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Hot flash

As I said, Belle’s away on a short business trip. This means, as usual, I’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to consume a fair amount of porn. Since she left me in the clutches of the CB6K, this has led to a corresponding increase in the amount of unexpended hormones coursing through me. Also, as usual, it means last night was very nearly sleepless. I did sleep, for about two or three hours, but not until I popped a Tylenol PM and even then not for at least an hour or so after I took it. Today, I found myself dealing with some interesting and heretofore unknown side-effects of my denied, locked, and hormone drenched condition.

In my job, I often find myself in rooms full of women where I am either the only man or only one of two. Today, I was in about four meetings stretching over five hours where I was outnumbered at least 4-1 by the double-x set. After the third hour or so, I started to feel the electric resonance of carnivorous butterflies bouncing around in my chest. These hormonal surges start to kick in after a couple of weeks of orgasmless existence, but I had never experienced one in that setting. I felt like getting up and running as fast as I could through the endless rows of cubicles of my client’s office. It was hard to sit still. When asleep, these surges will wake me up. When already awake, they apparently make me want to do jumping jacks on the conference room table.

In any event, while all this was going on, I happened to glance across the table at one of the more attractive women I was meeting with. Suddenly, I was presented the most intense and palpable, well, vision, I guess. Hallucination? I don’t know what to call it, but I felt my mouth on a woman’s hard, erect nipple and my hands on a soft, female form. Not exactly the woman I was looking at, but looking at her had triggered it. There was no face, not even Belle’s, it was just a nipple and a body and me. Instantly, I felt the CB6K fully pressurize. I was fairly useless for the next five to ten minutes as my mind processed the experience and the surge of testosterone (or whatever) was absorbed by my body.

I wonder if I blushed.

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Numbers

Last night, I wrote down the dates for the next year’s worth of Saturdays on a sheet of paper, cut them all out, and tossed them into a hat. Of the 50-some little bingo ball-like clippings, Belle drew eight: the eight times I’ll be allowed to pleasurably achieve orgasm over the next 12 months. She didn’t tell me much about the dates (and, in fact, said, “It’s not for you to know or worry about. Just wait.”), but she did mention that there are three “dry spells”. Three rather long dry spells. And she intimated that I’m at the start of a dry spell right now.

BINGO!The longest I’ve gone without coming so far is about three weeks. Now, I’m facing the prospect of twice that and probably much longer (52 weeks divided by eight would mean I’m coming every month and a half or so, on average). What constitutes a “dry spell”, anyway? I admit to being excited by the prospect, but I’m also more than a little nervous. I have no idea what I’m in for now. It’s all new territory.

As we discussed it – my orgasmic fate – the cock became very hard. Still free, I hoped against hope that she’d want to use it, (it’s been days and days since she last let me make her come), but she wasn’t all that interested. I never asked so she never said so directly, but she knew I was ready, knew how horny I was, but chose not to act on the opportunity. There wasn’t even a trace of impatience or angst within me regarding that. As I said in my last post, I totally accept that it’s her hand on the sexual rudder. My availability or eagerness is not that big a deal since I’m always eager and available. So we went to sleep, me spooned into her, hard cock again between us.

Before that, though, as we lay in the dark she said she’s worried about my prostate health as we embark on this new and greatly reduced orgasm regimen. I told her the science seemed to be contradictory on the matter, but we could always ruin one occasionally to blow out the pipes. She said she’d probably allow me to milk myself instead. In any event, it was also decided that, assuming she likes this method of determining when I get to come, we’ll select new dates each year around Labor Day.

In the mean time, I’ll be locked up again today. My short little stint as a free(ish) man will end due to Belle’s impending business trip. After she reminded me last night that I’d be reimprisioned before she left, I asked, “What, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” she replied flatly, “I can just see it now on your blog. ‘I was just blah blah blah and then…’ So no, I don’t trust you. You’re getting locked up.”

Whatever you say, Belle Fille.

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Labor Day weekend

I didn’t get to see Belle until Saturday morning. This weekend saw the final fling of the summer up at the family north woods compound. She left Friday morning with her sister while I came up after the kids got of school. It wasn’t until 10:30 or so until I got up there and she was already fast asleep.

The next morning, she told me she had drifted off to sleep happy with the thought that I was locked under her key, unable to touch myself in any satisfactory way. She said she enjoys having that kind of control over me. I, not unexpectedly, revelled in her saying this. The familiar warm pulse of submission welled up within me. It’s still somewhat novel for me to think that I wear the device because she wants me to. It was my idea to introduce it, but now it’s all hers (as is the thing it contains). Pure awesome.

Saturday night, after a one of the finest late summer days I’ve seen at the cabin, she had me laying naked next to her in bed. Still locked up, she gently petted my balls until we both fell asleep. The next morning, now about two weeks since I last came, I was petting her back, hands roaming all across her body, except those places I’m not allowed to touch without permission.

“I’m being good,” I observed.

“You don’t have to be good,” she replied.

With that, I attempted to bring her to orgasm, but could feel in her a tension that left me wondering if we’d get there. When she’s in the mood, there’s a certain amount of time it should take me to get her off. As we passed that point, I maintained the ministrations of my mouth and fingers, but could sense it wasn’t going to happen. She eventually told me to stop, but said it wasn’t my fault she didn’t come. There was just too much activity in the cabin full of family for her to relax. I felt bad for her – for both of us, I guess, since her orgasm is our orgasm – but I didn’t dwell on it.

Sunday night, after a fine meal at the only nice restaurant within an hour’s drive of the cabin, we found ourselves alone with the kids asleep downstairs. As I walked into our room, she was sorting through her change purse looking for something. Funnily enough, she desired the use of her cock but had accidentally left the key to the lock at home. We both had a pretty good laugh at that. She didn’t want me to try bringing her orgasm again and instead repeated the previous evening’s gentle stroking of the stretched scrotum, intermingled with lingering tracing of my perineum and the occasional whack at my nuts. Lovely.

Throughout the weekend, and really into last week, I have to say that I’ve been plenty horny and desirous of sexual contact with her, but I’ve also felt myself resist taking any overt action based on those feelings. Previously, I’d have probably been all over her and pressuring her in several ways, but at least for now, I don’t feel the need. I’m very comfortable with my position as her sexual subordinate. When she wants it, she’ll ask for it. Until then, I’ll find some other way to make her happy. I guess you could say that it appears as though I’ve learned to be patient. The chastity device helps, of course.

Last night, I offered to give her a foot massage while we caught up on Mad Men. Just as before, I felt a great deal of satisfaction from the activity knowing that it was giving her pleasure and making her relaxed. After I finished (and the show was over), she produced her key. I was somewhat surprised as being unlocked wasn’t even on my mind, but I assumed she wanted to use her cock in the way she had not been able to the night before. After she let me out, I went off to ensure I was nice and clean.

Back in the bedroom, she had me strip and lay back on the bed. She rubbed and massaged the cock and my balls until I was sporting a very stiff erection. I flexed it several times, feeling it surge with blood and filling out to its most engorged state, just for the satisfaction of the sensation. It had only been a week or so in the device, but nothing beats the feeling of a nice hard cock.

She again smacked my nuts around, though with more force than before when the plastic was in the way. A couple of times, she actually balled up her fist and thudded into my right testicle, but not as forcefully as she could have. Lovely, exquisite pain radiated up and into my guts which, unless it’s your thing, you’d never really understand or appreciate.

Then she started to stroke me. Gently and slowly at first, but then with more speed. It felt simply glorious. I moaned and writhed and felt the tickling tell-tale signs of orgasm deep under the stiff root of the cock. I wasn’t sure if she meant to get me off, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

And then she stopped. I moaned deeply. The absence of her touch reverberated in me and the bubbling optimism of my coming orgasm quickly receded. Then she started to stroke me again. This time, I swung my leg over hers to more fully open myself to her and pressed into her body. My entire being was being consumed by the sensation of her masturbating me. Shortly, I again felt the tingling of a nascent orgasm beginning to coalesce and again she let go, leaving the hard meat bobbing in her wake.

This time, the absence of her attention tore through me. I moaned even more loudly and my breathing was in ragged pants as I struggled to process my desire for her to keep going, but knowing I couldn’t ask for it. I kissed her chin and jaw and pressed my face into her breasts trying to find the outline of her nipples with my lips, but she pushed me away.

Her hand was back on the rigid, straining cock, moving up and down. I wanted it so badly, this sensation. More, I wanted to shoot my wad. I wanted the two weeks worth of spunk I had been carrying around with me to unload all over her hand and my chest. I wanted to come. I resolved to do what I could to hide any sign of an impending orgasm. I willed the internal process along hoping to take her by surprise.

Is that wrong? Was I betraying my oath of submission and the power I had investing in her over my release? I don’t know. I can’t say. All I do know is the urge to come had overtaken any other imperative. All there was in the world was her hand and the hard cock within it and the wonderful orgasm she was soon to bring into the world.

And it was right there. I could feel it starting to march up the ladder, yearning for daylight. I was about to come…until she stopped again. My moan was more a cry of anguish. It was over, this time for good, and the juices never flowed. The cock bobbed rhythmically as I flexed and pumped it as though doing so would cause the orgasm to spontaneously come into being, but I got nothing. Not even a meager dribble. Apparently, not as close as I thought.

Shortly afterward, the candles were snuffed and she was rolled over and going to sleep. I pressed the still hard meat into her as we spooned, careful not to grind it. I was horny beyond comprehension, but at the same time happy and satisfied, after a fashion.

My Belle played me very well all weekend long. I have not seen her more confident and comfortable in her role. Right now, things are going well. Very, very well.

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Rika arrives

I finally got around to ordering Uniquely Rika the other day and it showed up last night. I’ve seen it talked up on other sites and, after finding myself again on her old website (now defunct, but still available if you know how to use the Internet Archive), I decided to pop the $30 and get the book. I’ve purchased books like this in the past (specifically, about female dominance), but I can’t say they’ve been particularly helpful. On the one hand, it has been hard picturing either Belle or me living the lives they describe (though, to be fair, the life we are leading is evolving at a fairly rapid rate – there are things I embrace now that I eschewed six months ago). On the other hand, I was the one reading the books, not Belle (for the most part – we did read parts of one or two together). I really don’t consider me to be the target audience for these. Belle is.

So, after leafing though it last night and seeing that Rika isn’t batshit crazy or anything, and after recognizing that the majority of the book consists of Rika speaking to the F in the FLR, I decided to basically ignore it. It’s Belle’s to read. If there are sections within that she thinks I should look at, then I’ll be more than happy to do so, but otherwise, its secrets will be hers. And really, they should be. If I’m to truly submit to her, then she needs to craft a flavor of dominance she’s comfortable with all on her own. She needs to own it and let me live within it. It can’t really be community property. I’m not saying I need to sublimate all my needs and emotions or anything like that, but in whatever way we’re able to practice D/s, she needs to bring the D and I need to bring the s. It seems to me, the less I think about how she should or should not practice domination, the more confident she’ll be in how she approaches it and the more energy I can expend being a better submissive. That’s the idea, anyway. She agrees the book is for her, not me, and started to read it last night. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

While she was reading it, I was giving her a foot massage. It felt really, really good for me since it’s been somewhat busy around the house over the past week and my opportunities to service her have been few and far between. I have been able to cook the dinners and clean up and such, but that just kind of feels like my job now and not so much a chance to make her especially happy. So, while she filled out the questionnaire, I spent 30 minutes lovingly caressing her feet.

Afterward, she asked for me to continue on her shoulders and neck, which I gratefully did. That kind of massage is fundamentally more intimate since she’s typically topless and I usually get more contact with her body since I straddle her legs while doing it.

At one point, I was kneeling just below her ass and laying over her to get a better angle on her shoulder muscles.

“That feels nice,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“The way you’re thrusting into me like that.”

I hadn’t even realized I was, but once she mentioned it, I saw that my motions were causing the CB6K to rhythmically grind into her ass. Had I not been wearing it, and had we both been completely naked, it wasn’t very dissimilar from a position I’d use to penetrate her from behind. After all this clicked into place in my head, I felt the pressure build in the device and the nature of my position – the denied, chastised male dedicated to her pleasure – fall upon me in full weight. I was already sporting a healthy subbie buzz, but this sent it flying.

“Maybe we should try this position sometime,” she continued, suggesting I could fuck her from behind while massaging her shoulders. Whether or not that’s even possible, the idea of trying it, and her talking about sex while I was physically incapable of it, caused me to breath very heavily as my face hovered above her bare skin. It was wonderfully tormenting.

Finally, after the massage was over, she produced Pink, her little vibe. Even though she’s still on her period, she wanted me to get her off. I very happily complied, especially when she told me to get naked. She came quickly and intensely.

This morning, she was lazy in bed because she had the day off. While snuggling and spooning, she started to touch me. While chastised, I find myself especially sensitive to her touch all over my body. I’m not the first person to observe that locking away the primary male erogenous zone causes the remainder of the body to pick up the slack. She can touch me anywhere and set me off. In this case, it was my chest. Gently, she ran her fingers through my chest hair and down along my ribs. I felt myself melt. She traced down my side, over the top of my thigh, and found my balls. She may have also been touching the cock in its plastic case, but there’s no way I can feel that. As her fingers lightly caressed me, I felt my normal morning thickness try to grow against its encasement. The device, along with its contents, pulled up and away from my body. Laying on my back was intolerable. I turned over and got up on my hands and knees. Suspended from above, the straining package was more comfortable, but she continued to trace the contours of my stretched scrotum and I felt the tube of the CB6K throb as the meat it secured became more engorged.

“God, it’s so tight,” I gasped.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked while not stopping.

*whimper*

Finally, “No. Don’t ever stop.”

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Silent running

One of the unfortunate side-effects of having a PA piercing is that, when sporting the plastic chastity tube, the stainless steel jewelery I wear tends to knock around in there. The 6ga segment ring isn’t as bad as the curved barbell with the ball on the end. That combo acts like a bell with the ball on the barbell being the clapper. CLANKITY, CLANKITY, CLANKITY as I walk down the hall. As I said, the segment ring is better, but can still, depending on the condition of the little slab of meat it’s been punched through, make what can be a difficult to explain noise when padding around the house in one’s jammies.

With this in mind, I recently ordered an acrylic ball-enclosed ring. The idea was that the plastic wouldn’t resonate against the tube as noisily as the hard metal does. The ring itself it much lighter than the metal, unsurprisingly, and the ball pops in and out of the flexible ring easily making the ring feel not so much like jewelery as it does a piece from a LEGO model. Also, it doesn’t seem to want to move around easily through the piercing. The stainless usually glides smoothly through the hole while the plastic tends to move in fits and spurts and drags against my skin. In any event, this isn’t that big of a deal since, when worn within the CB6K, it has been practically silent. I haven’t heard any sound from down there whatsoever. The ball enclosure is too big to fit through the slot at the end of the tube, so when hard, there’s a definite “coach class” crowdedness in there, but nothing at all painful or especially problematic.

Also helping on the noise front is the black Master lock I’m wearing. Typically, I place a small felt self-adhesive pad on the back of my other metal locks to help keep down the clankiness, but the Master lock has a black plastic shell and seems to fit more snugly though the hole in the CB6K’s locking pin. Less movement combined with a deadened impact means even quieter operation.

Next time I’m tapped to sneak up on someone ninja-style, I will do so confidently knowing that my chastity device won’t unexpectedly clank and blow my cover.

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Eight

Belle and I headed north Friday to retrieve our children from their end-of-summer extended stay with the grandparents. The drive is about four hours and gave us a nice long time to chat. I pointed out to her that it was nearing a year since we started our little experiment and thought it a good time to discuss what’s going well and what we wish was better.

On the plus side, she said she’s happy overall with what we’ve done with our relationship. She likes that I’m more interested in doing things for her, likes that we’re having more sex, and likes locking me into chastity. Her reasons for liking the first two things are fairly straightforward. As for enforcing my chastity, she says she likes the sense of control it gives her. Likes knowing that my actions are limited – what I am (and am not) up to – when wearing it. This, of course, turns me the fuck on. I explained that doing something she tells me to do because she knows it’s what I want makes me feel good, but doing it because it’s something she wants makes it 50 times more exciting for me. I also reiterated to her that being locked up makes me feel cared for by her. Maintained. It demonstrates a willingness on her part to control me.

With regard to the service aspect, I like that she likes that, too. She and I were both turned on the other night when I cleaned the kitchen for her while she visited with her friend (which probably explains why she fucked me afterward). However, I told her I didn’t think I was providing very good service lately. I encouraged her to hold me to higher expectations. Also, there should be ramifications for not living up to those standards.

As for the sex part, I too am very happy with the frequency. On average, I’d say we have sex three or four times a week. A year ago, it was once every six weeks, so big improvement! She’s much more comfortable now being the only one of use who comes during these encounters than she was at the beginning, though she still occasionally struggles with it. I reiterated to her that I am very, very happy having fewer orgasms, but I know it sometimes puts pressure on her. In the past, not having sex led to issues in out marriage, and I think somewhere in the back of her head she still equates my sexual satisfaction with how much I ejaculate, but that’s got nothing to do with it. As I said, we’re having many times more sex now than a year ago, though I’m coming way, way less. Regardless, I’ve never been more satisfied sexually in my life. I’ll make sure to tell her happy I am more often.

The thing I told her I need more of (rather than orgasms) was teasing. She didn’t get what I was trying to say with that, and it occurred to me it is a rather vague term. I meant teasing as in “tease and denial”. Basically, turn me on and then leave me on. Make me hard, do things that might eventually cause me to orgasm, but then stop. She said she’d do more of that.

Finally, we got to the subject of my orgasms. Specifically, the frequency with which they occur. There is a significant amount of angst that builds up around this for both of us (probably more so for me). After talking about a few alternatives, we decided to try an approach that will allow a specific number over the next twelve months but at random intervals. I asked how many she though would be a reasonable amount and, after thinking about it for a while, said eight or nine. While she was thinking, I was too, and also came up with eight. So eight it is.

We’re going to toss into a hat the date of the next 52 Saturdays and I’ll draw eight, but won’t be told what they are. Those will be the dates (within a couple days in either direction) upon which I’ll be allowed to have orgasms. On the plus side, it removes the angst of deciding when I’ll come for both of us. On the minus side, it also removes a significant piece of her control over the spontaneity of those occasions. We’re going to give it a try and see how it goes. If she doesn’t like it, she can always change the rules again.

My only issue now is deciding what to do when I come by accident. It’s going to happen sooner or later. So far, she’s seemed reluctant to punish me (other than that one week when she took away my right to participate in her pleasure). We have a few homebrew crops she could use on me, but so far, she hasn’t. I’m not sure what’s holding her back from using punishment, but it seems to me to be an integral part of power exchange – that she has the right to punish me while I’ve little choice but to accept it. That really works for me, but maybe not so much for her.

So anyway, she started her period today, so that means I’m back in the device. We’ve fallen back to the black Master locks as the sharp little brass lock corroded last time I wore it. The Masters don’t seem prone to that. Too bad they’re so bulky and kinda ugly (and say “Master” on them – they’d be so much better if they said “Mistress”, don’t you think?).

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Free ride

“What, exactly, are your intentions?” Belle asked as I laid next to her, naked, running my hand up and down her inner thighs, careful to avoid touching the area in between them as I had not been given permission to do so.

It was late (for Belle), around 10:45 or so. She had just finished up some work after entertaining a girlfriend at our house for 3 or 4 hours. She and her friend sat in the living room (after having been driven inside by desperate late-Summer mosquitoes) sipping their wine and talking about people they used to work with while I cleaned up the kitchen, set up her coffee for the morning, attended to the dog, etc. It felt nice being a service to her, letting her focus all her energy on her friend, removing any stress she might have with regard to the messy kitchen. I felt…in my place. Happy. In a routine.

“I have no intentions,” I replied, “I’m just doing this because it feels good for you and makes me happy. I expect nothing.”

“Well, aren’t you being the good sub tonight,” she purred, “I just wanted to know if you had an objective.”

“I always have an objective,” I admitted, “But I also know my place. If you want an orgasm, I’d be very happy to give you one. But it’s your call, not mine.”

“Hmmm,” she said in her lazy, getting ready to sleep voice, “Someone must have slipped you some truth serum or something, because you’re speaking the truth.”

*Ache.* I love it when she talks like that. I felt the cock start to respond in it’s expected manner. I felt warm inside and kept stroking her legs.

“OK,” she said with some finality.

“Time for bed?” I asked, “Want me off?”

“No, I want an orgasm.” Hooray! “But nothing dramatic. Just a nice little ten minute deal because I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”

“OK, I’ll send the circus monkeys home.”

She exposed her breasts to me and I clamped on while rubbing her mound under its thin fabric, feeling her heat already starting to build.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Being in this position – servicing her desire while mine is left to grow unattended – feels so right and good now. It is as things should be. This is how we make love. Her orgasm is our orgasm. I crave hers more than my own.

After about five minutes of action, she was wet and moaning in encouraging ways. We were headed in the right direction and I knew I’d be bringing her to orgasm well within her ten minute requirement.

“How’s my cock?” she asked.

“Hmrph?” I asked, mouth full of nipple.

“How’s my cock?” she asked more insistently.

“Um, kinda hard,” I replied. Truth is, I was thinking more about getting her home than the condition of the penis.

“Hard enough for me to ride?” I reached down and felt the erection. Not stone-hard, kinda squishy on the outside but with a nice solid core.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m going to ride it,” she declared.

I rolled over on my back and she climbed on top of me, took the cock in her hand and guided it smoothly into her. I took advantage of my ready access to both nipples and continued to lick, suck, and tease them with my tongue and fingers. I flexed my hips to create a counter rhythm to hers until I felt our skin was sliding freely and she used her legs to adjust the position of mine, pushing them further apart. After she had established her rhythm, moving up and down at whatever speed and depth worked best for her, I stopped moving in an attempt to extend my resistance.

As usual, my mind went to baseball. No idea what I’m going to do when the season’s over, but thoughts of player slumps and team standings were enough to distract me from her increasing speed and rising passion.

After a respectable period of time, she came. Really, really came. Her biocock never twitched. She was able to ride me as long and as passionately as she wanted with no distracting orgasm of my own. She collapsed on top of me, panting and glowing, basking like crazy while I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

“Good job, Thumper,” she exhaled.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.”

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Hot and not

I’ve been thinking lately about why people read this. You know, all of this – the highs and lows of our nascent BDSM “lifestyle” and shit. I suppose some of you are here for the hot sex, and that’s cool, but then I’m also sure if that’s the case you’re likely annoyed when we inconveniently expose ourselves as real people with emotions and foibles and all that. I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of that recently.

I used to follow some blogs just because they were hot. Not hot in the way I wanted or expected my interaction with Belle to be, but hot nonetheless. Because I’m stupid, I would read these blogs, mostly written by submissive men, and think they were real – that people could really live like they did, where the otherwise vanilla wife could suddenly be turned into a she-wolf dominatrix and the husband into a sexual object and plaything. Right, hot, but not real. Which is not to say they’re total fabrications, but I do wonder why so many seem to lack anything like real human interaction. Belle and I have been able to pull off some admittedly hot stuff in the past 10 months or so and I could have only posted about those things. In doing so, I would have given those browsing the web with one hand plenty of pleasant moments, but it would have been a lie. A half-truth, at best. In any event, I’ve stopped reading blogs without relationship content because that’s what I’m in: a relationship. Not a fantasy world.

I do not think of this blog as an educational tool or anything, but I do want it to represent an authentic journal of our experiences. Some people are where we are, some are in an earlier stage, some much later, but nonetheless, I am trying to speak to real people about real people. Some bloggers share only their sex and do it solely to titillate people like themselves. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume what they write about kinda sorta happened as they say, but I know from being in a relationship that they’re leaving out the boring, non-erection inducing parts. Those are important, too. To me, blogs like that eventually come off sounding soulless. Hollow. Plastic.

So where am I going with this? The point is, if you read this blog mostly for the hot sex scenes, please do not compare my life with the idealized life found on some others. Anyone who thinks, for example, that I should be forever grateful to my domme wife for consenting to top me, regardless of what that means with regard to her actions and my feelings, is not here for the right reason. I am grateful to my wife, but I’m also a real person with my own needs and thoughts and emotions (as is she). It may sound hot to totally submit – to be run over by a dominant woman, to have no say, to become her plaything – but in reality, it’s not that simple. I have to believe that if you think it is, then you either 1) have not actually done this kind of thing, or 2) are into something very different than I am.

So, in summary, please always remember that the events portrayed in this blog actually happened to actual people. The porn is plainly labeled.