Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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HNThumper XXXI: Chastity ring

So, my chastity has gone virtual. Many times, HNThumpers have featured the device which ensures I stay chaste, but that’s my brain right now and I can’t obviously show you that (since, you know, I’m still using it). But, because of the way my brain works, I find it’s very helpful for me to endow some object as the token of my restriction. Something that acts as a point upon which to center my willpower. A reminder of what I’m supposed (or not supposed) to do.

To that end, I have begun to focus on the PA ring I wear. I cannot take it off without a tool and its function when I’m locked in the device is to ensure I cannot get out, so there’s a certain logic to embodying it as the continuing physical manifestation of my chastity even when I’m not actually secured.

Today’s HNThumper, then, illustrates my current state. The thing from which I am separated is clearly evident, though the power that separates us is not. That power is represented by the steel ring. It’s as if we’re breaking chastity down to it’s component parts. It’s most elemental form. The look of the cock in this image is somewhat dejected which, I think, is appropriate considering its quarantined-like state.

Jesus, I wish I could stroke it. Just for five minutes. Please?

Continue reading “HNThumper XXXI: Chastity ring”

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My little secret

Cricketed wrote a post that got me thinking. Go read it, though be warned: there are many NSFW images (as usual).

He said, about male chastity and the idea that someone he knew well would be aware of his…

[O]ne of the truths of being kept in the cricket for extended periods of time is that I’m led to a very personal place inside me, where being locked is not only sexy and beautiful and symbolic and necessary, but normal. The concepts and practices we’re discovering via male chastity interest me. Occasionally, they downright preoccupy me.

It’s not something strange or shameful to me at all. I’d like to be able to talk about it with some people. Obviously, our sex life is private, and I’m not proposing that we sit around a table in a restaurant and talk dirty with people. But many of the emanations that flow from being cricketed, as well as many of the principles involved, have little to do with the intimacies of our sex life.

I don’t think I could agree any more than I do. I could have written that.

For me, the idea that someone would “find out” about my chastity doesn’t really bother me that much. Like Cricketed, I’d welcome the opportunity to talk about it with some people. That’s not to say I’d want someone to stumble upon my blog, but even if that happened, the thing that keeps me from speaking about it now is the fact that nobody knows, not that I’d be ashamed or shy. I’m also much more worried about Belle’s privacy that mine. I write this blog and am very descriptive of her and our sex life together, but I never asked her permission to do so.

I’ve said before that if somehow someone I know in real life is aware of this blog, I’d rather they tell me than keep it a secret. I don’t like secrets and am frankly not very good at keeping them. I suppose it’s unreasonable to assume my “little secret” would remain that way forever. I don’t think awareness of their knowledge would change what I write and post (everything I’ve already done would be water under the bridge, after all), but I’d still like to know.

I wonder if I’ll ever have the chance to talk about chastity with anyone I didn’t meet though the fact that I’m chaste (i.e., this blog or FetLife or Chastity Forums). For that matter, I wonder if I’ll be able to talk to anyone IRL I did meet that way.

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Gone virtual

“This is an experiment,” Belle said.

“You’re experimenting on me?”

“Well, you said you didn’t need the device anymore to remain chaste. Let’s see how that works for a while.”

This exchange took place about 50 hours after she let me out of the device, 36 hours after she fucked me, and about 8 hours after I assumed I was going back in.

Let’s rewind. She let me out on Saturday but decided to wait until Sunday morning to fuck me. At the prospect of having access to the meat again, I asked if I’d be allowed to play with it.

“No,” she said, “It’s coming out for my pleasure, not yours.” Fair enough. For however long I was to be free, I was not to pleasure myself with the cock.

Sunday morning, she fucked me. Climbed on top and rode me until she came. I was extraordinarily happy not to come before her, but that was due more to her wanting the cock as badly as she did than my ability to control my orgasm. I was about 70% of the way there and rising rapidly when she quickly came. Had she taken as long as she usually does, I would have been dead meat.

For a moment, I though she’d take the “mine, not yours” thing all the way to it’s logical conclusion, but she let me flip her over and fuck until I came. That took about two minutes and twelve seconds, then I spewed and spewed. It got all over the sheets, my leg, and (obviously) way up inside her. That stuff is nasty. Especially right after the event that causes it to emerge. Anyway…

As I’ve said lots of times before, one orgasm doesn’t do anything to satisfy my desires for more longer than a few hours. Then, it’s as if it never happened. By Sunday afternoon, I was right back in the hunt. I took a long hot bath and found myself on Kristen’s Archive which, for a man in my position, was perhaps not the smartest move I could make. Then again, while I had, at times, a very hard and very available erection right there, I did not stroke it. Not once.

So, that essentially leads up to the conversation that opened this post. I am, unsurprisingly, pretty worked up and my body is telling me, since everything is out there and flopping around, that I need to do something. Either take matters into my own hand or convince Belle to give me access or whatever. But no. She’s conducting an experiment. I’m now in virtual chastity. No device and no touching.

This kind of chastity has a different edge to it. In the device, my control is abdicated. The cock becomes a nonissue because it’s as if it doesn’t exist. Now, it does. And I have to touch it. It gets soapy and wet when I shower, it gets squished and squashed in my pants, and I have to handle it every time I take a leak. Plus, because I’m wearing the thick PA ring, it’s got heft and density all its own. There’s never a time I’m not aware of the unencumbered cock between my legs. Now, my chastity comes as a result of both her control and mine.

Of course, I’m not saying it’s better or worse. Just different. Hot in another way. I’m kinking on the constant temptation kept in check solely through my devotion to her control over my body, but I also really get off on the inescapable steel. About a week from now, Belle goes away on another business trip. I can’t imagine she’ll leave me to my own recognizance while she’s gone. Until then, at least, I’ll have to continue to resist temptation.

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Coupon

I’m going to get fucked this weekend.

Back on Valentine’s day, Belle gave me a card that, according to what was written in it, was good for “one night out”. I pressed her subsequently for more details. Was it just what is said? A night out? No, it meant I’d get to come. Just the one time? Yes. When would I have to go back in? The next morning. Could I use it whenever I wanted or did I need to give her some warning? Etc., etc.

But this morning, as I was groggily walking around the house with a steel tube still full of morning wood plumpness, she told me not to try to use my coupon this weekend because she felt the need to “connect” with her Thumper. I wasn’t going to use it, but it was nice of her to tell me.

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Permanence

Yesterday, over on Sarah Jameson’s Male Chastity Lifestyle list (of which, to be a member, you need to buy her guide to male chastity [which I think is worth your investment if you’re interested in the subject {OK, no more nested parathesis, I promise}]), the following question perked my interest:

Sarah has written about the behavioral changes that occur in a men and the consequent changes in a relationship because of denial. The state of denial is facilitated, if not made possible, by a chastity device.

Would anyone care to comment on the possibility that these changes could become permanent, no longer requiring a device. That is, could a man get to a state in which he voluntarily allowed his wife/lover/SO complete control of his orgasms? Would this be desirable?

I supposed, were I a good member of that list, I’d make my response there, but I’m not going to. (Imagine me with my thumbs in my ears, fingers waving about, and tongue sticking out.)

First things first regarding this question. I don’t believe the premise is quite right. That is, changes do not occur in the relationship or the man just because of the denial. The denial is, itself, one of those changes and provides the catalyst for further changes. I don’t question that our relationship has been impacted due to the integration of orgasm control, but the real precipitating event was that we became close enough and open enough with each other that the control of my orgasm was even a possibility. I think a lot of men confuse how the cause and effect works which leads to a lot of frustrated (in the bad way) people who believed orgasm control to be a panacea of relationship bliss.

So anyway, he goes on to say that denial is facilitated and even made possible because of a device. That’s how it was for me, yes. I very much needed the device to make my denial possible. I was so turned on by the prospect and so far removed from the mechanics of my own orgasm that I could barely control myself. Also, I said that the cock belonged to Belle, but when I had access to it, I didn’t act or even think that way. Had it not been for the device, I don’t know that it ever would have worked. That said, there are guys who don’t use a device and don’t seem to need it. Everybody’s different.

Now, though, I very much feel in my heart the things I wanted to feel two+ years ago when we started this. The changes the questioner refers to have been integrated into me to such an extent that the device is not, strictly speaking, necessary to maintain Belle’s control. In the beginning, I wanted her to control me, but didn’t really feel it. Now, I really do. Deeply.

For instance. You will read a lot of guys out there who want their partners to deny them more than their partners might want to. I was one of them (as anyone who’s read this blog long enough will know). When she told me I could come, I was disappointed. It never seemed long enough. Orgasms even left me depressed. Even though I had given her control and said I wanted her to control it, I felt she wasn’t doing it right.

Now, my attitude is totally different. I embrace my desire to come and will happily take whatever she gives me whenever that happens. In fact, I’ve kind of flipped around in that I want to come, and will tell her so, with a genuine hope that she’ll let me. I admit that there’s still a desire inside me to be denied by her for a very long time, but it’s driven by my need to demonstrate to her that I’ll endure whatever it is she asks me to. And even though I want to come badly most of the time, I still get a bigger thrill from her saying no. In essence, I’ve allowed myself to arrive at a place where I win either way.

Which, I guess, gets back to the second part of his question. I have gotten to the point he describes. Belle now has complete control over my orgasm and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I will niggle a bit with the “could a man get to a state in which he voluntarily allowed his wife/lover/SO complete control of his orgasms” part because, of course, all of this is voluntary. Yes, Belle locks an inescapable steel device onto my body, but it’s not there against my will and never was. Chastity and orgasm control/denial are only involuntary in the porn stories (as hot as they are).

To summarize, my answers to his questions are “yes” and “yes”.

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Back to normal

On a day that a lot of guys look forward to getting their dicks wet, I got the opposite yesterday when Belle told me it was time to lock me back up.

My freedom wasn’t a function of Belle’s timing. There were a combination of events (including air travel) that required I be free and those events were over on Sunday, so Valentine’s Day or no, she reasserted her control over the situation. The free week and the single orgasm ensured that my hands were down my pants as often as possible. My urge to orgasm can never be sated with a single squirt (at least, not anymore). At first, I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to do with regard to diddling her property, but the rules seem to be I am allowed, while free, to touch myself but, of course, am not allowed to have an orgasm.

While I edged myself countless times over the week, I can say I was never actually close to losing control. The higher brain functions were firmly in place and every part of me, from my hand to my brain to the cock itself, knew that there may be milking but there would be no coming. I honestly don’t want to come without her now. I feel like our dynamic is really humming and, frankly, my relationship with her is worth so much more than a furtive squirt. I see the times when I can touch the cock as a real gift from her – a break from normal – and I wouldn’t want to violate the spirit of the gift by taking advantage of the access.

In any event, I had a hard time cleaning the cock this morning because it kept filling the tube so much that I couldn’t flush any water in there. It wanted to come out and play, but neither of us could make that happen. While updating the Portfolio this morning, I really felt the need to pull on it. Of course, all I have is a hard, unfeeling steel tube. Perhaps for that reason, more so than usual, the pictures of cocks are really speaking to me. The various urges ebb and flow, but right now I really want a cock and there are just too many pictures of beautiful ones on the Tumblr.

In other news, I expect the shorter Steelheart tube will be landing soon. These custom steel devices take so long, especially when they’re forged in the Fatherland. Getting back in the swing of sporting the steel has me once again jonesing for a less obtrusive protective device.

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Hers

Earlier in the week, Belle let me out for a fuck. Not just that, but she let me come, too. It was one of those maintenance fucks in that she didn’t want anything out of it except to let me pop one inside her. Apparently, she felt I needed it. I didn’t even get to play with her tits. I tried to stretch it out and enjoy the sensation, but it’s impossible for me now. I used to pride myself for being able to hold off until after she came, but I’m lucky to fuck for more than a minute or two now before losing it.

The next day, she asked me how I was doing in a way that we both know means how is Thumper doing. As in, how is her submissive, orgasm controlled husband? In the past, I would have had either mixed emotions or been downright upset from having an orgasm, so she’s careful to check in with me to see how I’m doing. I appreciate that, but I feel I’ve moved past those fits of pique. I was thrilled to come, more than thrilled to be allowed to fuck her. Somewhat disappointed that she didn’t want to come because I so much enjoy making her do it, but I leapt at the chance to get the dick wet.

Just one orgasm is never enough to blow all the steam off after a month or so of denial, so I was still very interested in action, even more so since the cock was free and flopping around. She hasn’t let me come again, but for several nights, she would grasp and stroke the cock, putting me in quite the state, before she closed her eyes to sleep, hand still wrapped around her hard, quivering cock. It’d slowly, slowly deflate as she drifted off. I was wide awake, of course, and once picked up my phone to look at porn. Its flaccid state was replaced with rock hardness again, still in her hand, though she was asleep. I’m allowed to look at porn, but felt nervous still since its effect on me was very evident. Had she woke up just a little, she’d have know what I was doing. The thought of her “catching” me hard and horny left me feeling embarrassed, though I can’t say why.

Before I left home for one night (another reason she let me out since I was flying), she let me get naked and I came on to her as forcefully as I could. She ignored the cock totally as my hands and mouth moved all over her. It ached it was so hard. I wanted inside her again. I wanted to come again. She wanted to come, too, and she let me give her an orgasm, but with my hands. Then she rolled over and slept, never having even acknowledged the hard cock and my obvious desire to use it.

My trip was overnight and in a hotel, but I shared the room, so there was no monkey business. Now I’m back and still horny and I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to get back in bed with her, to feel her body next to mine, to press the cock – hard as it will be – into her drowsy form, even if she basically ignores it again. As I said above and have said before, I am totally comfortable with her controlling the cock and my orgasm and she is doing it perfectly right now. She can lock it up, stroke it, let it come, leave it alone, smack it around, slather it with Icy Hot, or let me fuck her with it. It is hers. What it does and feels is hers. What I do with it is up to her. Everything is hers.

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Keyless

Belle’s lost my key.

I just like saying it. Belle, my keyholder, has lost the key to the inescapable steel trap she locked onto my body. Yes, that key.

No biggie.

If you remember, she locked me up before she went away last week (wisely not trusting me to be alone with the cock). I gave her the key back when I was done. The next time I saw it was a couple of days later when my son (of all people) showed it to me and asked me what it was for.

“Uh,” I said, “Where’d you find that?”

His friend had found it on the floor of my son’s room. Very weird. So I took it back and, redirecting him from his original question like Obi Wan Kenobi, told him I’d give it to his mom. I placed it in my pants pocket. Which pair? No idea. No neither of us know where it is now. Maybe it’ll show up in the laundry.

Not that it’s at all necessary. She appears to be wanting to keep me locked up until at least Valentine’s Day. She hasn’t come out and said that explicitly, but I know how she works. She likes holidays. So that’s still a few weeks away. If not Valentine’s Day, then maybe St. Patrick’s Day. It’ll turn up. I’m not worried. Much.

And if not, there’s always the emergency key.

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The year of the rabbit

Yesterday was the first day of the Chinese new year. The Year of the Rabbit. Oh, the irony.

I talked to Belle last night and she’s supportive of whatever I do (then we had sex and she told me I still had to be locked up no matter how bad a day I had and that, in the end, she likes to see me squirm and suffer – sounds cruel, but context is everything). She doesn’t think I should stop writing this blog, but would understand if I did. Well, I’m not going to. Not yet. I’ve decided that writing here might be too important to me to allow it to stop on anyone’s terms except mine.

I want to make something very clear. Yesterday’s post was not in direct response to anything Maymay said. Sure, he was a catalyst because his were the first and most rude of all the comments I received, but I did not have him in mind when I wrote it (regardless of what he might think). But, as long as we’re on the subject, I have decided that I don’t need him or his drama. Thanks to modern technology, it’s fairly simple to amputate him from my life. I won’t remove any existing links from here to anything he’s produced in the past, but I will not be engaging him here or anywhere from this moment forward (this was my final shot, sent in anger, which I now regret, but it is the last). I’m sure May’s a very sincere person and fine fellow to share a drink with, but his view of the world and mine are clearly very different and I simply don’t have the energy or interest to try to reconcile.

With regard to the main point most people are taking issue with – that I am trying to tell everyone from all walks of life how they’re supposed to live their lives – I’m sorry if that’s the impression you have. It’s not my intent. I feel I attempted at various points to say I was talking to people like me in situations like mine, but I’m willing to also concede that I could have done it differently or better. I’m very happy to engage with those who are interested in having civil and measured debate, but I totally reject the notion that the number of visitors my blog receives every day should have any bearing whatsoever on how I express myself. This is still a personal blog about my personal life. It is not a platform for any kind of activism. This is the story of one aspect of my life. Period.

So anyway, back when I said “everyone” should live like I do, I honestly meant it in the same way one might say “everyone” should try that new steak place out on the highway. Yes, the world is full of vegetarians who never eat the dead flesh of other animals, and by saying “everyone” should eat at the new steakhouse one would, of course, not be challenging anyone’s choice to be vegan. That’s ridiculous. At least, I think so. If you are not the kind of person for whom my advice from the other day applies, then ignore it. Don’t tell me how it can’t possible apply to you and by suggesting it should I’m being sexist or genderist or whatever the fuck. If everything I say here has to be scrubbed against the multiverse of human sexuality before it sees the light of day, what will be left? I’m not trying to be insensitive. I’m not trying to exclude. But, as I think I’ve said now about a hundred times, this blog is about me, my sex life, and my love live. If you’re experience is outside mine, then chances are I’ll never be able to speak to it adequately. You might even be occasionally offended. It won’t be intentional.

Now let’s rewind and say Maymay had taken a slightly different tack the other day. Something that started, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but have you any idea how much that bothered me?” Would I be writing these words today? Probably not. But that’s not how we started and that’s not how things progressed, so here we are. Maybe half of you will stop reading me now. So be it. I have to be what I am and I have to think what I think and I can’t possibly write anything different.

Lastly, I’ve debated leaving comments off. The feedback page is still working and several of you availed yourselves of it yesterday. I’ve decided to turn comments back on not because I’m dying to be validated but because I’d like to get this “police state” bullshit behind me as quickly as possible. If I need to, I’ll turn them off again and depend on the feedback form from now on. We’ll see.

I now return you to the Year of the Rabbit, already in progress.