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The beacon has been activated

As has been previously mentioned, the affect of orgasm denial on my sleep patterns is of interest to me. Lately, I have been sleeping really poorly. I think I’ve had about 10 hours of sleep over the past three days, and it’s not due to the physical discomfort of being in the CB6K. I seem to be teeming with hormones and they just won’t let me fall asleep or stay asleep. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night perfectly alert, hard-on stuffed into its plastic home, and vivid sexual images passing though my head. Last night, I experienced the sensation of waves running up my body from my waist to my chest and down my arms. They seemed to be waves of pure electric excitement like some kind of emergency beacon activated by my cock to tell the world it’s been abandoned and for someone to please send help. Putting an arm over Belle or her holding me seems to calm these feelings, but does nothing to help me really relax. Yes, I’m calmer, but now I’m touching her.

Last night before she went to sleep, Belle was kind enough to use her nails on my ass, back and my stretched ball sack. We kissed deeply and basically had a heavenly time. It was like pouring gas on a campfire, but I enjoyed every second of it. I told her how happy she was making me and how lucky I considered myself to be since I’ve found many examples on the web of husbands trying to bring OD or chastity into their marriages with little interest from their spouses. I told Belle I am really starting to think of the meat between my legs as belonging to her. I believe that she controls and owns it and, through it, me. She’s exploring what that means to her and on what terms she wants to live with it, and that’s what makes me happy. She’s not just doing it because I want her to. She’s making it her own. And I love her so much for that.

I keep wanting to fuss with the fit of the CB6K. For most of my current stint in the device, I’ve been wearing the second to largest ring (1 7/8″ I think) and the second to smallest spacer. Based on Maymay’s fitting advice, I feel I should be wearing the middle sized ring (1 3/4″) but have a hard time with it. I put it on last night while cleaning the device, along with a larger spacer, but once erect found myself in too much pain. I remember the 1 7/8″ ring also caused pain at first, so I suppose I just need to eventually suck it up, wear the 1 3/4″ ring and make my cock adapt. But I chickened out and reverted to the larger ring just before bed.

So, that’s the state of affairs on this, my ninth day without orgasm and first full week in chastity. Belle and I are leaving town tonight for a weekend in a cabin deep in the woods (without internet). I know she’s not going to let me out until tomorrow, so that will be eight days locked up. I suspect she will allow me to orgasm as well, but if she really wanted to demonstrate her position, she won’t let it happen right away. Or maybe not even until Sunday. That would be delicious. However, I absolutely want to come this weekend. Ten or eleven days without release is enough for this little bunny, thanks.

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Teasing by text

Belle: Hi Thumper I hope you are having a good day and I adore u and it’s only 2 more days

Thumper: I adore you too. And actually, I *don’t* know it’s only two days. Last I heard, only the plastic’s coming off in 2 days.

Belle: Oh u r so right. It’s 2 days for me… 🙂

Thumper: You’re evil. And I love you.

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Carnivorous butterflies

It’s obvious, based on my last two posts, that there’s a certain amount of conflict within me. I guess this is to be expected. I am profoundly horny and deeply frustrated. Perhaps more so than at any time in my life. I have never felt so submissive or more easily manipulated.

For those keeping score at home, it’s now been eight days since my last orgasm and I’ve been in lockup for six. In addition, for various reasons, I have not been able to engage Belle in any significant sexual play in several days. I am left with no outlet. No way for my seed to spill, no pleasurable sensations for my meat, and no emotional release through satisfying my Belle. My chest is filled with quivering, delicate butterflies yearning to get out and consume human flesh. It is torture.

But let’s be real. Don’t for even one second think I’m not the happiest, horniest little bunny in the forest.

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WTF was that all about!?

OK, all that “gee, wouldn’t it be swell never to come again” crap from earlier today is out the window.

Belle had a work thing to go to so was home later than usual. As soon as she got home and was in my sight, I wanted her. I wanted her so badly. I managed to contain myself for a few minutes, but as she was standing next to me sorting through the junk mail, I kissed her. Deeply and wetly, sucking on her lips and breathing in her smell mixed with the odor of cheap bar food and wine. In fact, I more than wanted her. I needed her.

After a few moment of kissing, I staggered off to the bathroom and noticed that in that short time, with nothing more than the kissing, I had managed to leak precum into the device. Thick, sticky, and clear. I’m not normally a copious producer of precum, so this was somewhat surprising.

In bed later, she informed me I was to attend to her grooming. She allows me to keep her pubic hair trimmed and tonight I was to go down there and play barber. This was after my basically begging her to let me out of the device. I really really really need to feel my hard cock in my hand. I want so badly to stroke myself, knowing full well I’m not going to come but just desperately needing to feel the sensation of a free and happy erection. She said no and told me to get trimming. I went to work, moaning slightly at the sight of her pussy knowing all I could do was groom it and not touch it or otherwise play. Her aroma was intoxicating.

After, when the trimmer and towel and all the other grooming accoutrement had been put away and she was once more in my arms, I begged again for release. She again said no, that I wasn’t getting out until Saturday. Oh, and I wasn’t going to come once I did get out, even though she had previously told me I would. She said she was going to ride her cock and I was going to get nothing. And then I realized. I really did want to come. Really and truly. All that rubbish about not coming from earlier? Well, it’s fine to go on like that when she’s not around, but once I was in her presence and could feel the small of her back and taste her mouth and inhale the aroma of her womanhood and she said I wasn’t going to get to come…well, something in me went click. I will do whatever it takes to get an orgasm on Saturday.

Whatever. It. Fucking. Well. Takes.

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Hardly ever vs. never ever (ever)

Today, I stumbled upon this on the web and I find myself reflective. It’s a quick read, but allow me to quote the salient point:

I told my boyfriend, David, if we are going to be married, he would haft [sic] to surrender himself to me, which included chastity for life. He would never be allowed to masturbate, or enter me.

So after fifteen years of marriage, the dude has never come. Not once. I have to admit that the idea of never being allowed any kind of sexual release ever again is a little thrilling. I have found myself recently resenting the idea of orgasm since I’m finding myself so satisfied with denial. Once I do come, I know it’ll be two or three days to get back in the same mental and physical state as I was before the orgasm. Maybe more since I’m finding I’m actually building up a resistance to the affects of not releasing. I know I just told Belle I’d be happy with 2-3 releases a month, but could I ever want it even less? Once a month? Every ninety days? Once a year!?! Egad, when will it end?

I know I’m a more attentive mate since I’ve ceded control over my sexual destiny to Belle. But what drives that? If I resent the idea of an orgasm (and, incidentally, finding myself intrigued by the concept of ruined orgasms) then from where am I deriving my motivation? I assumed that I was more attentive and sweeter and all that because I was trying to get her to allow me to come, but what if I find myself never wanting to come again? And why do I find the idea of not being allowed to come actually arousing?

Unsurprisingly, Tom Allen has already tread this ground:

I mean, the orgasm denial was pretty hot, but much of what made it hot was the tantalizing hope of being allowed to come, even if that was “tomorrow.” Like the White Queen’s promise of “Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday but never jam today,” at least there was a hope that today would sneak up on tomorrow. But for the first time I began to be concerned that this might turn into a long-term arrangement with no hope that she would allow me to come.

No hope of coming. Ever.

Goddamn, that’s so freakin’ hot.

No, no, no – it’s scary and frightening and making me very insecure. I want to come, of course. Orgasms are fun. They feel great. Gotta clean those pipes once in a while, blow off some steam, relieve the pressure. Right? Right?

Then why was the idea of it making me hornier than ever?

Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to find the post where Tom explains why he’s so horny (and yes, that passage is where I stole this site’s motto). Here I am on the brink of going away to a no-kid romantic weekend in a secluded cabin in the woods with Belle and I’m actually a little taken aback by the idea that she’ll at some point give me permission to come. And I’ll have to do it. *shudder*

Twenty years ago, my entire reason for being revolved around shooting my wad into or onto anyone who’d let me. Now, I find myself thinking about sex and my partner maybe even more than I did as a hormonally charged youth with the exact opposite desired outcome. How does this make any sense? I honestly have no idea.

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Big day

It was a big day today for those of us in acrylic imprisonment. First, I was able to pee standing up each time I went while at work. No, I’m not sure my aim’s good enough to do it at home into the toilet, but standing close to a urinal worked just fine, thankyouverymuch. I just poked the tip of my pinky through the slot (or, at least the tip of the tip of my pinky) and maneuvered Mr. Winky into a position more or less in alignment with the opening and BINGO! Man, I can’t tell you how happy I am about that. Peeing like a grown-up has been, after intimate contact with my cock, the number one thing I’ve missed while being in enforced chastity. Seriosuly, now that I’m able to pee normally and I’ve got the fit issues figured out and can sleep through the night (at least those nights when I am able to fall asleep), I could be in this thing indefinitely. Which reminds me…

I told my Belle Fille the other night that I’d be very happy only coming two or three times a month. Mind you, this is a dramatic improvement over our sex life of midsummer, but I’m not talking about only having sex 2-3 times every thirty days. I’d like to have sex as often as Belle will let me and I want to make her come each and every day (twice on Sundays), but I only want to come occasionally. I want to be denied because I find I am really very happy being denied. I love the mist of sexual frustration that hangs in the air among my thoughts all day. I love how acutely aware of her presence I am whenever she’s anywhere near. I love constantly thinking about what she will or will not allow me to do to her or with her each evening. I love the slightly dopey feeling that comes over me when I smell her while close in, nose on her neck, kissing her jawline…***…um…what? Sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah. In short, I love just about everything to do with denied orgasm. She’s getting pretty good at teasing me (making tremendous progress considering it’s still very new to her and she has no idea where I’m coming from when I say I want her to frustrate me 27/30’s of each month). As I said in a previous post, I am very happy to be where I am and consider myself incredibly lucky to have a mate who will make this journey with me. I hope (and think) she’s getting something out of it along the way.

Oh, almost forgot. The second thing that happened today was I found some underwear and a pair of flat-front dress pants that, when worn together, totally hide the plastic between my legs. The underwear is a pair of low-rise jockey-style briefs that hold my package close in and down between my legs. The pants have a looser crotch. Combined, they allowed me to cruise through the day well camouflaged, comfortable, and peeing on vertical surfaces whenever it struck my fancy. Yes, indeed, a big day it was.

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Broken bunny

I slept about 2 hours last night. Yes, I seem to talk about sleeping a lot, but that’s when the roosters come to…well, roost, isn’t it? Last night wasn’t about discomfort in the chastity device, though. It was about my own body turning on me.

It’s been six days since my last orgasm and four days locked up in the CB6K. I’ll say again that many old hands at chastity and orgasm denial will laugh at my proclamation of six and four days as anything like meaningful milestones, but for me they are. Not only have I not had a release since last Wednesday, I haven’t been allowed to engage in any meaningful sexual activity with Belle since Saturday. That night, after I brought her to climax with my mouth, she teased me mercilessly in an interesting new (for us) way.

After her orgasm, I wanted her to caress my stretched balls and perineum (since my encased cock was unable to receive stimulation). I really wanted her to feel how hard I was and how strained I was in her device. Instead, she touched me everywhere but where I craved she would. I was on all fours above her and constantly trying to reposition myself so my cock would be where her hand was only to see her hand move elsewhere. It was excruciating and she knew it. It left me very, very aroused.

Sunday night, it was more of the same. No touchy the cocky. I wasn’t quite as horny afterward, but I was still running pretty warm. Last night, we talked a lot and she used her nails on me and bit me a little. Also, she said she really wanted to feel my cock in her, but that it was not to be. Maybe tonight (which means, of course, she’ll need to release me if only for a little while). Three nights of teasing led to one night of little sleep.

Basically, the lust – combined with the confinement of the device – finally got to me. I awoke about 30 minutes after we went to sleep with my brain buzzing. I spent some time online reading a few blogs and browsing FetLife which eventually brought me to this video of runied orgasms. Well, needless to say, sleep was out of the question after watching that. Read some more sites and eventually posted my first entree into pornographic fiction before laying in bed for hours and feeling sorry for myself. I almost woke her to beg for release since I knew 12.6 seconds after cumming I’d fall deeply asleep, but I didn’t bother her. I just laid there and buzzed. Until 3:00 in the morning.

Maybe I can come home early today and take a nap.

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Go read this

Ferns gets me on a couple level with her newest entry. First, of course, there’s the poor little malesub all tied up and under her control. Second, she’s inflicting pain on his nipples. Pain + nipples = happy bunny. Third, it’s about piercing. I have an almost fetishistic fascination with nipple piercing.

It’s amazing what she can do with so few words. It may not be to everyone’s taste, but I find it beautiful.

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Our new home

So, here we are in our bright and shiny WordPress home! I think I’ve finally settled on a theme I like. The photo in the header is head of my CB6K (its little lock peeking out over the top), and yes, I’m wearing it (though you can’t make me out in the photo). I never used categories or tags over on the Blogger blog so I’m currently going through and assigning those things now.

Anyway, please excuse the dust and half empty moving boxes. It’ll be a few days until everything’s settled in.

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Montreal, Part I

A couple of weeks ago when Belle was out of town, I found myself laying in bed with my imagination running wild. I had just woken up and wasn’t fully awake. As I lay there in that groggy state, I allowed an actual event – a trip we took together several years ago – to merge with fantasies being produced by my hormone-soaked brain. The vividness with which this tale spun out in my head was remarkable. Before I lost any of the detail and texture, I tried to commit as much of it as possible to memory.

In the distant past, I tried my hand at fiction. Once or twice, even erotic fiction. That, however, was long ago. What’s presented here is my first stab at anything of this sort in close to 20 years. It may be good, or it may not. You may like it, or you may not.

I think it’s important to point out at this juncture that none of the things related here actually happened. Also, I’m not saying by writing this out that I want any or all of these things to happen to me. This is porn. Porn is fantasy. There are elements of what’s described here that I find extremely arousing. However, at it’s best, porn is a cartoon-like caricature of real life. Maybe that’s the difference between “erotic” and “porn”. Erotic is closer to possible while porn is obviously not. Who knows? In any event, here’s my first stab at it. Please feel free to let me have it in the comments.

Continue reading “Montreal, Part I”