, his cock was big, but I don’t remember it being that big. Regardless, I certainly got my money’s worth over the years with that thing. It was big, but just big enough so that I could really get going with it and not feel like I was about to injure myself. Also, I liked that the first half was fatter than the lower half. Interesting sensation, that. Pull out and feel yourself stretch, push in and feel yourself fill up.

Blah blah blah. Fast forward about 20 years and I received a brand new Jeff Stryker realistic dildo in the mail yesterday. Assuming I get the customary permission to abuse myself in Belle’s absence, I’ll post a review here on the blog. Will Jeff’s giant schlong be as great as I remember? How will my 43 year old ass deal with it? These questions and more will be answered…as long as Belle gives me permission to find out.

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6/24/182.5

So, yeah, six months. That’s what we’re doing now. What’s up with that?

A casual observer will claim this is topping from the bottom. I suggested it to Belle so, therefore, I’m a bottomtopper (or whatever). In fact, it was a suggestion. I brought it up but also made clear to her that it was nothing more than a suggestion that she could decide to disregard or modify or whatever.

The logic in favor was pretty simple. She likes me better when I don’t come and am locked in the device. I like me better that way, too. So, why not see what would happen if I was put into an essentially orgasmless existence. No coming and no chance that I would at all for a long time. That’s an interesting element since the way she’s handled me before now, there was always at any time a chance she’d let me come. Now, according to her, I will not be coming – no chance – until mid-September. Will that change how I behave? Knowing that nothing I can do will grant me relief? That was one of the things she made me agree to before making the final decision that this was what we were doing. She’s going to hold me to the six month term absolutely.

There are downsides, of course, and mostly for her. She likes to fuck me. It will be very difficult to do that for any extended period if she’s really serious about not letting me come. Also, she seems to like letting me have orgasms. Not frequently, of course, but she enjoys seeing me enjoy them. So, committing to this means she will be sacrificing, too.

For me, this is about taking things to their logical extremities and seeing how that works. Truth is, I still do like to come. The moment of orgasm is utterly fantastic and, especially when they come so infrequently, totally universe exploding for me. I come so hard now that it feels like I’m turning inside out from the effort. Icy tingles run over my scalp and down my back. Probably the most intensely pleasurable sensations I’ve felt. Those measly little squirts over the bathroom sink I used to give myself with regular frequency aren’t even the same species of what I feel now.

But, everything else that I feel is so much more exiting and just plain better when I don’t get to come. Those nuclear orgasms are really great, but they happen so fast. Once I know I’m going to get to have them, it takes just one or two minutes for me to get there and then they’re totally spent in about ten seconds. In exchange for maybe five or ten minutes of bliss (including the post orgasmic drunkenness), I get hours and days and weeks and months of craving it. Constant tension and expectation and dripping precum. I don’t know if you’re like me, but when I fix myself on something I want, I find that wanting it is almost better than getting it. The actual obtaining of my desires is often (though not always) a bit of a let down. I’m sure there’s a clinical description of this phenomenon and I’m also sure it’s managed by brain chemistry. What I’m not clear on is if it’s a universal behavior or if it’s only present in some people (and if its presence makes one more likely to kink on orgasm denial).

So, I have essentially three questions I hope this experiment will answer:

  • Are longer, extended periods of one kind of mostly low-intensity pleasure (orgasm denial and craving) in exchange for incredibly short yet powerful bursts of pleasure more or less satisfying?
  • How does removal of any hope of orgasm change how I feel and act while being denied?
  • Is there a point of diminishing returns after which continued denial is actually detrimental?

Let’s just say that the answer to the first question is, yes, I a find long-term orgasmless existence more satisfying than infrequent yet occasional orgasms. Plus, let’s say that removal of any prospect of coming does nothing to abate the behavioral benefits Belle and I both recognize as the result of not coming and that extending the denial for a really long time doesn’t have its own adverse results. Would we be able to logically conclude that I don’t ever need to come again? If Belle could accept the changes that would mean to her preferred lifestyle, could this mean I actually do start living an absolutely orgasm-free life (or one that’s essentially so because they’d occur with extreme infrequency and probably accidentally)?

The answer to these questions can only be found in the fullness of time. Also, the answers might not matter if Belle decides that she’d still rather see me come every once in a while. While a lot of this territory feels like ground we’ve already covered, the big difference now is that I’m aware that this is a two person arrangement. While it is, obviously, about me, it’s only partly so. Wherever this experiment takes us, it has to work for us both.